The Builder walked.
With each slow, thunderous step, it carved ripples into the Black Sea. The sound was constant, like the heartbeat of something vast and unbothered. Waves scattered across the horizon, sloshing against jagged coral and broken bone. The breeze was cold and tasted of salt and rust.
Sunny stood near the edge of the giant automata's shoulder, wind pulling at his hair. He hadn't moved in some time. Serpent was wrapped loosely around his wrist, uncharacteristically still. The others left him be.
No one spoke much on the first day of their travels. The silence wasn't heavy. It wasn't even awkward. It was... observant. Like all of them were waiting for something to happen.
Except nothing did.
There were fights, yes—skirmishes, really—but they were nothing like Sunny remembered. No wave of horror. No Corrupted Devil rising from the depths to fight the Builder. No catastrophic battle that split the sky, or invaders from sea and storm.
Perhaps without Nephis to enrage the dwellers of the depths with her soul flames, the creatures had all taken a different course that led them somewhere new.
They still encountered threats—twisted fliers that harried from above and strange creatures that latched onto the statue's limbs. But, they came alone or in small groups. Each fight was quick, methodical. Routine.
Sunny didn't call Saint. He hadn't since they left the Slayer statue.
The cohort enjoyed lazy days of training, healing, and resting. Still, something unspoken and unacknowledged hung in the air.
***
Cassie noticed it on the third day.
She'd grown used to Sunny's silence and terse demeanor, but this was different.
He didn't eat enough. Didn't sleep. He took every night watch, even when someone else was already posted. When she offered to spar, he obliged, but his attention was never fully there. His blows were precise, but dulled—like he was watching something only he could see.
He wasn't snapping at people. He wasn't agitated. He just... wasn't present.
Cassie hadn't said anything. She wasn't sure it would help.
Instead, she pushed harder in her training—sharpened her style, tuned her instincts. Every improvement she made felt like a debt repaid. If she grew strong enough, fast enough, competent enough, maybe he wouldn't have to carry so much. Maybe he could rest. Just once.
She owed him that much, at least.
And maybe... if she was honest, she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't.
***
Effie didn't usually notice the quiet. She had long grown used to it living on her own.
She filled it with noise when she could, to spare her comrades its company. It was muscle memory; Sharing jokes and banter, to keep the mood light, and keep others grounded.
Except Sunny didn't bite.
He wasn't returning her jabs anymore. He didn't smirk. He didn't even roll his eyes when she called him a doll, doofus, or dork. No banter could keep his attention, and even her best material fell flat.
She saw it most at night. When everyone else had gone to sleep, he'd still be sitting at the edge of the platform, staring out across the sea.
That's what unsettled her.
He had kept an emotional distance before, but this felt different. His flaw radiated guilt, remorse, and uncertainty.
Sunny wasn't quiet because he was tired. He was quiet because he was drifting.
She didn't know how to fix that.
**
Kai had always tried to keep things upbeat. Not cheerful—this world didn't allow for that—but balanced. Approachable. He believed in morale. In humor.
It was his nature. Maybe that made him seem simple, but he'd seen what losing sight of those small joys could do to somebody.
That's why Sunny worried him now.
He wasn't collapsing. He wasn't screaming or breaking down. He was just... turning inward. Shrinking to a point.
Kai had seen that look on soldiers in the news. The ones who came back from harrowing battles, but hadn't truly come back whole.
He'd thought Sunny was immune to that. That he was beyond such mortal concerns. A figure larger than life.
He cracked a joke at breakfast—something about how they were one missed bath away from being declared Nightmare Creatures by the Spell.
Sunny didn't respond.
The boy in black just gave him a nod. No smile. No reaction.
It felt like watching someone fade, one layer at a time.
***
Caster wasn't surprised.
He didn't like it, but he wasn't surprised.
The outskirt rat turned time traveler had been holding this mess together with talent, grit, and pure momentum for weeks now. That momentum wouldn't last forever.
Sunny wasn't arrogant. That was what made him dangerous. But he carried the same flaw every commander eventually picked up: the disease of infinite responsibility.
Caster had seen it before. In older soldiers. In tacticians who lost too many under their watch. They all thought the same thing: If I were just a little stronger...
But there was no end to that doubt. Not really.
And Sunny's Flaw didn't help. All that pressure leaking out of him, invisible to most—only, it wasn't. Not anymore. Everyone saw it now. The exhaustion. The guilt. The way he never looked surprised when things went wrong.
He wasn't breaking. Not yet.
But something would give, eventually. Caster just didn't know if it would be loud or quiet.
So he trained more.
Just in case.
***
Aiko felt it the most clearly.
She didn't have a soldier's training. She wasn't raised for this life. But she'd always been good at reading people.
She saw it in the pauses. The things he didn't say. The way his hands hovered over a piece of meat too long before cutting it. The way he sometimes stared at Cassie's armor like it had said something to him.
His Flaw made many of her social skills superfluous, but she perhaps more than any other could see his deterioration for what it was.
There was a sadness there. And loneliness. Like he was walking beside them without ever quite being with them.
She thought about saying something once. A real question. Just asked directly: "Are you okay?"
But when she imagined it, she couldn't see an answer. Just a shrug. A tired smile. Maybe nothing at all.
So instead, she stayed close. Watched him during their spars. Helped him while he prepared food. It was all she could do.
***
The Builder marched onward.
Time passed, measured by the rising and falling of the black tide. The sea hissed beneath them, still and cold.
The journey was easier than it should have been. Fewer threats. Fewer trials.
But that ease brought no comfort.
On the eleventh night, as the horizon bled crimson and the world darkened behind them, Sunny stood alone again—watching the sea.
No one approached. Not Nightmare Creature, nor human.
Not because they didn't care.
But because they didn't know if it would help.
Serpent curled once around his wrist and squeezed. The sky above was pale, washed out. The false sun had long since dipped below the edge of the world.
The others slept. Dreamed. Recovered.
Sunny remained where he was.
The longer he led, the farther away they felt.
And he didn't know how to stop it.