Shadow Slave: Foreign shadow

Sunny opened his eyes slowly. The long shadows of dawn were still dancing across his private quarters in the Temple of Shadows. The first thing his senses registered was the lingering warmth of the sheets, followed by the realization that he was alone in his room.

​A heavy yawn pulled his consciousness toward the surface, bringing with it the memories of the previous night.

It had been... intense. Unreal. It had defied every calculation, every expectation.

​And yet, it had happened.

​The two of them hadn’t really do anything in the end. They had simply remained in each other’s arms, naked as nature intended, lost in the sanctuary of the thermal waters. Eventually, when their skin grew pruned from the soak, they had retreated.

​Should he have felt disappointed?

​Slave: [Myriad Shade]

​No. No, he wasn’t.

’Myriad Shade,’ Sunny mused. ’If the runes the Elder taught me are true, Thene’s true name means Thousand Shadows, or Myriad Mysteries. The one who has the strength of a thousand shadows, the one who hides countless secrets.’

​With a final yawn, Sunny sat up, the fine wool blankets sliding to the floor. As his black eyes scanned the room, he wondered why his twins maidservants hadn’t arrived to wake him yet.

’​Maybe I just woke up too early,’ he thought, rubbing the last sleep from his eyes.

​Then, he sighed.

Another thought loomed over him: ’Only one week left.’ The vision of War’s followers raking the temple with fire and iron was a persistent, jagged needle in his mind.

’​Why is my First Nightmare so different?’ Sunny wondered. ’Is it because my body was less malnourished than the original Sunless? Or is it because of that mysterious attribute?’

​Attribute: [???]

​It sat there among his runes, standing still, a Pandora’s box of question marks that seemed to mock his every thought.

​Sunny closed his runes. He had time, and the desk was stocked with papyrus and ink. Perhaps putting his thoughts into words would clear the fog. He stood and moved toward the desk, his pace slow and heavy with lingering sleep.

​Then...

​A thunderous explosion, followed by a violent tremor, nearly sent his face into the sharp edge of a cabinet. His reflexes snapped into place just in time to steady him.

​”What the-”

​THUD THUD THUD

​A frantic, violent pounding at the door drew his attention. Sunny scrambled to his feet and threw it open.

​Thene stood there. Gloom and concern haunted her obsidian eyes.

A shallow gash marked her right shoulder, and the black sword in her hand was slick with crimson. Her dress was splattered with blood, though none of it appeared to be her own.

Without a word, she grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him into the hall.

​Sunny opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but the Priestess was already running. She didn’t look back, but she knew exactly what he was going to ask.

​”Thamriel, we are under attack. The curs of War are upon us. Gaston and the guardians are holding the line, but we must reach the Shadow maze. The other children and non-combatants are already there.” Her words were clipped, forced out between the ragged breaths of a survivor who had just fought her way through a slaughter.

’​Already? It’s not possible! They weren’t supposed to be here for-’

​The realization hit him like a physical blow. He remembered the vision of the temple being razed during the first cycles of the reverse-time display. Not the first one. He had assumed they would arrive exactly at the end of the month. He had been careless.

Time was up, ​they were already here. And from the sounds of the screaming, they were winning.

​Sunny and Thene sprinted through the corridors, never looking back.

The Shadow temple was in ruin. The hallways were choked with debris, the rooms had been turned into bonfires made of furniture, and the gardens were a charnel house.

​As they dodged piles of rubble, Sunny saw the bodies. Many were warriors in plate armor adorned with scarlet banners, but more were temple staff. Men, women, elders, and children.

​In a doorway, he saw Eva’s body slumped over, a spear through her chest. Further down, Ava lay in a pool of blood, a neck wound nearly severing her head.

​If the situation had allowed it, Sunny would have wept for the girls who had followed him with such stubborn kindness. They had become a part of his life—a part he had come to cherish. But he couldn’t afford grief. He built a dam behind his eyes and kept running, forcing himself to remember: This is just a dream.

​After minutes of frantic sprinting, they reached the entrance to the Shadow maze. But as they crossed the threshold, their last hopes were crushed.

​The circle of Doric columns lay in ruins. The secret passage to the labyrinth was buried under a mountain of stone, sealing the fate of everyone already inside.

​And in the center of the hall, standing before the rubble, was a monster.

​The warrior was as tall and immovable as a mountain. His eyes were blood-red, and his long brown hair was pulled back, casting a shadow over a face defined by an insatiable thirst for slaughter. He wore a black armor and a crimson cloak that left his massive, scarred arms exposed. A greatsword resting on his shoulders, held in his left hand.

​He was a Master.

​Sunny stood paralyzed, petrified by the Champion’s overwhelming aura.

It wasn’t the blood-dripping greatsword that terrified him. The man himself released such a presence that it chased away any foe who dared to gaze upon him.

Usually, under the pawn of a prominent pressure or a fierce fear, a mysterious supporter would stir within Sunny to quell the dread. Yet, even thus, he seemed to fall back under the Champion’s overwhelming presence—steeled by countless battle.

​The Master’s right arm was raised, holding an old man by the throat, hoisting him into the air.

It was Gaston, the High Priest of Shadows. He was inches away from death.

​”Father!” Thene screamed in desperation.

​The Champion turned his gaze toward her.

​Gaston’s eyes searched for them, whispering a thousand unsaid things.

He looked at them through the haze of defeat, burdened by the shame of failing his temple, yet filled with a profound, tragic joy.

​He looked at Thene, the daughter he had adopted out of gratitude for her saving his flesh and blood years ago.

​He looked at Thamriel—the son he had never been able to call his own. He had felt a flicker of envy for the boy’s divine role, yes, but mostly he felt an immense joy at having watched him grow.

Thamriel, the child born of the woman Gaston had loved in secret, a forbidden passion.

​With his final breath, the High Priest offered his children one last command. His hoarse, yet firmly voice barely a whisper.

​”Fly, you fools!”

​SNAP

​The Champion of War broke Gaston’s neck as easily as a dry olive branch.

​Thene let out a primal, furied shriek and threw herself at the Master, her blade raised high. The Champion intercepted her assault with the flat of his greatsword.

Their blades clashed with a thunderous wave that shook the entire room, sending clouds of dust swirling in the air.

Next, sparks of steel filled the hall in a dance of dark shadows and crimson iron.

A fight between Masters took place.