Sunny summoned the runes for his newly acquired memory which was currently floating before him in the form of a golden fluid…
Memory Rank: unknown
Memory Type: unknown
Memory Description: [The loathsome Thieving Bird was hated both by the gods and -unknown-. Yet adored by —unknown— the first ####. It only cared about shiny things. Enamored by Weaver's beautiful eyes, it stole one of them on a dark, starless night. Impatient, the vile creature looked at its bounty while still in flight. However, when it saw the reflection of -unknown- forever frozen in the depths of Weaver's pupil, it went mad and screamed, dropping the eye on the mortal realm below. All that was left in its greedy beak was one drop of pure, golden ichor.]
Once again, the description was different, specifically the addition of a certain —unknown—…
[You have acquired a drop of ichor. Do you wish to consume it?]
Sunny was conflicted, he didn't know how the ichor would react. Previously it had caused him great agony and in turn he had received Blood Weave… but now? He didn't have blood flowing through him, rather, shadows flowed within him. Which he believed was due to his [Scion of Shadows] attribute.
But then again, if anything, he had become more reckless since his regression.
'Might as well…'
[As you wish.]
Maybe it was just a thought, but for a moment, the spell sounded… avid?
The golden sphere split—clean, sudden—into two streams of radiant fluid. They twisted through the air, drawn like arrows to Sunny's face. Then—without pause—they surged into his eyes.
One second.
Two.
He waited for the pain.
It didn't come.
Instead, a coldness crept through him. Not physical. Not blood-deep. Deeper.
The ichor was disappearing. Not dissolving. Not merging.
Being pulled. Absorbed.
But not by body. Not by bone.
By something else.
By death.
His soul didn't accept the ichor. It took it. Broke it down. Made it his. Like instinct. Like absolute law. Sunny wasn't just absorbing divine essence—
He was ending it. Killing it.
And assimilating with it.
Then—
The coldness vanished. Sunny was frozen.
'W—What?'
Sunny had expected something powerful. He just hadn't expected this.
He knew his Innate Ability wasn't something to be trifled with. But he'd never truly thought about what it meant.
It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't a trick.
It was death.
Not a pale imitation.
The real thing.
[You have received a new Attribute!]
Sunny hurriedly summoned his runes, reading his attributes—
Attributes: [Fate's Favored], [Divine Right], [Scion of Shadows], [Chain Breaker], [Gift of —unknown—], [Pureborn], [Shadowborne], [Shadowforged]
[Shadowforged] Attribute Description: "Your predatory nature has assimilated a fragment of a forbidden lineage; its forbidden vitality now forges a new power within your shadow—a nascent dominion that instinctively senses, and hungers for, its absent, greater self."
It was as Sunny had expected, it seemed as though his Innate Ability had merged Weaver's lineage with his nature as the Divine Heir of Shadow by quite literally, killing it.
***
Back at the Academy, Nephis stepped into the armory.
She paused.
Just for a second.
'Had his perfect form faltered for a moment?'
She wasn't sure. Maybe she was imagining things.
Unbeknownst to her, Sunny had been holding himself together by sheer force of will. A world away, on the Ashen Barrow, the last thing on his mind was posture.
"I apologize if it seemed like I was staring," she said, calm as ever. "I was simply impressed by your display of swordsmanship."
Nephis regarded him in silence, then said—
"Do you mind if we spar?"
Sunny blinked. That caught him off guard. The Nephis he remembered didn't seek people out. Back then, he had been the one pushing her to teach him.
"… Sure," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of curiosity.
Nephis turned to the display rack and began scanning the longswords. Sunny watched for a moment, then spoke again.
"Here—" he gestured to the floor.
She tilted her head, puzzled—until the shadows moved, shifting and twisting into a solid blade.
A longsword, forged from darkness.
"Use that one," Sunny said. "It won't break as easily."
Nephis nodded once, stepped forward, and took the weapon in hand. Her grip was firm. She tested the weight, swung it a few times.
It felt… right. Familiar, even.
Sunny said nothing.
Of course it felt right.
He had forged Blessing for her. With precision, intent, and more effort than he cared to admit.
They took their positions at opposite ends of the sparring platform.
Nephis moved first.
A swift advance. A clean slash aimed high.
Sunny parried it with relaxed ease, the flat of his odachi guiding her blade away without effort. His stance didn't waver. Not once.
She stepped back, adjusted. Tried again. A feint into a low sweep, followed by a rising thrust.
He met it. Controlled it. Then flowed out of range, not with speed—but with perfect efficiency.
Nephis narrowed her eyes. She wasn't being toyed with. He was offering resistance just above her level. Enough to challenge. Enough to push her forward.
It was… deliberate.
Too deliberate.
Her thoughts flickered—just for a moment—to a darker place.
Assassins didn't always strike from shadows. Some got close first. Gained trust. Waited. She had seen that truth firsthand.
And here he was. Silent. Skilled. Inhumanly strong. His expression unreadable. His stance perfect. Holding back—yes—but in a way that made it clear he wasn't showing even a fraction of what he could do.
She circled him. Blades clashed again, sharp and fast. No missteps on his part. No unnecessary force.
'If he wanted to kill me…'
She pressed forward, chaining strikes with clinical precision. Each movement was refined, practiced. But between her attacks, she shifted her rhythm—just slightly.
A tighter pivot. A delayed follow-through. A moment where her weight leaned a touch too far forward.
To anyone else, it would have seemed like nothing. But to someone like him… it was an invitation.
She wasn't sloppy. She wasn't reckless. The gaps she left were surgical—measured flaws, just wide enough to tempt a killer's instinct.
He didn't bite.
Not once.
His blade remained patient, his stance unshaken. He deflected and redirected, offering nothing but guidance cloaked in combat.
Nephis kept her expression neutral, but a thought stirred quietly in the back of her mind.
'If he were here to kill me, he already would have.'
The suspicion had been faint from the start. Born of how unnaturally skilled he was. How effortlessly he controlled the flow. How… quiet he always seemed. Like someone accustomed to being alone. Or unnoticed.
But now, as their blades met again with a clash of steel, she let the idea go.
He had seen the gaps. She was sure of it.
He just chose not to take them.
If he was, she'd be dead five times over already.
She focused instead on his form. His footwork. His patience.
Every time they clashed, she learned something new. She could feel her technique refining, adapting. Not because he explained anything—he didn't need to. His movements taught her everything she needed to learn.
She began to smile. Not mockingly. Genuinely.
Because she was improving.
And because—for the first time in a long while—she didn't feel like she was training alone.
The final exchange ended in a blur. Nephis stood steady, blade poised, breath controlled—she thought it was a draw.
Then she felt it. The cold touch of steel just beside her neck.
Her eyes flickered.
"When?"
Sunny stepped back, his stance casual—one side of his lips slightly curled up.
"A few moves ago."
She didn't answer. The thought nagged at her again, but she pushed it away.
If he wanted her dead, she'd be gone already.
Sunny regarded her silently, eyes calm. Maybe a hint of approval, but nothing he'd say aloud.
"Again?" she asked.
"Not possible I'm afraid." He shook his head. "Maybe another time… My name's Sunless, by the way."
Nephis simply nodded and turned, starting to walk away from the armory when an awkward cough resounded
"This is the part where you tell me your name…" he said amiably.
Nephis stopped, still facing away from him: "It's Nephis"
Then—
She turned "Just how str-"
He was gone, not a trace of him remained, as if he had never existed.
***
There were now three incarnations of Sunny bickering in the Nameless Temple
"So you just left her there!?" Spoke the crazy incarnation.
"I mean yeah, what was I supposed to do if she asked me something I can't say" The happy incarnation responded
"You could have just responded…" The lazy one spoke.
"Bah! Shut up, not like you've been doing much!" retorted happy.
"Not doing much!? The rest of us were quite literally struck frozen while you spent every speck of focus trying to impress your silver haired beauty."
Sunny clicked his tongue, dismissing the other incarnations.
Crazy had spent the last day scouring Godgrave, ensuring no cursed abomination was getting ready to jump them.
However, now was not the time to focus on such trivial things. He needed to know how capable his new Attribute was.
Diving into his soul sea, Sunny summoned the runes for Puppeteer's Shroud.
***
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Type: Armor.
Memory Tier: V.
Memory Enchantments: [Enhanced Durability], [Doubtless], [Blessing of Spirit]
Memory Description: [A worm of doubt…]
***
'At least this works fine…'
Next, he peered deeper—into the very reality of the memory, into its weave.
Golden threads pulsed within.
Sunny smiled, shadow curling at the corner of his lips.
A finger unfolded from the darkness behind him. Slender. Precise. He reached in, trusting [Shadowborne] to act as his surrogate for [Bone Weave].
The moment he touched a thread, everything shifted.
From the point of contact, darkness spread. The golden strand dimmed, turned iridescent black, as if infected by his deathly presence.
More curious still—he could guide the thread like a shadow. It moved at his will.
But he couldn't mend it. Couldn't break it.
Not by touch alone.
He learned that quickly—one attempt to reshape the weave nearly ruptured it.
Without Bone Weave or his needle, Supreme-tier memories were out of reach. Still, with the right materials, crafting peak Transcendent ones?
That was well within his grasp.
Crazy was currently out hunting great nightmare creatures with ease, gathering supreme soul shards for weaving.
Shadow Fragments: 91
'Let's just get to a hundred.'
Sunny didn't have a reason. Just a hunch.
He moved through Godgrave with ease using Shadow Step, cutting down beasts as easily as breathing. The Fragment of Shadow's Domain still veiled the region, making everything easier—faster.
'That should do it.'
He'd only kept his rank and class after returning. And even that had only stuck after the first Nightmare. Now, with Supreme shades lining his kill count, the rest would fall even faster.
He called on his Legion.
Nothing answered.
His brow furrowed. 'What the hell…?'
Sunny dove into his soul sea, anxious.
There they were—hundred shades in the far reaches of his soul sea. He focused on them—
Something was different. Something that would slip past unless completely focused upon.
His shades were… incomplete?
As absurd as that sounded, it was exactly that. They were translucent. Missing something.
Then it hit him.
These weren't actually the shadows of the creatures he had killed. They were mere representations. The actual shadows now belonged to him—assimilated, granted his finality—in the form of Fragments.
Sunny called upon one of the shades in the distance.
The first great monster he had killed after his return appeared before him.
The gorilla-like monster towered above him.
[Convert Shade to Shadow? 100/100 Shadow Fragments]
Sunny froze.
That meant…
It had originally slipped past him… had he been conceited by his own strength? Had his attention been diluted?
The fact that serpent was not linked to one of his soul cores had completely slipped past him.
He called upon Serpent. A part of him hoped it would be exactly as he expected—that he could convert any of his—now dysfunctional—shades into shadows without having to link them to one of his soul cores. Those shadows which could grow in strength…
From the deepest parts of his soul sea, Serpent appeared. The snake looming over him.
[Convert Shadow to Divine Shadow? 100/100,000 Shadow Fragments]
Sunny's breatch hitched—
Somewhere in the Dream Realm, two shadows—one heading to Bastion and the other to Ravenheart—froze.
Another, in the Forgotten Shore, quivered.
Somewhere in the waking world, a shadow watching over a certain mundane girl shuddered
In hindsight, it was inevitable.
He had never been a Divine Shadow.
He was its Heir.
Not a servant, but a scion—the only scion—of a dead god, whose name had been swallowed by finality itself. Not a shade cast by light, but Lightless, entire. So why would he not command shadows? Why would they not kneel, weep, decay, for him?
Why would they not betray their casters to seek the end written in his name?
After all… to them, he was Death.
And what are shadows, if not the first to kneel?
It wasn't loyalty. It was instinct. Worship twisted into fear. Reverence, lined with dread.
They saw not a bearer—but a throne.
And then the world remembered who he was.
I am Shadow.
A paradox. A blasphemy. For Shadow had died—devoured by its own creation.
But this one—this Divine Heir—was not bound by causality. Rather favored by Fate itself.
He was [Divine Right] made manifest. [Scion of Shadows], born in silence, crowned in stillness.
And now, shadows did not follow.
They belonged.
They tore themselves from masters and enemies alike, not in rebellion—
But in return.
Because even in death, a god remembers its heir.
And somewhere deep in the marrow of every shadow…
…they already knew.