Sunless lay on his back, arms slack, legs sprawled like he had forgotten what his body was for. The stone beneath him was oddly smooth—worn down by time or water or things older than either. It held the warmth of the cave, or maybe of the bodies inside it, damp and slow and radiant with the shimmer of life. Or something like it.
His breath came in shallow draws. Not from exertion. Not from pain. Just… the weight of it all. The weight of her.
Nephis straddled him.
Her body gleamed in the blue-green pulse of bioluminescent moss clinging to the cavern walls. The soft, living glow cast long shadows across her ribs, her throat, the arch of her spine. Sweat glistened like jewels on her pale skin, painting her in a sheen of effortless, eerie beauty. Silver hair fell around her face, wild and wet, the strands catching light like thread spun from starlight.
She looked unreal.
Like a statue carved from moonlight, sculpted into flesh, then broken free from the pedestal just to kneel over him. Everything about her was poised, balanced. Even the curve of her hips felt deliberate—as though the moment itself was being composed around her, breath by breath.
And for a moment—just a moment—Sunless let himself believe in it.
That this was real. That it was hers. That it was his.
He'd forgotten what softness felt like. Not physically. But the quiet kind—the stillness in the aftermath. The silence between breaths when nothing demanded his attention, when the world wasn't already burning around the edges.
Her thighs pressed against his flanks. Her stomach, slick with warmth, hovered just above his. The scent of salt, skin, and stone filled his lungs. It was heavy. Cloying. Heavier than he liked. But he didn't turn away.
The serpent tattoo on his back shifted as she moved—a sinuous shadow, alive in the glow, coiling with slow purpose.
And still, Sunless lay there.
Not because he trusted her.
But because something in this moment—this strange, aching stillness—felt like the kind of illusion he could afford to drown in, if only for a minute. One minute. One breath. One—
Her hand touched his throat.
Lightly. Almost absently.
His pulse twitched against her fingers. He barely noticed it. At first.
He stared up at her, and she was looking down at him—not with lust. Not with heat.
With calm. With that unsettling Nephis sort of stillness. As though nothing moved beneath her skin. As though her breath was optional.
And yet she was here. On top of him. All around him.
Her fingers were so small.
So slender.
So sure.
They tightened.
Not much. Not all at once. Just a subtle shift—like a dancer adjusting her posture. It felt... intimate. Not strange. Not yet.
Sunless blinked slowly.
Her palm was cool. Her thumb resting at the base of his throat, just under his jaw. A delicate cradle. A sensual one. Almost a lover's gesture. And maybe that's why he let it happen.
Because something in him wanted to see where it would go.
Where *she* would go.
He had fought monsters. Broken cities. Killed and conquered. And none of that had ever unnerved him. But now?
Now there was a hum behind his ears. A slowing. His breath, which had once been shallow from peace, now struggled to deepen. His chest rose. Didn't quite fall.
The pressure increased.
Still slow. Still quiet.
A little more.
Just a little.
And the softness of the moment shattered.
His vision blurred at the edges. His limbs grew heavy—like the world had thickened, like time was beginning to melt. Her hand—her small, delicate hand—was the center of it all.
The focal point of a closing world.
He tried to move. To speak.
He didn't.
Couldn't.
Because now, he understood.
This wasn't a caress.
This wasn't passion.
This wasn't love.
It was precision.
It was control.
It was the careful, intentional squeeze of a hand that had already decided this was the end.
Nephis wasn't *holding* him.
She was killing him.
And as the light dimmed around the cave, as her form above him became more shadow than flesh, Sunless realized something else.
He wasn't sure if she had always meant to.
Or if this was simply… the moment she stopped pretending otherwise.
'*'
Five days.
That was how long they had given themselves to prepare. Five days of frantic motion, quiet coordination, and whispered plans behind closed doors. In that brief span, food was stockpiled with almost military precision, Memories were bought, traded, and even stolen when needed. Crumbling scrolls and weather-stained logs were poured over, compared line by line, as routes were mapped and contingency plans etched into memory. And most critically, new Sleepers were recruited—brought into the fold from the fringes of the Bright Castle and the shadowed alleys of the slums.
Officially, it was Sunless—now titled the Duke of the Dark City—who bore the mantle of responsibility for this new expedition to recover the shard Memories. But the true effort belonged to others.
Effie, sharp-tongued and grounded by experience, had already participated in the gathering of a shard. She was essential. Her insight cut through guesswork, naming beasts and unseen perils with offhand confidence. Poisonous fogs, illusions, aberrations that stalked sound instead of light—Effie had seen them before. She spoke plainly and insisted on caution, especially regarding provisions. "You want to get eaten, fine. But don't I won't starve, you idiots."
Cassie contributed with her visions and strategy. In her soft, even voice, she described places she had never seen—places where ghosts wailed without lungs, where specters fed on guilt, where a guardian that could phase from the material world waited in silence. Her foresight was eerie, but never questioned. Not anymore.
Then there was Nephis, radiant and composed. She lent not just her combat prowess and training, but her people. The denizens of the slums—suspicious of Gunlaug's rule and unmoved by titles—trusted her. When she spoke, they listened. And when she said to follow Sunless, a few of them did.
Caster and Alice had remained behind in the Bright Castle. Caster was quickly recruited as a Hunter, his charm, speed, and sharp reflexes drawing the attention of local factions. Alice, ever enterprising, had struck a deal with the Handmaidens. It turned out that in the decaying beauty of the Forgotten Shore, people craved escape—be it a fleeting high, good food,entertaining music and dances or the company of something lovely. She provided all of it.
Sunless himself had disappeared into the depths of the Dark City, harvesting the fruit of the soul-devouring tree. He hunted fallen creatures that resisted the echo's call, destroying or claiming them, one by one. In between those grim duties, he worked on a quiet side project with Serpent, slipping into isolation for days at a time without explanation.
But now, the preparations were complete.
The expedition team had swelled to over twenty Sleepers, drawn from Nephis's Host, Effie's contacts, and the emerging ranks of the Duke himself. Beneath the fractured sky of the Forgotten Shore, beneath a bloodless moon that cast no warmth, they moved like shadows.
Sunless exhaled, the night air biting at his skin. He stood still in the dark, shadows swirling faintly at his feet. Gloomy and Happy, his trusted ones, had slithered ahead into an abandoned stairwell, their senses peeling through the gloom. If the way was clear, they would signal the rest of the expedition to move up and establish their first camp.
So far, they had only traveled for four hours. Progress had been slow but steady. The ruins surrounding them—half-collapsed buildings, narrow alleys where twisted remnants of the old city clung to life—forced detours. But they were ahead of schedule. If they kept pace, they would reach the walls of the Dark City before sunrise.
Using the borrowed sight of his shadows, Sunless surveyed the building ahead. The world came to him in monochrome: an old Victorian-style structure, its grandeur faded beneath layers of grime and time. It was hollow now, save for a few cracked paintings and warped furniture. Compared to the small, sacred space where he'd suspect a church girl to have lived in and hid the soul shards of the bird spawn, this place felt… impoverished. Like the ghost of wealth, buried under dust.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a movement beside him.
One of the Pathfinders emerged—short, wiry, nearly invisible in the blue-grey shrub camouflage that clung to his frame. He wore no armor, no gleaming Memory. Just leaves, cloth, and silence.
He didn't speak. Pathfinders didn't need to.
Their first language was hand signs—precise, brief, and impossible to mistake in the dark. The bushman raised one hand, flicked two fingers upward. Continue? Advance?
Sunless responded in kind, two fingers bent sharply. Quickly. In pairs.
Without a word, the man vanished back into the dark.
Sunless crouched and carved a symbol into the dirt with a makeshift knife: a circle with an arrow rising from its center. A signal to future Pathfinders. Safe passage. Temporary shelter. The kind of quiet, unspoken knowledge that would outlive voices.
His neck cracked as he rolled it side to side. The pressure was building. He was the expedition's primary scout, yes—but more than that, its leader. Every decision, every step forward or back, every victory and death… they would all be his to carry.
Just like the weight of the three women who walked with him now—Cassie, Nephis, and Effie. Their faith had been given freely.
Now he had to prove he was worthy of it.
'*'
Dried meat could be surprisingly tasty—if one knew how to prepare it properly. And the Host, as ragtag and savage as they might seem, knew exactly how to do that. Smoky, peppered strips of sinewy beast flesh, spiced just enough to hide their strange origins, were stacked neatly beside bundles of dried fruits and stale but hearty bread. All were divided with militant fairness among the twenty stalwart explorers.
Fairness, however, was not always enough. Not for Effie.
To her, equality was an amusing joke. A guideline at best. Maybe that's why she had cornered Sunless barely an hour after they'd settled into their temporary camp at the crumbling remains of a once-luxurious estate.
"We're going on a quick hunt," she had said, her voice chipper as ever, eyes gleaming. "Quickly."
Normally, Sunless would have refused. Venturing out from the relative safety of the ruins at night, with unknown horrors prowling every alley and rooftop, was not just foolish—it was asking for death. But then she explained her Aspect. And her Flaw.
"It's very simple," she'd said with a grin, gesturing broadly as if discussing the weather and not the curse gnawing at her insides. "My Aspect does enhance my strength or speed. But my flaw?It cranks the rest up to eleven. Hunger, thirst, —you name it."
She gave a rueful laugh, shaking her head. "Why do you think I ate enough meat to create a literal pile of gnawed bones the other day? For fun?"
She smirked. "Okay, partially for fun. But still…"
The truth had been sobering. The price of having the strength of ten men was being shackled with the hunger of ten men, too. Out here, where edible meat was a miracle and clean water came with bloodshed, that flaw wasn't a quirk—it was a death sentence.
Sunless had stared at her then, something cold and sympathetic in his eyes. Most people would laugh it off, tease her about her appetite. But not him. He knew what true hunger did to a person. The kind that didn't just make your stomach twist, but your thoughts, too. Hunger that made people feral, selfish, desperate.
Maybe that was why Effie had become a huntress. Not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice.
'What other physical needs do people have?' Sunless had wondered. 'Air. Water. Food. Then… uh… huh?'
The thought trailed off as they crossed the shattered threshold of the estate, stepping into the moonless dark.
Before leaving, Effie had rattled off her rules in that breezy, bossy way of hers.
"Follow me. Stay close. Don't bleed. Don't talk. Don't even think too loudly. Some of the monsters out here hear thoughts like how we hear footfalls. And don't feel fear, either."
Sunless had stared at her, jaw tight.
"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
She grinned. "What? You never tried solving math equations in your head to impress a girl? Just do that. Don't think about dying. Think about algebra."
As he was preparing a dry retort, Effie added one more with a wicked grin. "Doofus, if walking behind me is too distracting, just ask for a slap."
He scowled, but the truth was, **she was distracting**. Too distracting. And not just her quick wit and sharp tongue, but the way she moved. Her body, tight and controlled, always in motion, always graceful despite the wildness around her. Her laugh, that infectious, throaty sound, pulling at something inside of him. He felt the pull of her energy, something magnetic about her presence. Sunless cleared his throat, trying to push aside that hot, twisted feeling in his stomach.
'I really need to get some', he thought wryly, but that only made it worse. He couldn't stop noticing how damn good she looked, how that smirk of hers made his heart race a little faster.
As the hunt went on, he had to constantly remind himself that there were countless horrors hiding in the ominous shadows of the Dark City. One wrong turn could land them in dire peril. In this ancient ruin, they had no choice but to entrust their lives to the hands of their guide.
Luckily, the guide in question was not a morose dead poet, but a tall,fit and busty young woman clad in a pleasantly revealing archaic armor. In their current circumstances, Sunless much preferred the company of a warrior to that of a useless scribbler.
In fact, circumstances had nothing to do with it. He was having trouble imagining any situation where a writer would be helpful to have around. From what he knew, all writers were lazy, talentless hacks whose only real skill was finagling money out of honest people while getting off on torturing them with sadistic cliffhangers.
Not to mention that none of them had a backside like Effie… uh… wait, what?
'I really need to get some… ugh.' Sunless frowned, irritated, but the thought lingered, threatening to derail his focus. He reminded himself to keep his emotions in check. Keep it together, man. Focus.
Their bickering continued in hushed tones as they slipped deeper into the veins of the Dark City. And no—he wasn't on the losing end. It was a draw.
The ruins around them were a choking tangle of stone and shadow, a labyrinth of silent avenues choked by rubble and strangled vines. The buildings leaned like dying things, skeletal and crumbling, their hollow windows staring out into the abyss with broken-glass eyes. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of mildew, soot, and something older—something forgotten. Like grief. Or ash.
With every step, Sunless had to remind himself that there were things in this city older than the nightmares that roamed it. Spirits of places, ruins with memories. Some watched. Some wandered. And others… hungered.
Effie led them with a hunter's certainty, ducking through collapsed entryways, weaving through courtyards littered with mossy bones and rusted remnants of a long-dead civilization. Sometimes they crouched low and waited, breaths held, as unseen things slithered past in the darkness. Other times, they climbed—up rotted stairwells, over broken roofs, along precarious planks laid by hands long dead.
Despite all this, Effie moved with unrelenting grace, hunger gnawing at her belly but never slowing her stride. The hunt drove her, but control defined her. She was all tight muscle and sharp instincts, more beast than girl. More blade than flesh. It wasn't just that she looked good in the dim light of the ruins—it was that she exuded strength. Power.
Sunless had to admit, there was something primal in how she held herself. Something that made his chest tighten and his mind wander to darker places. He couldn't help but notice how damn much she turned his head. The way her voice trilled in that teasing, melodic rhythm made him ache. And god, the heat between them… He tried to ignore it. But it was impossible.
Then something changed.
Sunless stiffened as a whisper of sensation brushed across the edge of his mind—his connection to Happy, his shadow, flaring with sudden alertness. The little creature, crawling ahead through the cracks and gloom, had seen something. Something not of this world.
A pinprick of blue in the sky. Tiny. Fragile. Like a star that had lost its way.
But in the endless black of the Forgotten Shore, that dot of color may as well have been a sun.
"Effie…" he hissed. "To the right. Up. Light in the sky."
She turned, slowly, warily. And for once, her teasing smirk was gone. In its place: pure confusion. And fear.
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then she spoke, quiet and final. "We're heading back. Now."
There was no room for argument in her tone. Sunless didn't argue. He knew what it took to scare a woman like Effie—and if that ghost of a light had done it, then there were worse things in the sky than hunger.
She didn't even glance at the horizon again. She turned and started moving, fast and fluid, all trace of casual swagger gone. The hunt was over.
The thought of food had vanished from her mind completely.
And that terrified him more than anything else.