Nephis felt uncomfortable.
Her back ached as if she had slept on the ruins of a memory.
It wasn't an unbearable pain, of course; she was far too accustomed to suffering. Her Aspect and her ability to regenerate almost any injury had made physical pain a routine companion.
She had felt fractures, burns, cuts and tears. She even remembered the unpleasant sensation of having her neck twisted—something that was exactly as painful as it sounded.
And yet, none of that stopped her from mentally complaining about a simple backache.
After her brief internal monologue, she startled.
A vivid flash crossed her mind: yesterday's battle.
Her final attack—reckless, desperate.
The sensation of her soul core almost splintering.
And then... nothing.
Darkness.
Silence.
But if she was alive, that could only mean one of two things:
Either she had been kidnapped by a particularly patient nightmare creature,
or Sunny had saved her.
Given her current back pain... either option was possible.
When she opened her eyes, she expected to see nothing. From the temperature of the air and the faint shiver on her skin, she assumed it was nighttime.
However, the first thing she noticed was a warm, flickering glow.
She was lying near a small campfire. That was the source of the soft heat enveloping her.
Curious, she remained still.
A campfire, her body intact, the quiet crackle of flames and the silence beyond the walls... all of that ruled out the first option. She hadn't been kidnapped.
So only the second remained.
When she opened her eyes fully, the scene before her was... curious, to say the least.
A few meters away, with his back facing her, sat Sunny. The orange firelight outlined his silhouette with a faint halo, projecting his shadow onto the stone wall.
Or rather... his shadows.
There were three of them, clearly visible thanks to the fire.
Nothing unusual, at least to her. Nephis could distinguish them easily; she knew their personalities as well as she knew Sunny's shifting temperament.
Gloomy, the first, withdrawn and sulking as always.
Happy, the second, lively and playful, always trying to cheer up even the other shadows.
Creepy, the third, simply... watching, unmoving, as if its only purpose was to stare at things no one else wanted to acknowledge.
And lastly, Haughty: noble, gallant, radiating such exaggerated contempt that it seemed to consider the very existence of the other shadows a personal offense.
Yes. Sunny was terrible at naming things.
She would never say it out loud, of course, but she found it almost endearing to see him so serious, convinced he had chosen a "great name" for each one—like a child proudly showing off a scar as if it were a trophy.
Returning to the shadows, however, there was something unusual that night.
Instead of wandering or staying still, they had all gathered around Sunny... apparently to annoy him.
And they were doing it with coordination.
The strangest part was that even Happy had joined the conspiracy.
Nephis narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Happy was lying across the lap of another shadow—one that, to her surprise, looked identical to Nephis's own shadow. That dark version of herself was gently stroking Happy's hair with impossible calm, while Gloomy and Creepy tried to poke and bother them both.
Haughty stood nearby, staring sternly at Sunny, gesturing with its hands as if trying to deliver a very specific message.
Nephis didn't understand their silent conversation, but Sunny's body language said everything.
His shoulders were tense, his head slightly lowered, and he wore an expression of absolute irritation.
Then she heard him mutter under his breath:
"I'm not going to ask her, you damned bastards. Idiots."
Nephis blinked.
It took her a moment to connect the pieces.
A shadow that looked like her, holding another in its lap...
The others pushing Sunny to do something he refused to say aloud...
And him, grumbling with that unique mixture of shame and stubbornness.
Ah.
So that was the situation.
Sunny just wanted to rest his head on her lap.
After a day like the one they had endured, he wanted a moment of peace.
And since he would never admit it, he was arguing with his own shadows.
A small, nearly invisible smile touched Nephis's lips.
She waited a few minutes, silently observing as the shadows gradually calmed down. When the fire dimmed and the cave settled into quiet, she pretended to remain asleep... until finally deciding to move.
She rose without a sound, every step deliberate and quiet, approaching Sunny with the stealth of a ghost.
His shadows didn't seem to notice; they were too absorbed in watching him with a mix of anticipation and resignation.
Nephis stopped a couple of steps behind him.
For a moment, she simply observed him—the firelight reflecting in his dark hair, outlining the tired curve of his back.
Then she stepped closer.
He didn't seem to notice her presence, too absorbed in his thoughts... likely insulting his shadows, which —given how sensitive they were— always struck her as a bad idea.
She had planned to make a small joke or tease him lightly.
But that idea faded the moment she truly noticed his condition.
The scarf of his transcendent armor hid a deep cut on his neck.
A projectile hole punched through his arm.
Bloody streaks across his torso and sides.
He wasn't bleeding thanks to Blood Weave, and she knew he would regenerate in a few days... but that didn't make the sight any easier to tolerate.
Nephis never liked seeing Sunny like that.
She reached out and placed her hand gently on his shoulder.
The moment she touched him, white flames blossomed around him.
Sunny jolted slightly—as he always did—until he saw her.
Nephis met his eyes briefly, just long enough for him to understand he shouldn't move, then focused back on the wounds as the flames stitched new flesh over torn skin.
When she finished, Sunny frowned.
He inhaled, preparing—for the tenth time—the same speech:
That it wasn't necessary,
that he would regenerate,
that she shouldn't use her Aspect for "minor injuries,"
that her Flaw made every use painful,
that he was fine, that she was overreacting.
Ten times.
She had heard that protest exactly ten times.
And she couldn't simply tell him "shut up, it doesn't matter," because any sentence phrased like that could be interpreted as an order.
So she came up with another solution.
In a smooth, nearly invisible motion, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him downward.
Before his body even hit the ground, Nephis had already lowered herself as well, positioning her legs so that Sunny's head fell directly onto her lap.
It all happened in a seamless sequence of precision and speed: a single second, a single intent.
Sunny stared up at her with wide eyes.
His protest died before forming, cut down as effectively as she cut her enemies.
And now... there he was.
Resting on her lap, held not by physical force, but by the silent weight of her decision.
The position was intimate.
Surprising.
Unavoidable.
And, in the end... comfortable.
Even for him.
At first, Sunny just blinked. Rapidly.
As if his brain were trying to process three different conclusions and failing at all of them:
First, that he hadn't finished arguing with his shadows before suddenly ending up on the ground.
Second, that his "collapse" wasn't an accident but a perfectly timed ambush from a woman who never misjudged timing.
And third... that his head was in her lap.
Sunny opened his mouth to protest, but only a strangled sound came out—something between indignation and the croak of a dying crow.
He tried to sit up, but Nephis simply lowered one hand—just a soft pressure on his chest—and for some entirely unfair reason, he lost the will to resist.
"N-no... you don't have to—" he whispered, trying to muster firmness.
Nothing.
Nephis looked down at him, expression calm, the look of someone who had made a definitive choice and would not be moved.
Only when Sunny had exhausted every possible excuse did she lift a hand and, with almost reverent gentleness, place her fingers in his hair.
Sunny froze.
Completely.
Every shadow around them froze too, as if the universe itself had paused. Even Happy, who moments earlier had been receiving pets from the shadow-Nephis, went utterly still.
It was as though all of them—absolutely all—had been waiting for this moment.
"Nephis," he said, with a voice that aimed for firmness but landed dangerously close to a defeated whisper, "you don't have to do that."
She didn't respond.
She simply began running her fingers through his hair—slow, rhythmic, precise—as if she had done it a thousand times before. Each movement was intentional, carrying a warmth that didn't come from the nearby fire.
Sunny swallowed hard, visibly uncomfortable, as if needing to justify his existence.
"This... this is unnecessary. I'm fine. I'll regenerate. You don't have to—"
His words stopped when her fingers brushed the base of his neck.
The effect was instantaneous and devastating.
His entire body loosened without his consent.
Muscles he had kept tense for hours melted in collective surrender.
Even his shadows exhaled in satisfaction, as if saying: Finally.
Nephis continued stroking his hair, unhurried and steady.
There was nothing possessive in the gesture, but nothing timid either. It was simply... natural. As if this was the correct arrangement of the world and everything else before had been noise.
"You were arguing with your shadows," she murmured at last, her voice soft but edged with quiet irony.
Sunny looked mortified.
"They... they exaggerated things. And misinterpreted. And—" he sighed, defeated. "Never mind."
She tilted her head slightly.
"You wanted this?."
Sunny pressed his lips together, staring off to the side as if the cave wall had suddenly become fascinating.
He wanted to deny it.
Wanted to say anything to retain a shred of dignity.
But eventually... he let out a very, very small sigh.
"...Just for a little while," he whispered.
Nephis smiled faintly.
And she continued stroking his hair as he, inevitably, surrendered completely.