Sunny stood frozen, staring at the screen in disbelief.
The date burned into his mind, unwavering, undeniable.
Sixteen years.
He had been sent sixteen years into the past.
His breath was steady, but it was not calm. There was no panic—no immediate fear—but there was something else. A strange, hollow space in his chest, as if the weight of history had suddenly shifted onto him, pressing against the edges of his existence.
This wasn't just some bizarre fracture in time.
This was real.
And then—it hit him.
A second chance.
The thought came unbidden, threading through his mind like fire catching on dry parchment.
A chance to rewrite fate, to shift the course of history before it reached its inevitable destruction.
The suffering of his friends—he could stop it.
The fallen soldiers of Valor and Ki Song—he could save them.
The endless tragedies of the Forgotten Shore—he could change everything.
This wasn't just an opportunity—it was an obligation.
The weight in his chest steadied. He wasn't lost. He wasn't trapped.
This wasn't a mistake.
It was a choice.
And he would not waste it.
But first—he needed to understand what he was working with.
With a measured breath, Sunny closed his eyes and descended into his Soul Sea.
The moment he stepped into the tranquil abyss, he knew something was wrong.
The waters were still—too still. The familiar presence of his shades was absent, as if the world inside him had been hollowed out.
Instead, floating in the vast emptiness, were seven black suns.
No whispers. No movement. No shadows waiting for his command.
His heart tightened slightly. Where were they?
Sunny attempted to call upon his Shadows but all he received was silence.
Saint, Fiend, Slayer, Serpent and Mimic were all gone.
Sunny had never known his Soul Sea to be empty.
But now, it was.
And that was a problem.
His first instinct was to search—to find them, to grasp at the missing pieces and pull them back into place. But something in his gut told him it wouldn't be that easy.
It wasn't just absence.
It was displacement.
Something about stepping into this past had left him fractured, and his shades—his precious fragments of power—were missing because of it.
He had to fix that. But right now, he didn't know how.
For now, he had a different priority.
Sunny opened his eyes, exhaling slowly.
He needed to find his past self.
The world had changed around him—no, he had changed. The past was now something he could touch, alter, shift, but he was not its sole occupant. His younger self still existed, still lived through these moments unknowing of what was to come.
His friends—they were still here.
Cassie. Effie. Kai. Jet.
And his family Rain and…Neph.
And if Sunny wanted to reshape fate, he had to ensure that they were safe, that they didn't suffer, that the fractures of the future did not consume them too soon.
And then—there was the Dream Realm.
The Sovereigns.
The forces that dictated the world's descent into war and chaos.
He needed eyes everywhere.
Closing his eyes once more, he let his power unfurl—sending avatars across the world.
Two to the Dream Realm. One to Bastion, where Anvil Of Valor would be forging tirelessly in an attempt to make the perfect blade. Another to Ravenheart, where the Queen Of Worms sat unmoving on her throne.
Two to America. A continent filled with death, One devoid of human life
One to Antarctica. A land destined to be overrun by nightmare gates .
Two to NQSC. His current location, maintaining a watchful eye on the world around him.
Sunny let out a slow breath.
The pieces were in motion. His Shadows were missing. His future was uncertain.
But for now—he had a goal.
And that was enough.
For now.
The Outskirts had not changed.
Not really.
They were just as grim, just as cutthroat as Sunny remembered.
Or rather, as his past self was still living them.
Sunny's avatars moved unseen through the tangled maze of streets, weaving through crowds with practiced ease. Dust hung in the air like the remnants of lost hope, settling into the cracks between broken pavement. The smell of sweat, cheap alcohol, and desperation permeated everything.
This place had never welcomed him.
It had only tolerated his presence—so long as he was smart, so long as he survived.
And there—he saw him.
A frail boy.
Thin, hollow-eyed, wearing tattered clothes that barely fit him anymore. His movements were sharp and calculated, every step deliberate—as if one wrong move could be the difference between surviving another night or vanishing into oblivion.
This was him.
Sunny stared, unseen, as his younger self bartered for synthpaste, his voice steady but devoid of warmth, his eyes sharp but tired.
He knew the value of every credit, understood the weight of every decision.
A twelve-year-old had no room for mistakes in the Outskirts.
And yet—Sunny felt a cold knot settle in his stomach.
Had he really been this weak? This broken?
He drifted closer, silent in the shadows.
Listening. Watching.
His younger self negotiated with a shopkeeper, voice unwavering despite the disadvantage of his status, his hunger, his insignificance.
"Give me half for that price," the boy said flatly, pointing at the grimy synthpaste dispenser mounted on the counter.
The shopkeeper scoffed, shaking his head. "That's not how business works, brat."
Sunny's younger self remained still, calculating. "It is if you want to get rid of stock before it clogs the machine and contaminates the next batch."
A pause. A glance. A begrudging exchange of credits.
The boy walked away, clutching the small ration of gelatinous paste like it was a rare treasure, his expression unreadable.
Future Sunny felt something tighten in his chest.
He didn't pity his past self—he refused to.
But he understood something now.
This boy had no one.
No Nephis. No Cassie, Effie,Jet, or Kai. No Rain.
Not yet.
And so, Sunny didn't act.
Not yet.
He slipped into the boy's shadow, watching, waiting. He had time. He would decide what needed to be done later.
****
Sunny's second avatar moved through the corridors, silent as the shadows stretching beneath the flickering lanterns.
The mansion was elegant, pristine—but not untouched by sorrow.
The past did not yet weigh as heavily on Nephis.
But it would.
And Sunny had to see it for himself.
He moved through a quiet hall, until he noticed something familiar.
A framed photo—its golden edges glinting in the dim light.
Smile of Heaven and Broken Sword.
Two figures, frozen in time.
Sunny stared at them, his expression unreadable.
They were powerful. Unyielding. Once legendary.
And they were gone now.
Legends faded. People who changed history and now were nothing .
It was only fate.
But was it?
Was everything truly unavoidable?
Footsteps. Voices.
Sunny stilled, melting into the shadows.
Nephis's voice—calm, but not cold.
Her grandmother's voice—gentle, yet filled with expectation.
Her grandmother set her tea cup down with delicate grace. "You seem distracted today."
Nephis hesitated, fingers tightening slightly over the book resting on her lap. "Not distracted. Just… thinking."
A soft chuckle. "You always think, child. But today, there's something different in your eyes."
Nephis glanced away, her expression composed but vulnerable—something future Sunny had never seen before.
Her grandmother's gaze softened. "You still have time to enjoy the world as it is."
Nephis exhaled lightly, lifting her tea cup but not drinking from it. "Not for long."
Her grandmother hummed thoughtfully, her aged fingers running across the porcelain. "You are young, Nephis. Do not be so eager to carry burdens before they are yours."
Nephis's fingers twitched slightly before she steadied herself. "It won't matter soon, Grandmother. You've taught me well—I'll be ready."
Her grandmother sighed, eyes flickering toward the window, the distant glow of the city visible beyond it. "I only hope you won't mistake readiness for sacrifice."
Silence stretched between them, thick and unspoken.
Sunny felt something twist inside him.
This was the version of Nephis that the world never got to keep.
She was still Nephis—still disciplined, still carrying the weight of expectation—but not hardened by war. Not detached.
Sunny clenched his fist.
He would preserve this.
Whatever happened next, whatever choices he made, he would not let fate take everything from her.
And as he slipped through the mansion's halls, unseen, unnoticed—his plan began to take shape.