Sowhere on the Chained Isles, nestled among the crumbling remains of a collapsed bell tower, a man kicked over a moss-eaten crate, spun it around, and dropped onto it backward like a student cutting class.
He looked like trouble.
A faint breeze rolled through the broken archways. On a stone table nearby, puppet strings shimred like strands of starlight, each trembling in sync with so motion far away — sowhere among cliffs and dying fires and running footsteps.
Unseen threads burned in the air.
"They’re still alive?"
He looked genuinely impressed. Not that he had a face to do so.
Almost eighty of his toys had gone out to play.
Almost none had returned.
"Guess that one’s not just a mosquito after all."
The strings twitched harder.
He wasn’t trying to kill the Seed of Destruction, not really. That one was under the umbrella of... certain restrictions. Touching him would break too many threads, ss up the group’s larger sche. He could play with the others. Tease them. Hurt them. Break them. But not that one.
He wasn’t even using a fraction of his power, all to avoid accidentally blowing a whole through the Seed. He could have brought his personal toys, or even took control of so of the Transcendent ones in this region... but that was just too risky.
The Dream Eater, though? After coincidentally coming across her, it was only right to get rid of her.
Whatever that ant. It was in his job description...
Still, the Seed kept stepping in the way.
It was starting to ruin the fun.
But rules were rules. And he didn’t want to get yelled at again. Or get erased from existence. Not yet, at least. So, like any responsible citizen, he decided to find a loophole.
He pulled at the air.
The air in front of him peeled sideways, like it was a page in a book. Behind that mbrane waited a dinsion of strange fog, hiding the Historical Void that laid beneath.
Seconds passed.
Then, sothing stepped out.
A white projection, indistinct around the edges. Cloaked. Blade in hand. The humanoid figure shimred with false intelligence — a recorded presence. A weapon waiting to be told where to point.
The man circled it once, whistling softly.
"Right. Here’s the deal. A group of kids is heading for the Tear. I don’t care what you do with the archer or the descendent of Permanance. Don’t touch the Seed of Destruction, the shadow one. That’ll get yelled at. And killed. But the girl with the scythe? Yeah. Cut her down. This world has no place for Dream Eaters."
He snapped his fingers, then leaned in.
"And if the real you wants to hijack this little echo..."
He grinned without a mouth.
"...Be my guest."
The projection stood still.
Then sothing shifted.
It’s posture snapped straight. The air grew thin. The strings on the table quivered, recoiling like burnt nerves.
A voice — not from the projection, but through it — poured into the bell tower like a whisper chased by a storm.
"...You’re always making sses. I believe I’ve told you that this location is not to my liking."
The man clapped his hands.
"There you are!"
His grin widened, manic and delighted.
"Was wondering how long it would take for the real you to bite. Go wild. Tear things apart. Just make sure they bla you."
A pause.
"I an, technically, it is you. So it’s not even lying!"
The projection said nothing more.
It simply vanished.
Gone from the tower in a blink, sucked back through the crack in reality toward it’s destined battlefield.
***
They had collapsed beneath the roots of a half-dead tree. It jutted out from the crumbling cliffside like a corpse’s hand, gnarled and brittle, offering the barest cover from the wind. The Tear wasn’t far now. If they kept moving, they’d reach it by noon.
But none of them could move anymore.
Seele was curled in on herself, war scythe clutched to her chest. Dan Heng sat with his back against a stone, chin resting on his spear. March had dropped her bow completely, using her arms as a pillow.
Only Sunny remained awake.
He didn’t sit. He paced. Slow circles around the camp, like a prisoner retracing the shape of his cell.
His shadows flickered faintly beneath him, reacting to his nerves. Gloomy stayed close to his feet, twitching like a shivering animal. Haughty, for once, had no pride to flaunt. Happy was silent.
Every few minutes, Sunny would stop and look at each of them.
Then, with quiet precision, he activated the sight beneath the soul.
He looked past the flesh.
No threads yet. No maggots.
He exhaled.
His head throbbed. He hadn’t slept in a while.
Every ti he blinked, the mory of the last encounter tried to replay itself — red flas, illusions, air bullets that moved faster than thought. The creatures weren’t alive. They weren’t even dying.
He rembered how the beasts would swarm Seele, ignoring Dan Heng and March, but avoiding him.
Why?
Every few minutes, he scanned their souls again.
Still clean.
Still safe.
Still...
His breath caught.
A chill ran down the back of his neck. Not from wind. Not from fear.
From instinct.
He slowly raised his eyes.
Far away — barely more than a speck above the shattered horizon — a figure stood in the sky. Standing, not floating. As though the air itself bent to hold it.
A white figure.
Long cloak. No face.
It wasn’t there a second ago.
It wasn’t moving.
It was just... watching.
Sunny didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t even blink.
The sky felt heavier.
Instinctively, he checked it’s soul.
His eyes began to burn.
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