Shadow Slave - Time Dilation

Sunny sat still, cup in hand.

The coffee had long since cooled.

Steam no longer curled above the rim—only silence.

Just a breath of warmth left at the bottom. A single sip.

Untouched.

His fingers curled loosely around the porcelain.

Not gripping.

Just… holding.

As if to forget what it meant to let things go.

Across from him, the world was quiet.

No voices.

No tension.

Just the soft hush of the Ivory Tower breathing around them.

Nephis had drifted.

Her cup lay abandoned on the table—tilted slightly, forgotten halfway through a gesture.

Its surface caught the morning light in ripples.

A reflection.

A memory.

Not quite awake. Not quite gone.

She had slumped sideways at some point.

Gracefully, yet without care—

her head nestled gently against his shoulder,

the curve of her temple resting near the edge of his collarbone.

She was still.

Peaceful.

The kind of still that came not from weakness,

but from the rare, quiet surrender of someone who rarely could.

Saints weren't built for rest.

Their bodies ran on resilience.

Stamina forged from desperation and duty.

Sleep was optional.

Luxury.

Tactical.

But here…

she had allowed it.

Needed it

Just for a moment.

Just for this.

And Sunny—

he didn't move.

Not even to finish that last sip.

Around them both,

the Serpent lay coiled—half across her lap, half across his.

A dark cord stitching them together.

Its head rested where her thigh met his.

Its tail curved gently along Sunny's ribs.

Not tense. Not alert.

Just… present.

A shadow curled like a child between tired parents.

A silence held its breath.

Time passed unnoticed.

Cassie had long since left.

And Sunny sat there.

Not armored.

Not watching.

Just existing.

With her weight on his shoulder,

and the Serpent wrapped around their quiet like a promise.

A moment passed.

Then another.

Not loud.

Not marked.

Just… passing.

Like a breath drawn without thought.

Like dusk slipping into night.

The world outside stirred with the slow rhythm of morning blooming into day.

Inside, the chamber did not move.

The couch creaked—softly.

Not from weight, but from stillness too long held.

Nephis remained folded against him,

her breath light,

steady.

Each exhale brushing the fabric of his shirt in faint, rhythmic pulses.

Her lashes, pale and still, fluttered once.

Then settled.

The Serpent had shifted once—

a slow, languid motion.

Its inky body stretched slightly,

then relaxed,

sliding deeper into its coil between them.

No defense.

No urgency.

Just comfort.

Sunny sat unchanged.

One hand still around the cup.

One shoulder bearing the weight of her head.

His eyes half-lidded, not closed—

gazing nowhere in particular.

Shadows moved gently across the room,

tilting along the walls,

sliding across the rugs in silence.

Time marked not by clocks,

but by light tracing the passage of hours.

Below them—

faint noises.

Muted steps.

The shuffle of metal.

The low clink of glass on stone.

Fire-keepers, tending to the lower halls.

Quiet.

Careful.

Still not quiet enough to evade a Supreme's ear.

He heard them.

Registered the sounds as one might register the passing of wind.

But he did not stir.

Did not shift.

Did not speak.

There was no need.

Here, in this room of filtered light and breathless silence—

nothing demanded anything of him.

So he remained.

A monarch carved in repose.

A shadow wrapped in warmth.

A memory sitting beside a sleeping flame.

Then—

A voice.

Shaky.

Worried.

Cassie.

[It's…]

It echoed—

not aloud,

but as thought wrapped in trembling breath.

Nephis stirred.

Not with a start—

just a subtle shift.

Her lashes rising like shadows lifting.

Her head, once resting on his shoulder, straightened.

Just enough.

[Ravenheart…]

A pause.

A breath that wasn't physical.

[It's burning.]

No one spoke.

Not at first.

Not when the name of Ravenheart fell like ash through the silent link.

The room held its breath.

So did the Tower.

So did the shadows.

Nephis had already risen, back straightened, fingers curled slightly as if the warmth in her chest had been replaced with frost.

Cassie didn't speak again.

She didn't need to.

The fear was already bleeding through the air.

Then—

The light shifted.

Not dimmer, not darker.

Just wrong.

The way candlelight flickers when no wind blows.

The way silence feels when it's watching you back.

A presence.

Too vast to belong.

Too quiet to be real.

And yet—

It was here.

Sparks flew.

Darkness fluttered.

Memories were called upon.

The shadows around the walls moved.

Not in panic.

In reverence.

And a voice rose—

Not from the room.

Not from the world.

Just… from.

"To wake the dead or let them lie,

Is not for hands, nor hearts, nor eye.

But still you call, and still I hear—

Tell me… what burns more bright than fear?"

Sunny's eyes narrowed.

The shadows behind him stirred.

Not in answer—

In warning.

Whoever—

Whatever

had spoken…

was not a guest.

And just like that—

It was gone.

No sign.

No trace.

But a whisper lingered…

Unheard.

"The eye that sees is never closed."

———

Seishan stood before the Dream Gate—

its threshold trembling with soft, cold static.

It should have opened into Ravenheart.

The obsidian edifice.

The proud inheritance of her blood.

But beyond the veil—

Not Ravenheart.

Not anymore.

Where towers of obsidian once rose,

only shadows remained—

warped silhouettes devoured by slow, cold fire.

The flames did not crackle.

They did not roar.

They whispered.

In silence, they unraveled stone and soul alike,

until all that stood was the memory of ruin

painted in charcoal on a canvas of void.

Only flame.

Black and endless.

It roared without sound,

spilling through the world like a scream held underwater.

Not fire that burned—

but fire that erased.

Seishan's breath caught.

Her lungs remembered fear before her mind could.

Something in her blood whispered: Run.

But still,

she stepped through.

Her boots met stone that pulsed faintly beneath.

Not with life.

But with memory.

And then—

she felt him.

The presence.

Not just near.

Everywhere.

It pressed down without touch.

It did not demand kneeling—

the world simply adjusted.

Behind that presence, the flames shifted,

arching like wings or teeth,

held at bay only by his whim.

Then—

he emerged.

Not from flame.

From the space behind it.

The gap where reality had blinked.

A man.

Young in form.

Impossibly beautiful.

Not perfect.

Just wrong.

Hair like the void between stars,

skin smooth as still water,

pale as shimmering moon-light,

his features sculpted with too much precision—

like a lie so flawless, it hurt to believe.

His eyes were white.

But not bright.

They caught no light,

only swallowed it.

And when he smiled—

it wasn't cruel.

It wasn't kind.

It was intimate.

He tilted his head.

Slowly.

And breathed her in.

"Mm…"

His voice arrived in pieces.

Like thoughts forming mid-dream.

"You carry his scent."

"Our kin…"

"The traitor."

He stepped forward.

The flame followed,

curling behind him like a leash made of hunger.

Seishan did not move.

Not out of will.

But because the world would not allow her.

His gaze traced her face,

not as one looks at a person—

but as one studies a crack in porcelain.

Then, softly:

"Tell me…"

"Did he offer you mercy?"

"Did he… forget?"

"Did he know?"

"How quaint."

The flames shifted again—

reaching forward, then pausing.

Breathing.

He moved past her.

As he passed,

the flame reached for her again.

A tongue of shadow brushed her shoulder—

soft as breath,

sharp as guilt.

Her skin flared cold, then hot.

The hem of her crimson robe crisped—

not burned, not charred—

withered.

And still, he did not look back.

Only said, in passing,

"Not yet."

Like a page turned mid-sentence.

No warning.

No goodbye.

Only silence.

Not walking.

Not vanishing.

Just gone.