Shadow Slave

Out there in front of the Great Mirror—a reflection of an illusion of the Great Mirror, to be precise—a man was sitting on the cold stone floor, strumming an old guitar. The slow, wistful melody echoed in the dim expanse of the vast chamber, reflecting from its distant walls. The dead silence that reigned in the depths of the mountain served as an opulent background for the melody, making each note feel full and rich. As Sunny and Effie entered the chamber of the Great Mirror, the man hummed in a low, pleasant voice.

“Mmmmm... mmmm... mmmmmm...”

Sunny did not know what he had expected the Castellan to look like. However, he definitely did not expect him to be wearing cheap, torn jeans and a faded windbreaker jacket. The man was sitting with his back to the gates, facing the covered mirror—so, they could not see his face. However, they did see that his hair was long and disheveled, in dire need of a brush and shampoo.

”Mmmmm... oh, all of us will dream... mmmm... the nightmare... of the...”

Sunny and Effie glanced at each other.

The Castellan—they were sure that it was him—looked perfectly mundane. He did not show any signs of aggression, either, or any signs of having noticed them at all. Instead, he seemed completely focused on casually picking the strings of his guitar and humming a quiet song in the silence of the underground chamber.

That song was quite eerie, though. Sunny could not make out all of the words, but they sounded cold and ominous, even if the man singing them did not put any emotion except slight melancholy into his voice. Something about him looked familiar.

They moved forward cautiously, circling the Castellan from both sides. When Sunny finally caught a glimpse of his face, he halted for a moment.

‘I’ve seen him before...’

The man was not at all kempt, but his weathered face was handsome... subtly beautiful, even.

”Wait. Isn’t he...”

Effie’s voice sounded surprised.

She had a reason to be bewildered, too. ‘Wait a minute:

As it turned out, the Castellan had been near them this whole time. Sunny could remember at least two instances of meeting him—or, rather, noticing him in the background. There were probably more that had gone unnoticed.

The man... was the street musician who had been playing his guitar near the Mirage City Center for Troubled Youths on the day they visited it. He had also been near the psychiatric hospital where Saint worked on the day they kidnapped the Other Mordret. In hindsight, his presence in both places was strange... what kind of musician would busk outside on a rainy day, when everyone was huddled inside? It made little sense. But Sunny had not paid him any attention. The ragged street musician had been merely one of the many nameless extras populating Mirage City... he had been nothing more than a part of the background.

So, they had seen him, walked past him, and failed to recognize him for what he truly was.

The Castellan. The custodian of the Palace of Imagination, and the ancient reflection who had usurped the authority over the Great Mirror.

However...

Those were not the only two times Sunny had seen this man. Effie might have been surprised because she recognized the Castellan as the unassuming street musician, but Sunny had a different reason. In truth, he had seen him even before coming to Mirage City.

The street musician was older, and his face was much more weathered. The clothes were different, and his hair was much longer now. The lower part of his face was covered by a beard, which had not been there before—but there was no mistaking it.

Sunny had seen him in one of the visions bestowed upon him in Ariel’s Game.

”He’s Omer of the Nine.”

His voice sounded even.

Indeed, the Castellan was none other than one of the Nine—a blind poet famed for his songs, who joined Prince Eurys and the rest of them in the quest to slay the gods.

By now, Sunny knew or at least suspected what missions some of the Nine had been meant to complete. Aletheia had been tasked with finding the truth in the depths of Ariel’s Tomb. Aemedon the Sculptor had been tasked with building a trap for the gods by delivering that truth to the Demon of Destiny. Orphne... Slayer... had been giver the gravest task of all—to kill Weaver, the Demon of Fate.

In which she had succeeded twice.

Eurys had become a slave. And while the details of Auro’s mission were still unknown, it was apparently the most distressing of them all.

Sunny did not know what task the blind poet, Omer, had received either. However, he knew that Omer’s fate had been to become lost in illusions. Now, he understood what that meant... 𐍂ãΝȯᛒĘŞ

Omer of the Nine had been sent to the realm of Mirage, the Demon of Imagination. His purpose was unknown, but it had probably been tied to convincing Mirage to answer Nether’s call and fight side by side with his siblings in the Doom War. Daemons were not the most affectionate of siblings, after all. Nether himself had ignored Hope’s imprisonment for a thousand years. So, if one thought about it, it was actually strange that all of them—all except Weaver—had risen up against the gods together.

‘Some of the Nine must have been sent to other daemons, as well... like Omer.”

As Sunny walked past the Castellan and saw his face clearly, he also saw something far more morbid. In front of the seated man, fourteen human eyes were placed in a half-circle, staring at him with glassy pupils.

Effie cursed quietly.

‘The victims of the Nihilist... were all missing their eyes.

So that was where the missing eyes had gone.

Sunny felt a chill run down his spine.

At that moment, the Castellan fell silent and stopped playing his old guitar. He remained motionless for a few seconds, then raised his head and looked at Sunny.

His own eyes were clear and blue like the sea.

“I am not Omer of the Nine.”

The Castellan’s voice was calm and emotionless.

“I am merely the reflection of Omer of the Nine. I am the custodian of the Palace of Imagination.”