The silence lingered.
Sunny remained on the platform, breath slow, hands clenched at his sides. The glass beneath his feet was cold now—utterly inert, as though it had never stirred at all.
For a long moment, he did nothing.
Then he laughed.
It was quiet. Short. Almost disbelieving.
"So that's how it is," he murmured.
The Gateway stood mute and flawless, its carvings dim once more, offering neither rejection nor acceptance—only indifference.
The calling had faded.
Not vanished, but retreated, like a tide pulling back from the shore.
Sunny stepped off the platform.
The ache returned to his body all at once, sharp and undeniable. Exhaustion crashed into him, the kind that sank into the bones and refused to be ignored. He welcomed it. It grounded him.
Behind him, the chamber remained unchanged—eternal, pristine, patient.
He exhaled softly and began walking out of the hall, every step slow and measured.
A few minutes later, he was outside once more, the downpour soaking him within seconds.
"Saint. Take that thing and follow me," he ordered dispassionately.
The taciturn knight looked at him strangely, a flicker of concern appearing in her ruby eyes. Still, she did as asked, hefting the Emotion Eater onto her shoulder and following him back inside the Temple.
In no time, he stood in the hall again—but it had lost all splendor for him. Who cared about beauty when it felt like the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders?
At his instruction, Saint climbed onto the platform and dropped the dying nightmare creature onto the glass.
Sunny followed. The moment his foot touched the surface, the glass began to shine, light blooming beneath him and steadily intensifying.
Just as before, the radiance grew—and just as it was about to become blinding, it died out.
[Name: Sunless]
[True Name: Lost from Light]
[Shadow Cores: 5/7]
[Shadow Fragments: 4296/5000]
…
[Gateway: Temple of the Twin Gods.]
He had been bound to the Temple the first time he stepped onto the platform, yet he still could not use it. The reason why was spelled out plainly in the next line.
[Gateway Component: Many Awakened may make use of it simultaneously. Minimum amount: Two.]
He exhaled slowly once more.
Then a laugh escaped him—short, painful, hollow with despair.
As far as he knew, no other Gateway behaved this way. It almost looked like the world itself made it with the express purpose of mocking him.
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. The painted sky, impossibly blue and serene, did nothing to distract his thoughts.
"Is this it, Fate?" he asked softly, his voice barely a whisper.
His fists clenched without his consent, so tight that his entire body began to tremble.
"Is this my grand fate? The thing I'm supposed to be the centerpiece of?"
He tried to steady his shaking hands and failed. If anything, they trembled harder.
"Am I a joke to you? A puppet for you to parade around?"
There was no answer.
"I guess it's my fault," he continued. "For having hope. For thinking that something good might happen to me for once. For believing I could escape this hell."
His voice rose.
"Was it fun? Leading me around? Throwing me into every little danger along the way?" He laughed harshly. "Look at the foolish little slave, playing right into your hands! Isn't this hilarious? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"
The words echoed off the walls, twisting and weakening as they returned to him, stripped of whatever power they once held. The Temple did not react. The platform remained lifeless. The painted sky stayed serenely blue, mocking him with its calm.
Sunny let his head fall forward.
Laughter burst from his chest and died just as quickly, leaving behind a hollow ache. His breathing turned ragged, each breath scraping on the way in. He trembled—not with fear, but with the effort of holding himself together.
"So this is the punchline," he muttered hoarsely. "This is where all that effort leads."
He looked down at the glass beneath his feet, once radiant, now dull and lifeless. It felt fragile. Cheap. Like a prop in a poorly written play.
"Is this your revenge?" he asked. "For defying you? For refusing to lie down and die in my first Nightmare? For all the times I should have died—and didn't?"
Silence answered him.
His voice hardened, no longer searching for a response.
"Of course you're silent," he went on bitterly. "You always are when it matters. You whisper just enough to keep me moving, then disappear the moment I reach for something real." He dragged a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. "Every step, every scar, every near-death moment—I told myself it meant something. That you were testing me. Preparing me for the challenge ahead."
A dry chuckle escaped him. "Turns out it was all for nothing."
Sunny spread his arms, palms up, as if presenting himself to the empty chamber. "Look at me. Still breathing. Still standing. Impressive, right? That's what you wanted—endurance. Persistence. A good little slave who never quite breaks, no matter how much you pile on."
His hands curled slowly into fists. "I'm no child of yours. Just entertainment. A toy—sharp enough to survive, stubborn enough not to shatter, and desperate enough to follow along in your sick designs."
He shook his head, eyes burning. "And I played along. I believed in signs. In a better future if I just tried hard enough. I believed that if I kept going, you'd eventually lead me to a way out."
Laughter bubbled up again and vanished.
"Is this it?" he whispered. "Is this my destiny? To suffer? To search endlessly for a way out—only to find there is none?"
He drew a deep breath, bracing himself for another outburst, only to realize how pointless it was.
The almost-whisper was completely silent. Fate did not even pretend to listen.
Rage surged through him, sudden and overwhelming—then vanished just as quickly, leaving emptiness behind.
"You win," he said softly, yet the words echoed as if shouted. "I give up. Whatever little plot you have planned next, you can keep it."
The silence that followed sealed his words with finality.
"I give up."
He turned to Saint, meeting the same strange emotion he had seen the day before—just as unreadable now as it had been then.
He extended his arm, palm open. The [Moonlight Shard] materialized in his hand. He noticed Saint tense immediately, her body coiling, ready to react at the slightest movement.
She needn't have worried.
Sunny stepped toward the still-breathing creature, the stiletto clenched so tightly it hurt.
The Emotion Eater stared back with blind eyes, still struggling stubbornly against its end. Its ability was still active, greedily sapping at his emotions, trying to leave him hollow.
For a moment, he almost welcomed it.
Wouldn't it be nice—to stop feeling? To forget the emotions that had brought him nothing but pain?
He exhaled, knowing he would never allow that.
Then he stabbed forward and ended its pitiful life.
[You have slain a Fallen Terror: The Emotion Eater, Valderak of Aleras]
[Your shadow grows stronger]
[You have received a Memory, Ring of Sorrow]
Sunny pulled up the runes, if only for the distraction, and read the description of the new Memory.
Laughter burst from him at once. Even the Spell was mocking him now.
He only stopped when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.
Saint stood beside him, her grip gentle, the same strange emotion shining clearly in her eyes.
At last, he understood it.
Compassion.
He could handle contempt, he could handle any number of negative emotions. He despised being pitied but he could tolerate it too, he had received plenty of pitying gazes from his shadows and from her over time, so it was nothing new.
But this… this broke him.
The compassion in her gaze stung his eyes, tears welling despite his efforts. She seemed to realize it, withdrawing her hand—but then she hesitated, as if coming to a decision.
Her movements were swift and deliberate. Seconds later, her chestplate hit the floor, followed by her cracked helmet and vambraces, revealing the gambeson beneath.
Before he could even process it, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him—careful, gentle—and pulled him close.
Saint... Saint was hugging him.
He thought to speak. To push her away. To do anything at all.
In the end, he did nothing.
His trembling arms rose and returned the embrace, and the tears finally fell, freely and without restraint.
For a long while, neither of them moved.
The Temple seemed to recede around them, its vastness dimming into irrelevance. There was only the steady sound of rain far beyond the walls, the quiet echo of Sunny's uneven breathing, and the gentle, grounding pressure of Saint's arms around him.
He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding himself together until now.
The moment he allowed it—just a fraction—the cracks widened.
His shoulders shook, once, then again. He pressed his face against the gambeson, teeth clenched as another breath hitched in his throat. The tears came faster now, hot and relentless, soaking into the fabric he gripped with white-knuckled fingers.
He hated this.
Hated the weakness. Hated the exposure. Hated that after everything he had endured, after all the blood and fear and stubborn defiance, it was this—this quiet kindness—that finally unraveled him.
Saint offered no reaction.
She did not stiffen, nor pull away. Her hold remained steady, arms firm but careful, as though afraid he might break if she squeezed too tightly. One gauntleted hand rose and rested behind his back, fingers pressing there—not patting, not soothing in any obvious way. Just… present.
As if to say: I'm here. I'm not leaving.
Sunny's breath shuddered.
"I'm tired," he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They sounded small. Childish. "I'm so… so tired."
Saint's hand tightened, just a little.
He swallowed hard. "I kept going because stopping felt worse. Because if I stopped, then everything I went through—everything I lost—means nothing." His voice cracked. "But it already feels like it doesn't mean anything."
The admission hurt more than any wound.
He waited for judgment. For rejection. For the silent, unspoken agreement of the world that he was right to feel this way—that he truly was alone.
None came.
Instead, Saint shifted, carefully lowering herself so that she sat on the cold glass floor with him, never once breaking the embrace. She adjusted her grip, one arm wrapping securely around his back, the other bracing against the ground so she could support his weight.
The simple practicality of the gesture stunned him.
She wasn't trying to fix him.
She wasn't trying to stop his tears.
She was just… making sure he didn't have to stand alone anymore.
Sunny let out a broken laugh that turned into something dangerously close to a sob. "You're really bad at comforting people," he muttered weakly.
Saint tilted her head, ruby eyes studying him with that same quiet focus she brought to battle. After a moment, she nodded once, as if conceding the point.
Then, awkwardly, she tightened her arms again.
It was enough.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time lost its edge, stretching thin and indistinct. The runes hovering at the edge of Sunny's awareness faded, dismissed without thought. Even the Temple itself seemed to grow distant, its eternal patience turning from oppressive to irrelevant.
Eventually, the storm inside him slowed.
His breathing evened out. The shaking subsided, leaving behind a deep, aching exhaustion that settled into his bones. His eyes burned, his head throbbed, and his chest felt sore—as though he'd been holding his breath for far too long and only now remembered how to exhale.
Sunny pulled back slightly, just enough to wipe the tears off his face. He grimaced. "Sorry," he said reflexively. "I—"
Saint shook her head.
It was a small movement. Simple. Absolute.
No apology needed.
He huffed out a breath and lay on the glass platform, staring up at the painted sky above. It looked just as fake as before, just as indifferent—but somehow, it didn't hurt quite as much.
"I still don't know what I'm supposed to do," he admitted quietly.
Saint followed his gaze to the ceiling. After a pause, she looked back at him and shrugged.
He chuckled. "You don't either, huh?"
Sunny took a deep breath and, with great effort, managed to get back to his feet.
"I will think about it later. The only thing I want now is to find a nice, soft bed and sleep for a few days."
He stepped off the platform and started walking toward one of the many doors of the hall, looking for the quarters of the Temple staff.
-------------------------------------------
A few rooms later, he finally found what he was looking for.
It was a vast chamber, decorated opulently with plenty of gold and beautiful paintings that were somehow still pristine, who knew how long after the Temple had been abandoned.
Against the wall, there was a bed, big enough to hold five people of his size at the same time. It looked comfortable beyond words, and he could feel himself getting drowsy just by staring at it.
Beside the bed, there was a truly massive wardrobe made of white wood, decorated with carvings that resembled a cloudy sky.
The last thing of note in the room was a stone pedestal, painted a soft blue that vaguely resembled flowing waves.
Upon setting sight on the contents atop the pedestal, he felt [Blood Weave] stir, a hungry growl seemingly emanating from it.
In order, he could see a blackened phalanx, a golden fruit, a mirror fragment, a jade figurine, and a scroll resting on the pedestal. And behind them all, lay a thick book, quietly glowing with divinity.