Darkness folded over him gently.
Not the heavy, suffocating kind that dragged him down, but something softer. A familiar dark. Warm at the edges. The distant roar of the Luofu, the burning green light of the Arbor, the weight of too many Paths pressing against each other — none of it followed him here.
He was lying on his back.
The surface beneath him was uneven, rough fabric stretched thin by time and use. A blanket. Ragged, patched in places, smelling faintly of dust and old detergent. The night air was cool against his cheeks. Somewhere nearby, machinery hummed, low and constant, like the city itself was breathing in its sleep.
Sunny blinked.
Above him, the sky stretched wide and dark. It was abnormally clear, absent of the smog and haze he was so familiar with. Three stars hung in the sky; a purple four-pointed one, sharp and unnatural, and two golden lights orbiting it in a slow, steady dance. A mere three stars — and yet they felt heavier than a sky full of them.
Beside him, someone shifted.
"Ah — sorry, did I wake you?"
The voice was familiar in a way that made his chest tighten.
Sunny turned his head.
An older woman lay beside him on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, her free hand shielding a yawn she hadn't quite managed to suppress. Her face was almost identical to his own. Same soft, dark eyes. Same nose. Same faint crease between the brows that appeared when she thought too hard.
She looked young. Late teens, maybe early twenties at most. Too young to be a mother, if anyone were judging by appearances alone.
She smiled at him, wide and a little awkward.
He stared at her for a moment longer than necessary.
"…Heh. I'm taller than you now."
She snorted.
"Oh, wow. Tragic. Absolutely devastating. My baby boy outgrew me."
She reached over and flicked his forehead.
"Guess that's what happens when you sleep instead of worrying yourself sick all night."
Sunny winced more out of habit than pain.
"Sounds great until your dreams try to kill you, but whatever. Can I get my memories back?"
They lay there in silence for a while, listening to the city breathe beneath them. The hum of machinery felt distant, muted, like it belonged to another life.
Eventually, she spoke again.
"Sunny."
"Yeah?"
"When you leave this place, will you go north or south?"
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Sunny stared at the three stars.
"I don't know. Whichever has better food?"
She laughed, short and breathy.
"Always practical."
"Someone has to be."
Her smile softened.
"You won't be able to stay in the middle forever."
"I know."
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, weight slammed down onto his chest.
Air rushed out of his lungs in a sharp gasp.
For a split second, all he saw was shadow — then a face.
His face.
Eyes too wide, pupils blown out like something feral had crawled inside and taken the wheel. Straddling his torso, knees digging into his ribs, was a younger version of himself wearing the Puppeteer's Shroud. The fabric clung unnaturally close, threads twitching as if alive.
In his hands was a crude iron knife.
It came down without hesitation.
Pain tore through Sunny's chest as the blade sank in.
Once. Twice. Again.
Warmth spread beneath him, soaking into the blanket. His breath hitched, vision blurring at the edges — and then he laughed.
A sharp, breathless sound tore its way out of him.
"Wow, okay. Killing myself, eh? That's a first!"
The younger Sunny didn't respond.
He just kept stabbing.
Reckless. Wild. No technique. No fear. Just raw, frantic violence, like he was trying to tear something out of Sunny rather than kill him.
Sunny grinned through the pain.
"What kind of weird dream is this supposed to be?"
He raised his arms and wrapped his hands around the younger version's throat.
The boy snarled, dropping the knife to claw at Sunny's wrists, but he was lighter. Smaller. Weak in ways Sunny no longer was.
They stared at each other as Sunny tightened his grip.
Same eyes.
Different weight behind them.
There was a sharp crack.
The younger Sunny went limp.
His body dissolved into shadow, peeling away like ash caught in a breeze.
Sunny exhaled.
"…That's probably not healthy."
Blood still flowed freely from his chest.
It soaked the blanket. It stained his clothes. It felt real — warm, sticky, heavy.
He lay there, staring up at the stars again, chest rising unevenly.
Movement flickered at the edge of his vision.
Above him, silhouettes began to form.
One by one, five figures stepped out of the darkness.
They were all him.
The first stood directly over Sunny's head, posture rigid, expression dark. He wore the Finality's Farewell, the garment hanging heavy on his shoulders like a sentence already passed. His eyes were sharp, tired, and deeply unimpressed.
Another hovered nearby — smaller, younger. A child. He smiled brightly despite the blood, despite the corpse that had just faded into nothing. His feet dangled in the air, carefree.
A third leaned back casually, hands in his pockets, dressed in simple clothes. Just Sunny, relaxed, with a mischievous glint in his eyes like he was enjoying the show.
The fourth made Sunny's skin crawl.
He wore the Mantle of the Underworld, Weaver's Mask pushed off to the side of his face. Shadows clung to him unnaturally, swallowing half his features. His gaze was fixed on Sunny with an intensity that felt invasive, dissecting, wrong.
The last one didn't even bother standing properly.
He lay sprawled in midair, propped on nothing, yawning lazily as if this was all deeply boring.
Sunny squinted up at them.
"…Am I collecting myself now?"
The child version tilted his head.
"Maybe!"
The casual one revealed a lecherous grin.
"Why collect yourself when you can collect… and nobody is listening. What the hell, guys?!"
The masked one did not speak.
Neither did the one in Finality's Farewell.
Instead, a baseball bat appeared in his hands.
Sunny's eyes widened slightly.
"Oh. That's rude."
The bat came down.
Pain detonated through his skull as the impact crushed his head. The stars shattered. The world rang like a struck bell.
"Get to work."
Darkness swallowed everything.
Sunny jolted awake with a sharp intake of breath.
The Luofu flooded back into existence. Jade light. The hum of the ship. His heart hammered painfully in his chest.
He sat up slowly, hand instinctively going to where the knife wounds should have been.
Sunny glanced around.
March and Welt were talking with Fu Xuan. Jing Yuan's hologram flickered calmly. No one was watching him.
He exhaled slowly.
"…What a weird message."
Then he stepped backward into the shadows.