Past Sunny walked without hesitation, his steps measured but instinctive. Future Sunny watched him, an odd sense of pride curling in his chest. This time, his younger self was different—not the arrogant, scared fool he once was, but something else entirely. He carried himself with confidence and caution, observing every detail around him.
The grand hall pulsed with activity. Students filed in, their luggage piled high, their clothes polished and fashionable. Sunny and Nephis, however, had nothing—no bags, no fancy clothes, nothing to call their own. Future Sunny felt a flicker of pity.
Nephis stood tall, composed despite the quiet judgment settling on her. Sunny, meanwhile, was an enigma—not despised for being the insane kid from the Outskirts, but avoided for something far more instinctual. He wasn't just a nameless nobody in the crowd—he felt like a bad omen, something people unconsciously recoiled from without understanding why.
Future Sunny smirked. Better. Much better.
As Past Sunny approached Castor's group, Future Sunny felt something shift in his perception. He had hated Castor. Resented him. Before, it had been personal, wrapped in misplaced rage and insecurity.
But now, he saw Castor for what he truly was—a piece in the machine, a mere pawn in a larger game.
The conversation started similarly, but this time, as Past Sunny stood before the group, Future Sunny watched the words twist with his own amusement and detachment.
Castor's gaze lingered, studying Sunny with a faint unease—like sensing something was off, but unable to pinpoint what.
Future Sunny chuckled.
"You don't recognize it, do you?" he murmured to himself. "You think he's just some street rat with an attitude."
Castor spoke, his voice carrying the usual mixture of condescension and passive dismissal.
Past Sunny responded with something unexpected—a quiet, deliberate pause before speaking. His tone was even, unsettling in its precision.
The group shifted, their reactions subtle but telling.
No, they weren't looking at him as an annoyance this time.
They were instinctively wary.
And of course, Past Sunny had to make a scene.
"You know I got a divine Aspect, right? Oh, and I also killed a tyrant, and even—"
Future Sunny sighed as his younger self continued to babble on about his first Nightmare, waiting until Past Sunny finally took his seat next to Cassia.
The moment played out much like before—her eyes flicking toward him with curiosity.
Both Sunnys exhaled.
One, uncomfortable with sitting next to someone destined for death.
The other, wary—knowing Cassie's future and what it meant. Knowing that she was the soon-to-be Song of the Fallen.
"What do I do?" Future Sunny groaned. His feelings on Cassie were complicated—yes, she had betrayed him, taken away his freedom, but she had also sacrificed so much to give him the choice back.
But before he could dwell on this dilemma, a bear-like man took the stage and began addressing the crowd of dreamers.
The lecture continued, shifting toward the introduction of Nightmare Gates, the explanation of their existence, their purpose.
Future Sunny smirked, the irony too rich to ignore.
"All this knowledge about Nightmare Gates and the Dream Realm, yet we still can't stop our world from being overrun."
The thought slipped through his mind like an echo, the weight of it heavier than any of the students could possibly understand.
But then—the day carried on.
Sunny entered his dorm, settling into his space and finally diving into his soul sea. His eyes scanned the information presented before him, curiosity quickly morphing into frustration.
Future Sunny watched with mild amusement as Past Sunny tried—and failed—to make sense of his attribute [Shadow Guide.]. However, he too was concerned. The spell wasn't refusing to translate the runes; rather, they were jumbled up with no discernible pattern.
Hopefully, this mystery would sort itself out, as both Sunnys were far too tired to care. Sleep tugged at them, their minds sluggish from the effort of deciphering something that refused to be understood.
Future Sunny exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. This wasn't normal. The spell had structure, logic, a way of being unraveled with persistence. Yet these runes... they writhed, shifting as if aware of their scrutiny, mocking their attempts to bring order to chaos.
Past Sunny furrowed his brows, his exhaustion momentarily overridden by frustration. "This isn't just a bad translation," he muttered. "It's like—like the meaning itself is fragmented."
Future Sunny frowned, his amusement fading. He glanced at the spell again, at the tangled mess of runes twisting in unnatural configurations. [Shadow Guide.] was struggling against something unseen, something beyond its usual precision.
Had someone deliberately ensured this spell couldn't be understood?
The thought settled uneasily in future Sunnys mind, and an unspoken worry was felt by his past self. Both Sunnys instinctually felt warry but they ignored it—because, in truth, neither of them wanted to deal with the implications.
For now, exhaustion won. But the mystery remained, waiting.
Dinner came and went, a fleeting moment lost to routine. Future Sunny barely noticed—food was just another necessity, another step before the next inevitable task. Past Sunny, however, took note. The silence at the table he shared with himself. The conversations of other sleepers and the mouthwatering food he wolfed down.
Then—the interview.
Predictable. Routine. Questions asked, answers given. A dance performed before so Future Sunny hardly paid attention. It meant nothing. Just another formality. But Past Sunny felt it—the weight of every word, the pressure to respond just right.
Then—sleep.
Or at least, the attempt.
And that's when everything fractured.
Darkness stretched within his Soul Sea, the waters unnaturally still, heavy with something unseen. A suffocating silence settled over the vast expanse, thick with the weight of expectation.
Past Sunny stood alone, sensing the shift before he truly understood it. His breath was slow, measured—but his skin prickled, instinct screaming that something had changed.
Then—a presence.
A shape, barely visible, lurking at the edge of perception.
Future Sunny was there, trapped in a form that refused to solidify—a wraith, barely seen, barely real. He was slipping, dissolving into shadow, his very existence buckling under unseen forces.
He tried to speak.
Nothing.
His past self stirred uneasily, shifting on instinct, breath shallow, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. Something was watching.
Future Sunny gritted his teeth.
"Listen to me."
Nothing.
Silence pressed in, swallowing his words, as if the very fabric of the Soul Sea rejected his presence. His frustration grew, mounting into something dangerously close to panic.
Then—the shades reacted.
Future Sunny felt it before Past Sunny did—the shift, the pulse, the instinctual pull of shadows coiling, advancing toward him. A force stirred within him, something innate, something deep.
He lifted a hand.
"HALT!"
And without hesitation—they froze.
Past Sunny's breath hitched, his pulse thudding wildly against his ribs.
"Isn't… isn't this my power? I thought I was Shadow's heir."
The words trembled between them, sharp with uncertainty, unraveling something fundamental within him. A legacy questioned. A truth fractured.
Future Sunny stood still, watching, waiting. He knew what came next.
Past Sunny turned—then ran.
The Soul Sea shuddered, rippling outward in unnatural waves, the weight of the moment bending reality itself.
And then—the creature appeared.
Dark. Formless. Waiting.
Past Sunny stumbled back, his mind scrambling to process what was happening, his body betraying him in its panic. It was watching him. Measuring him.
Future Sunny felt the pull—the inevitable collapse of the moment, the unraveling of the fragile balance between past and future.
And as the wraith reached for him—