The interior of the clinic greeted Sunny with warmth that should have felt familiar, almost comforting, yet the mont he crossed the threshold an indefinable wrongness pressed against his senses like a change in air pressure before a storm. The door clicked shut behind him, muting the chanical rumble of the Underworld streets, and for a heartbeat he simply stood there, eyes half-lidded, cataloging the space with the instinctive vigilance of a predator entering contested territory.
Nothing appeared amiss at first glance. The lights glowed steadily, the examination beds were neatly made, cabinets closed, instrunts sterilized and arranged with Natasha’s usual ticulous precision. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with sothing savory drifting from a small table near the far wall where paper cartons had been spread out. It was, by all visible asures, an ordinary evening in the clinic.
And yet it was empty.
Natasha’s practice was rarely devoid of patients unless circumstances were dire or deliberately orchestrated. Even during the worst periods of scarcity there had always been soone waiting, soone coughing quietly in a corner, soone clutching a bandaged limb or a feverish child. The absence of that background human presence hollowed the room, turning it into a stage set stripped of actors.
For so absurd reason, Sunny felt... strangely unmoved when he looked at her. What was once a colorful source of entertainnt had turned into a monotonous shade of gray.
Instead, unbidden and utterly absurd, his thoughts snagged on an image he had never actually witnessed in person: a digital avatar rendered in immaculate detail, silver hair catching simulated light, eyes glowing with predatory confidence. Silver Wolf’s so-called girlfriend from that ridiculous video ga, a woman Sunny had encountered only as data projected onto a screen.
His pulse quickened before he could stop it.
He scowled, jaw tightening. The reaction was intrusive, inappropriate, and profoundly irritating. The girl was taken, if Silver Wolf’s words could be trusted, and he never even t the woman.
Yet every ti he tried to redirect his thoughts toward Natasha, the image snapped back into place like a magnet seeking north.
Sothing had to be tampering with him!
Natasha gestured toward the table with a small, welcoming motion.
"You might as well co in properly. Standing there glaring at the walls won’t make them confess."
The boy had already dropped into a chair, tearing into a container of noodles with single-minded enthusiasm, though his eyes never left Sunny for long. Up close, the child looked marginally healthier than Sunny rembered, the gauntness softened by regular als, the skin less sallow, the eyes still sharp but no longer feral with constant hunger. His hair was a dusty brown that might once have been blond, cropped unevenly as though trimd with pragmatic indifference rather than style.
Sunny took the remaining seat with deliberate languor, folding his arms as he regarded them both.
"Nobody dying today?"
Natasha smiled faintly.
"We had a quieter day than usual. It happens more often now."
She passed him a carton without ceremony. He accepted it automatically, more out of habit than appetite, and discovered it contained dumplings that were still warm. Steam curled upward, carrying a savory aroma that would normally have triggered hunger. Tonight it barely registered.
The boy spoke around a mouthful of food.
"Don’t get used to it. She’ll kick you out if soone shows up."
Sunny replied dryly:
"Do you have a na, or shall I continue referring to you by increasingly creative insults until one sticks?"
The child bristled, swallowing hastily.
"Ilya."
...That sounded a little feminine, didn’t it? He wouldn’t know.
Natasha rested her elbows lightly on the table, fingers laced together.
"Ilya has been staying with since... well, since I found him rummaging through my trash."
Sunny smirked at the runt, who grimaced before flipping him off.
Natasha continued, voice calm, conversational, as though recounting mundane updates rather than the slow rebuilding of a world. Cocolia remained in a coma, her condition worsening despite every treatnt available. Bronya had assud the mantle of Supre Guardian fully, shouldering administrative burdens that would have crushed a less resolute leader.
Natasha added after a mont, her expression softening in a way that suggested both pride and concern:
"Seele has been... restless. She and Veliona spend a great deal of ti outside the city now. Mainly fighting against rogue Fragntum Monsters or Nightmare Creatures."
He blinked, the words cutting through the haze clouding his thoughts.
"...Nightmare Creatures? Shouldn’t the Nightmare Gate I dealt with be dried out by now?"
Natasha waved a hand as though brushing away an overblown worry.
"Oh, it’s nothing alarming. They’ve been opening far from Belobog, too distant to cause real damage. A few strays make it this way now and then, but those two handle them easily."
Sunny did not relax.
For seven centuries Jarilo-VI had endured the Fragntum as its singular existential threat. The Nightmare Gates hadn’t been opening until rercently, and only through the Gate he had personally destroyed. Gates did not simply appear at random like weeds unless conditions permitted it.
Or unless sothing had changed.
His gaze drifted downward. Was his presence the catalyst, so unintended consequence of his [Fated] status altering the trajectory of the planet’s destiny? Or did the Spell operate on criteria beyond his knowledge, seeding worlds according to variables he could not yet perceive?
Neither possibility was comforting.
Across the table, Ilya glared openly at him, perhaps interpreting his silence as disdain. Sunny returned the look with equal intensity, letting a thread of irritation bleed into his expression.
"Where is Seele now?"
Natasha hesitated.
It was not a long pause, but it was long enough to matter.
"She went to Clara’s base."
Sunny tilted his head.
"Why?"
Natasha’s composure wavered just enough to confirm his suspicion.
"Clara has been... acting strangely lately."
The word ’strange’ landed like a dropped stone in still water, sending ripples through Sunny’s already heightened awareness. Strange could an many things on Jarilo-VI, from minor behavioral quirks to catastrophic anomalies.
He rose before Natasha could elaborate further.
Shadow gathered at his feet without conscious command, pooling like liquid darkness eager for release. The temperature in the room seed to dip as his Aspect stirred, a faint distortion crawling along the edges of perception.
Natasha half-stood as well.
"Sunny, wait—"
He stepped forward, and the world folded.
User Comments
0 comments from readers