A high-profile government PTV pulled up to the Awakened Academy's gates. Snow flurried around its matte-black frame. It hissed open.
A woman stepped out.
Pale. Striking. Short raven hair. Eyes like frostbite.
The guard on duty straightened, a hint of awe leaking into his voice.
"Master Jet. What brings you here?"
She didn't pause. Just adjusted her jacket and answered, voice cool.
"I'm here to visit a sleeper."
The gate groaned open. The guard saluted, stiff.
Jet walked past him without a glance, boots crunching through the snow, leaving a trail behind her like punctuation.
Inside the Academy cafeteria, a young man sat alone at a corner table.
Black shroud. White cup. One hand on coffee, the other cradling a communicator.
She saw him—and paused.
Too handsome.
That was her first thought.
Her second was: No, really.
She'd seen Saints. Too many. Even more Masters. None looked like that.
There was something uncanny about it. As if perfection had put on skin and decided to slum it in a cafeteria.
Then he looked up.
Smiled.
Like they were old friends.
"Master Jet! You're here. I was starting to worry you forgot about me."
Jet blinked.
That voice was familiar, but the face—no. Not even close.
"I'm sorry," she said slowly. "Do I know you?"
The young man blinked back, almost… offended?
Sunny resisted the urge to sigh. 'How could she forget?'
'I only went from looking mundane to looking Supreme.'
He'd woven a Memory taking to form of a necklace: [Not a Liar]. It allowed him to store and replay recordings.
He stood, graceful.
"It's me," he said, tone warm. "Sunless. Well—Saint Sunless, now. But we can skip the formalities."
He released a taste of his presence.
Just enough to mark him as a Saint.
Not the kind that lingered at the rank's edges.
No. One that made the Lord of Shadows seem… modest.
It wasn't fully intentional. He wasn't yet used to his [Pureborn] Attribute. Precise control was a learning curve.
Jet froze.
Of course she did.
She'd seen him days ago. Still a Sleeper. Just past his first Nightmare. And now—
Saint.
"How have you been?"
Jet's breath caught. She stared, brain refusing to connect the dots.
"Sunny—what the actual hell?!"
He sat back down. The coffee cup never left his hand.
"I asked how you were doing, Master Jet. I have a favor to ask."
Jet just stared. Then stared a little more.
"I'm fine," she managed eventually. "But first… are you going to explain this?"
Sunny looked down at himself. Then back up.
"Ah. Right."
He gestured toward the opposite seat.
"You might want to sit down," he said, words measured, calm. "This is going to be a long talk."
---
Jet rubbed her temples. "So you're telling me you time traveled, assassinated two demigods, and now want to go public?"
She laughed once. Harsh. "Either I'm dreaming, or you've gone completely mad."
Then, quieter:
"But… you feel like a Saint."
Sunny smiled warmly. "Yes. That's the gist of it."
Jet's disbelief curdled into something else.
A twisted smile tugged at her lips.
"You know, if you didn't want to tell me the truth, you didn't have to lie…"
Sunny stared back.
"Well, that is the only truth I know. But if you want, I can tell you something more believable."
Jet sighed. "Go on…"
If he hadn't shown her his presence, she would've assumed he'd snapped.
"Well," Sunny began, "the part about there being humans above Saints, Sovereigns—that's a universally hidden truth. I think you had an inkling of it too."
He paused. Chose his words carefully.
They came from memory—[Not a Liar]—not that she needed to know.
"Let's just say the Shadow Clan is real. Their leader… probably the strongest human to ever exist. They've got a technique—older than the Spell—that lets people grow stronger. No strings attached."
Another pause. A breath.
"That's how I became a Saint so fast. Though…"
He glanced away for a second.
"My case was still… unique."
Just as Sunny was about to pour more essence into [Not a Liar], Nephis approached their table and sat down without a word. Both of them turned to her.
"Sovereign Sunless," she said.
Silence.
The shadows recoiled. Sunny grimaced.
'Damnation.'
"…Lady Nephis," he replied.
Jet's jaw dropped open.
"S—Sovereign Sunless?!" she hissed.
Sunny sighed as the shadows settled.
"Well. Guess the gig's up. Thank you for that, Lady Nephis."
To his utter shock, Nephis replied:
"You're welcome."
Sunny blinked. Once. Twice.
"…Was she always this dense?"
Jet looked between the two of them, her mouth still slightly open.
She sat back, slowly, like the world had just tilted sideways.
"…Wait. Wait."
A breath.
"So, you're really a Sovereign? Then who's the leader of the Shadow Clan?"
Sunny smiled, soft and unbothered. "I am."
Jet stared at him, utterly incredulous.
"But then how were you in your first nightmare barely a week ago?"
Before she could speak, Sunny went on.
"So, about that press conference. Honestly, I don't want to give it. But I do need to control the flow of information. And, according to my advisor, the best way to do that… is with a press conference."
Jet blinked. Slowly. Taking a moment, and a deep breath to compose herself—
"No offense, Sunny, but— is your advisor a fossil? That's the kind of strategy I'd expect from a centuries-old corpse. There are way better ways to reveal yourself these days."
Sunny raised a brow. "Such as? And yes he is a fossil."
Jet gave him a weird look, then leaned forward, thoughtful.
"You're asking me to help you introduce yourself as a Sovereign. Like you're launching a new synthpaste brand."
Jet shook her head. "Insane."
She paused. Then sighed.
"But if you're really serious… you'll need a show of force. Something that shuts up every skeptic before they open their mouths."
A pause.
"One of our scientists—Professor Obel—said a chain of Nightmare Gates is going to open in the waking world soon. We don't know where yet. But if you show up there, and make it loud… you won't need to say a word. That can be your reveal. That can be the Clan's."
Sunny blinked, surprised.
'Didn't strike her for a strategist.'
Then—
"Alright. Thanks for the help. Text me when you get details on the Gates."
He already knew they'd open in Antarctica—but why pass on the chance to stay in touch?
Jet stood, turning to him with a smirk.
"You just wanted an excuse to make me message you, huh."
Sunny paused.
'No seriously—does this woman know fear?'
Sighing, he turned to Nephis.
"How may I help you, Lady Nephis? And… apologies for not hearing your response earlier. We had an interruption."
Nephis stared at him for a beat. Then—
"I would like to ask for a spar. And… I accept."
---
[Your memory has been destroyed.]
[Your shade has been expended.]
[You have received a Shadow: Marvelous Mimic.]
'Finally.' Sunny exhaled, long and low.
The process had been maddening. Getting the Mordent Mimic's shade to function properly took hours of quiet frustration. But now, it worked.
What he'd discovered, more by stubbornness than science, was that if he manually infused shades with shadow fragments—just a few—they would turn. Not fully. Not permanently. But enough to become temporary shadows.
Even if the Spell refused to admit it.
'Alright. Next one.'
He'd wanted to return to the Shadow Realm for some time now. The real one. Not the broken reflection, not the dream-stitched memory. The true kingdom of night.
Only now had the moment arrived.
Happy and Crazy were stationed at the Nameless Temple. He'd left them to guard the altar, just in case.
So this time, he would send Crazy alone.
Sunny made his way down into the basement, each step echoing against stone. The lantern was already there—waiting. He summoned Shadow Lantern with a thought, and it responded with silent eagerness, cold light swirling behind the frame.
It hung from his hand like a severed moon.
With a breath, he opened the gate.
A slit of utter blackness tore itself into the world. Inside, the Shadow Realm beckoned.
He stared for a long moment, then gave the command.
Crazy leapt without hesitation.
'Crazy bastard,' Sunny thought, not without admiration.
---
He stood atop a blackened hill. A vast, dead expanse stretched in every direction—ashen ridges, unmoving mist, an ocean of stillness beneath a dying sky.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then…
The shadows stirred.
He felt them. All around. Beneath the earth. Inside the air.
They rose like breath held too long, shivering in the dark.
And then, with no warning—
A flood of Soul Essence crashed into him.
It wasn't just power. It was recognition. Ancient. Intimate.
The shadows remembered.
They remembered the boy who had once wandered here, alone. The one who bled, and wept, and rose.
And they saw what he had become.
Their god.
They all rushed to him in reverence.
Sunny staggered, nearly brought to his knees. The sheer weight of reverence bore down on him like gravity. His mind reeled.
Then—like a shattering chorus—came the voice of the Spell:
[A shadow seeks your finality. x999]
[A shadow seeks your finality. x999]
[A shadow seeks your finality. x999]
Over and over. A dirge.
Sunny winced. His teeth clenched. "Stop—"
But the spell kept going.
[A shadow seeks your finality. x999]
[A shadow seeks your finality. x999]
[A shadow seeks your—]
"ENOUGH!"
His voice cracked through the realm like lightning.
And the world froze.
Not just silence now—obedience. The kind only a god can command.
The shadows held their breath.
Nothing moved. Nothing dared.
Then—
An arrow flew.
It cut through the stillness like a scream.
Sunny's eyes widened. There was no time. No margin.
Too fast. Too close.
He had been disoriented— dazed by the very shadows he commanded
He didn't even flinch. There wasn't enough time to try.
'So this is how I lose one…' he thought.
And then—
The shadows moved.
Not one. Not ten. All of them.
All of them.
They exploded from the ground, from the air, from the cracks in reality. They tore through existence with soundless fury.
Time buckled. The darkness turned darker.
One moment: the arrow was less than a breath from his skull.
The next: it vanished—devoured by the living dark.
A tidal wave of shadows surged forward, descending on the source of the attack. Sunny turned, still stunned.
There—standing alone, cold, nebulous—was a familiar figure.
The Nebulous Archer.
'Slayer…'
But this time, it would not hunt. It would not fight. It would not contend. It would beg.
The shadows saw it. And they remembered.
They remembered the intent. The pursuit. The defiance.
And they were furious.
If they had voices, they would've screamed:
How dare a mere shadow raise its hand against our Sovereign?
How dare a shadow of a dead sacred even look upon their god with violence?
With no sound, no ceremony—
They struck.
Tendons were severed. The archer fell. Limbs twisted. The ground opened.
They pinned it down, wrapped it in chains of darkness, buried it beneath their fury.
What once stood proud became nothing more than an offering.
And Sunny?
He just stood there. Breath caught. Heart pounding.
The shadows didn't just protect him.
They worshipped him.
They exalted him.
A moment later, the realm returned to silence.
Only now, it was different.
Not stillness.
Sanctity.
Sunny moved, his gait undaunting.
Each step carried the weight of every ancient shadow in his realm.
Serpent coiled around his arm, then shifted—morphing into a tenebrific odachi in his hand, dark and silent.
He stood before the bound archer.
One hand.
No words.
No second glance.
Sunny thrust the blade down.
The nebulous shadow didn't even scream. It simply ended.
The spell spoke again, its voice softer now—almost reverent.
[Death recognizes its own.]
[A shadow finds solace within you.]
---
Before you ask, yes I have something against Slayer.