Shadow Slave

Sunny remained silent for a long time, staring at the black mask. The tranquil sea of his soul was still and silent... not at all like the storm that was currently raging in his heart.

After a while, he thought:

'That Weaver was one sly guy… girl… person… being? Well, the fact that I don't even know that much only serves to prove the point. And I thought I was good at deceit and manipulation.'

How devious one must be to not let even the gods, even the Nightmare Spell know anything about them?

But it was fitting, in a strange kind of way. If Weaver's domain was that of fate, there was no other way. Fate was a terrifying, but subtle tool. Manipulating it to your advantage required a very special kind of genius, one that was directly opposite to any kind of directness, straightforwardness, and brutal power.

However, if given the choice, Sunny would have preferred to face War God in battle than to make someone like Weaver his enemy.

Masterful liars were far more dangerous than deadly warriors. He knew it better than most.

…Exiting the Soul Sea, Sunny hesitated for a little and then summoned the Weaver's Mask. The cool wooden surface of the mask appeared on his face, held in place by some invisible force.

Immediately, his vision changed slightly. Everything became sharper, clearer, more vivid. Sunny could feel the mask reaching into his eyes and connecting to something — the strange legacy he had inherited by consuming the drop of Weaver's blood. He sensed his intuition becoming more potent, too.

It was as though he could almost see the mysterious strings of fate that span across the entire world.

…Almost.

Glancing at the pile of dust that remained of the prisoner, Sunny frowned slightly.

The identity of the person who had been wearing the Weaver's Mask remained a secret. Just who had this corpse belonged to, and how had they ended up chained to the floor in a hidden dungeon cell beneath the majestic cathedral?

The easiest thing to assume was that it was Weaver themselves, but Sunny dismissed that theory immediately.

was just below that of the gods… and that of the Unknown, perhaps. If Weaver appeared on the Forgotten Shore, the whole Dark City

could have been wearing Weaver's Mask? Some powerful carrier of the

'Well…'

there been priests and followers of Weaver? The message the prisoner had left behind sounded awfully close to a prayer. Had that

sighed. There was no way

had this one day to finish all the

to the place where he had left his shadow and took a look at himself through its eyes. What he saw made him blink a couple of

'Huh…'

sat snuggly on his face, hiding his features. He couldn't even see his eyes, which were drowned in

and the next one, it did not. It was sort of similar to how people's

'How fun!'

careful to hide the context clues about himself while wearing the mask. Mundane things like the way he walked, his usual mannerisms, and other subtle but unique

himself appear as something else, Sunny would have to put

he was practicing the Shadow Dance, then. Was it

'What a wonderful coincidence...'

to test if

nervous. His lips became dry, and he unconsciously tried to lick them… but now there was a mask on his face, so he couldn't. That bad habit

let's do

mouth, Sunny said out

"I am… very tall!"

expecting the familiar pain

…But there was nothing.

of times,

mask, a wide grin appeared

exquisitely handsome. But that is not all, I am incredibly honest and nice, too. Every girl I meet immediately falls in love with me. Boys, too! That's just how lovable, handsome,

There was no pain, no pressure. In fact,