Fate's Slave - Shadow Slave X Honkai Star Rail

Sunny did not rush, because there was no benefit in doing so when working with something that demanded precision above all else. His movements were measured, deliberate, and entirely devoid of wasted motion as he lifted the massive hammer, its weight settling naturally into his grip as though it had always belonged there. When he brought it down upon the antlers of the Abundant Ebon Deer, the impact did not explode outward in a dramatic display of destruction. Instead, it was controlled, focused, the force directed exactly where it needed to be.

The Transcendent material resisted him.

For a fraction of a moment, it held, its structure straining against the overwhelming force pressing down upon it. Then it gave way, fractures spreading through its surface in jagged, branching patterns before collapsing inward under the relentless repetition of Sunny’s strikes. The sound that followed was heavy and rhythmic, each impact echoing through the shadow-sealed chamber like a steady heartbeat, reinforcing the singular focus that had overtaken him.

He struck again, and then again, each blow reducing the antlers further, breaking them down from solid bone into uneven fragments, and from fragments into something finer. There was no impatience in the process, no attempt to force an outcome faster than it could be achieved. Sunny simply continued, his augmented strength ensuring that each strike carried the necessary weight, while his control ensured that nothing was wasted in the process.

By the time he stopped, the resistance had disappeared entirely.

What remained could no longer be called antlers in any meaningful sense. It had been reduced to a fine, pale powder that carried a faint, unnatural glow, the residual Abundance within it still present despite the drastic change in form. The material lingered where it had fallen, scattered across the surface in a way that suggested fragility, though Sunny knew better than to underestimate it.

Without ceremony, he allowed the hammer to dissolve.

Its massive form unraveled into shadow, dispersing into nothingness as though it had never existed at all. In its place, something more refined took shape, a shadow jar forming in his hand with quiet precision. It was simple in design, functional rather than ornate, yet more than sufficient for its purpose. Carefully, without losing a single grain, Sunny gathered the powder and transferred it into the container, sealing it once the last of it had been secured within.

Then he paused.

Rather, it was a moment of consideration, a brief acknowledgment of the next step and what it would require. His gaze lingered on the jar, the faint glow within reflecting subtly against his eyes as his thoughts aligned with the decision he was about to make.

Then, without further delay, he reached inward.

Tingyun answered.

She emerged from shadow with fluid grace, her form assembling itself from darkness as though she had always been present, merely unseen until now. Her appearance was familiar, yet undeniably altered. Her body was entirely pitch black, a silhouette given shape and depth, her sclera matching that same void-like darkness while her eyes burned with a soft, flickering flame that provided the only true illumination within her gaze.

The Puppeteer’s Shroud rested upon her naturally, its silk-like material flowing around her frame with quiet elegance. It was light, flexible, and deceptively simple in appearance, yet there was an underlying resilience to it that spoke of its true nature.

Sunny studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

”Are you sure?”

The question was simple, stripped of the usual distortion that accompanied his masked voice. There was no theatrics behind it, no layered meaning. It was direct in a way that reflected the nature of the situation itself.

Tingyun smiled.

It was an easy expression, unburdened by hesitation or concern, as though the potential consequences of her Flaw carried no real weight in her mind. There was no tension in her posture, no flicker of uncertainty in her burning eyes.

”It’ll just be for a few moments. At most, I might forget what I ate on a random day a decade ago.”

Sunny did not immediately respond.

His gaze lingered on her, searching, analyzing, attempting to find any indication that she was underestimating what she was offering. Her Flaw was not something trivial. [Past To Ash] did not discriminate in what it consumed, and the loss it inflicted could not be recovered once it took hold.

And yet, she remained completely unconcerned.

That, more than anything, made the decision difficult.

Still, he extended the jar toward her.

Trust, for Sunny, was never blind. It was calculated, measured, and rooted in understanding rather than emotion. Tingyun was his Shadow. She was bound to him in a way that transcended simple loyalty.

She would not deceive him.

At least, that was what logic dictated.

Tingyun accepted the jar without hesitation, her fingers curling around it with an ease that suggested familiarity despite the novelty of the situation. With her other hand, she raised a single finger, and from its tip, a small flame flickered into existence.

The effect on Sunny was immediate.

A subtle surge of energy coursed through him, spreading not through his body in a physical sense, but through his mind. It was warmth, but not the kind that could be measured or defined easily. It was something deeper, something that resonated with him in a way that felt almost instinctive.

Understanding followed quickly.

Her flames did not merely burn. They stoked, igniting something within others, feeding into their potential in a way that was both beneficial and, at the same time, vaguely unsettling.

Sunny could feel the advantage.

He could also feel the risk.

The exact nature of that risk remained unclear, but its presence was undeniable.

Tingyun, however, paid it no mind.

With a small, almost absent motion, she lowered her finger into the jar.

The reaction was gradual rather than explosive.

The powder did not ignite or react violently. Instead, it began to soften, the fine particles melting together as though drawn by an unseen force, reforming into something more cohesive. It was a quiet transformation, subtle yet undeniable as the material shifted from a loose, granular state into something far more solid.

The Abundant Ebon Deer had never been a creature defined by durability. Its strength lay in regeneration, in its ability to recover rather than resist. Stripped of that defining trait, its remains were far more susceptible to manipulation than one might expect from something of its Rank.

Sunny moved.

One pair of hands reached for the fabrics, drawing them together with practiced efficiency as Weaver’s Needle came into play. The tool moved with precision, guided by both memory and instinct as it stitched at a speed that would have been impossible under normal circumstances.

The materials were chosen with care.

Sunny did not rely on a predefined pattern, nor did he hesitate in his decisions. His experience sewing clothes guided him, refined further by Shadow Dance and supported by the logical framework provided by [The War].

At the same time, his remaining four hands began their own work.

The Spellweave formed.

Threads of Shadow Essence extended outward, connecting to the remaining Transcendent Soul Shards, using them as anchors to elevate the entire construct beyond its natural limitations. The process was intricate, far more delicate than the physical act of sewing, yet Sunny navigated it with the same level of control.

There was a limit to what he could do.

He could feel it clearly.

If the disparity in Rank grew too large, the strain would not reinforce his Essence, but rather tear it apart. For now, however, the balance held, the structure stabilizing as the foundation of the Memory took shape.

Tingyun eventually placed the jar down.

Sunny spared it a glance, his attention briefly shifting as he observed the result of her work. The contents had changed entirely. What had once been powder was now a condensed, solid mass, something resembling bone yet far denser, refined into a form far more suitable for shaping.

The jar dissolved, leaving the material behind.

Without hesitation, Sunny created new tools, smaller and more precise. A hammer and pick formed in two of his hands, which immediately set to work carving the boney stone into a refined shape. Each strike was controlled, each adjustment deliberate as the raw material was transformed into something ornate.

All the while, the sewing continued, and the Spellweave expanded, the two processes unfolding simultaneously without conflict as Weaver’s Needle switched between stitching and Weaving with startling dexterity. His mind did not fracture under the strain. There was no loss of focus, no hesitation in execution, because [The War] filled every gap, ensuring that everything progressed in perfect Harmony.

When the foundation was complete, Sunny slowed — not in motion, but in thought.

This was the critical stage.

The enchantments.

He had four Soul Shards.

Four potential enhancements.

Or fewer, if he chose to concentrate their power.

He chose two.

The first enchantment took shape within the weave, forming a structured pattern that granted significant resistance to heat while also providing a moderate defense against other elemental influences. It was practical, reliable, and aligned perfectly with the second enchantment.

The second was more specialized.

It was inspired by something he had seen before, yet altered to suit his needs. The armor would regenerate, not through the expenditure of Essence, but through exposure to heat, drawing strength from the very element it resisted.

The synergy was intentional.

The design was complete.

As the final piece fell into place, the boney stone locked into its position, forming an ornate belt that gleamed faintly like gold under the ambient light. The entire construct stabilized, its existence solidifying as a true Memory.

Then, in an instant, it vanished.

Particles of light scattered briefly before settling within his Soul Sea, the Spell responding with quiet finality.

[You have received a Memory.]