Sunless was acutely aware that what he was about to do might very well come back to bite him, but in the end, he was gambling on a calculated risk—or so he convinced himself. The air around him was thick with tension, stale yet strangely oppressive, as though the very atmosphere was holding its breath. Cold sweat trickled slowly down his neck, winding its way to the small of his back. His hands felt heavy, as though the weight of his decisions had already begun to anchor him in place, while his foot refused to stay still, twitching restlessly in a futile attempt to outrun his mounting anxiety.
The cause of his discomfort was painfully simple: he was about to attend the dreaded introductory combat class. It was the class where the majority of the sleepers gathered—the very same individuals he had been actively avoiding in order to protect the secret he had so carefully guarded.
But now, with the sleepers having formed their own tight-knit groups, Sunless hoped he would be able to fade into the background, to become an unnoticed shadow blending in with the crowd—just another face among many, lost in the noise of the others.
The question remained, however: why was he taking such a risk when he wasn't even going to master any weaponry, especially with the enhancements provided by [Trinity]? The answer was simple and undeniably urgent. He needed to learn how to compensate for the vision he had lost in his left eye. It wasn't a matter of pride or ambition; it was a matter of necessity. While he had managed to adapt to his semi-blindness by relying on his shadow sense and the help of his silent companion, these skills were barely sufficient for navigating the world. Fighting, however, was an entirely different beast.
And so, he found himself, along with sleepers from every walk of life, struggling to keep pace with Instructor Rock—the man who seemed to possess some distant, ancient connection to the ursine family. His strength was overwhelming, his skill unmatched, and despite their combined efforts, Sunless and the others were falling short, as though they were trapped in a web of their own limitations.
'*'
Awakened Rock dedicated the entire day to testing the Sleepers' general competency and abilities, a thorough assessment that would determine their place in the training hierarchy. Afterward, the Sleepers would be separated into groups based on their level—novice, advanced, or expert—and their weapon of choice. Some would be assigned a personal tutor, while others might be paired together, each arrangement designed to push them to their limits.
To begin the evaluation, Awakened Rock would test their physical strength.
The Sleepers were instructed to take turns delivering their strongest punches to a wide plate affixed to a special measuring machine. Each strike would be met with a numerical score, indicating the strength of the punch, a tangible reflection of their raw power.
In theory, a machine like that wasn't particularly difficult to construct. However, given that many of the Sleepers possessed combat-oriented Aspects that enhanced their might in numerous and unpredictable ways, the machine's design was nothing short of a marvel of engineering. It had to be durable and precise, able to withstand the unimaginable forces unleashed by those it measured.
Of course, technique and training also played a vital role in the outcome.
The first Sleeper called upon was a boy with long, flowing blonde hair, intricately braided and dyed a vibrant green at the ends. His appearance was as flamboyant as his mannerisms as he stepped up to the plate, ready to strike. With a deep breath, he swung his fist toward the machine.
Sunless couldn't help but wince—not at the boy's score, but at the way he threw his punch. The boy's technique was painfully flawed. His body twisted awkwardly, and his feet pointed in the wrong direction, as though he'd forgotten the most basic fundamentals of stance. His left knee bent far too much, a structural weakness that prevented him from transferring the power from his legs into the punch. His hips, which should have generated the force, remained motionless, leaving the impact hollow. To make matters worse, he pulled his shoulder back too far, and his elbow was out of alignment, further robbing his strike of fluidity. The result was a pitiful score of eleven.
One by one, the Sleepers took their turns. Most demonstrated a basic understanding of boxing, but few had real experience. The scores ranged from ten to fourteen, a decent enough showing for those with a reasonable level of fitness, but nothing extraordinary. However, a select few—those with enhanced Aspects—managed to surpass the norm, achieving scores of fifteen or even sixteen, their raw strength amplified by the strange powers coursing through them.
'I wonder what I'll get,' Sunny thought, stifling a yawn. Boredom was creeping in, despite the excitement of the moment. He knew he had an edge when it came to fighting, the product of Another lifetime of experience, as a enforcer of the Celik family . Weapons had always attracted too much attention in Europe, so he'd Needed skills in close quarters combat. With the help of [Trinity] and [Web], he could likely achieve a Decent score—but his small, malnourished frame would be his greatest hindrance.
Just as his thoughts wandered, his name was called. A few nearby Sleepers snickered, and some even questioned whether "Sunless" was truly his name—but it was not aimed at him personally.
Stepping forward to the machine, Sunny took a moment to assess the distance. Using his right arm, he judged the space, his mind focusing entirely on the task at hand. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, grounding himself as he began his motion. Fluid movement was the key to delivering a powerful punch in the ring, and Sunny had trained his body to execute every strike with precision. From his toes, he accelerated, pushing himself forward using the strength of his legs, his knees driving him into the motion. His hips rotated in perfect synchrony with his back, transferring the energy generated from his core into the punch. To an outsider, it might have seemed as though Sunny's body was a seamless machine, a creature with no solid parts, each piece flowing into the next. But just before the impact, the fluidity snapped into stillness as he clenched his fist, locking it in place like a hardened iron ball.
The reasoning behind this was twofold. First, boxing in a ring was a controlled environment, but bare-knuckle fighting had no safety net. Every punch could potentially break a hand, so maximum control was necessary. Second, his hand joints acted as natural shock absorbers, cushioning the impact not just for him, but for the machine as well, which was crucial. He aimed for power and not safety.
And with that final, controlled motion, he made contact, landing the punch with only two knuckles.
The Machine was quite for a moment, than it gave the result of his punch .
"Thirteen"
It was nothing to scoff at and at he same time nothing special. Sunny was not upset about it as he knew for some reason he would achieve greater results with this gloomy shadows help, but that was a trup card he did not want to reveal just yet.
Then he returned to his place, some of the sleepers gave their compliments amongst them was the girl that wanted to show him her Memory,But soon everyone was quiet,noticing that it was turn for Nephis, the highest-rated Sleeper of their batch, to strike the plate.
The slender girl approached the machine and, without much preparation, delivered a sudden, crushing blow. Sunny hat to admit that he was impressed by the flawless economy and speed of her execution, he had never saw someone be this good.
'She had a lot of training.'
Nephis was becoming more and more intriguing. What's her actual background?
After a short pause, the machine displayed the result: sixteen. Sunny felt a bit disappointed. From what he was she should have, but who knows maybe each consecutive Score had grater requirements to reach than the one before?
But still she was the proud bearer of a True Name, after all!
After that, only Casanova, apparently named Caster, remained. This time, Sunny couldn't even see the flying fist — it was just too fast. The machine trembled and took more time calculating. Finally, two numbers appeared.
Twenty-one.
Everyone gaped at the display, stunned. More than a few admiring looks were thrown at Caster, who simply bowed and took a step back, but not before throwing an unnoticed look at sunless.
'*'
Instructor Rock's lips curled into a slight smile.
"Not bad," he said with a tone of approval. "Now, we'll move on to sparring, where we'll truly evaluate your general level of training. I need two volunteers to begin."
Without a second of hesitation, Nephis stepped forward, her movements purposeful and calm as she made her way to the center of the ring. A moment later, a tall, muscular Sleeper followed, his towering presence almost intimidating as he faced her.
"The rules are simple," Instructor Rock's voice rang out. "Make your opponent's back touch the floor, or throw them out of the ring. Use whatever abilities or techniques you deem necessary to win."
'Oh, finally. The important part is starting!' Sunny thought, his pulse quickening with anticipation.
Watching Sleepers face off was always an event worth savoring—entertaining, yes, but more than that, it was an opportunity for Sunny to gather precious insights into their powers. His eyes flicked between the fighters as he did his best to absorb every movement, every shift of weight, every subtle gesture. With his shadowy abilities, he could always revisit the perfect recollection of what he'd seen later.
'Go, Nephis!'
The tall man, a blur of muscle, wasted no time. His powerful frame seemed to surge forward, muscles bulging under the soft fabric of his white dobok, as though the seams themselves might burst from his sheer strength.
He charged like an unstoppable mountain, launching a vicious kick.
But before anyone could blink, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a look of utter disbelief. Nephis hadn't even flinched, let alone moved from her stance.
Instructor Rock gave her a look that combined admiration and pride, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"Next."
What followed could only be described as a flawless demonstration of domination. Nephis effortlessly dispatched one Sleeper after another, as if the ring had become her personal stage. She didn't appear to be faster or stronger than any of them, but with each fight, it became increasingly clear: the outcome was inevitable. Her opponents entered, only to be thrown to the floor moments later, defeated without mercy.
Sunny watched in growing awe, though his amusement was soon replaced with a twinge of discomfort.
Nephis was a machine—calm, precise, and relentless. Her technique was a perfect blend of grace and ruthlessness. No matter what kind of attack was thrown at her, she anticipated it with uncanny accuracy, either dodging or deflecting with minimal effort, only to turn the move against her attacker in the blink of an eye.
It didn't matter if her opponent was from the highest echelons of wealth or from the lowest rungs of society. Whether a Legacy or a commoner, they all fell in the same way: quickly and decisively.
Through it all, Nephis's face remained a mask of serene composure, unwavering, as if her mind and body were forged from cold, unfeeling steel.
And Sunny knew, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he would soon join the pile of defeated Sleepers. The only question left was whether he would face his defeat with pride… or scurry away like a rat, delaying the inevitable.
'I've always felt a kinship to vermin,' Sunny thought wryly as he stepped into the ring, his heart pounding in his chest.
He shifted his gaze so that his right eye locked onto the girl who was about to crush him. He knew that he'd have to rely on his cunning—Nephis was far too composed to be caught off guard by brute force. His movements were slow, deliberate, as he did his best to telegraph a simple jab with his right hand, making it look like an opening.
And to his surprise, it worked. Nephis, not fathoming the treacherous depths of sunnys mind,lunged forward with a counter that he'd anticipated. In that moment, Sunny seized his opportunity, delivering a sharp calf kick. The strike lacked the usual power behind it, more of a tap than a true hit. But it was enough. All he had to do was repeat it and buy time till the cramps hit.
With a quick pivot, he disengaged just in time to avoid the devastating counter that would have shattered his knee.
For a fleeting moment, it seemed like he might last longer than he expected. He danced around Nephis with the agility of a cornered rat, staying just out of her reach. His footwork was light, his hits coming in quick bursts as he tried to keep her at bay. But then, a sudden pain erupted in his skull—his vision blurred, and he felt a searing pressure in his teeth. He hadn't seen it coming.
A high kick, swift as lightning, collided with his face, Promising to dislocate his jaw and pulverize his left cheek. And in that moment, Sunny realized that Nephis's legs were as Reliable as they were alluring.
'*'
The fluorescent lights above hummed with an almost mechanical persistence, bathing the small infirmary in a cold, sterile glow. Sunny's head was pounding, the ringing in his ears relentless as though an army of invisible bells had been set off inside his skull. His jaw throbbed with each pulse, sharp pain slicing through him. He could feel every inch of discomfort, but amidst the haze of his disorientation, a faint thought crossed his mind: 'There's a joke in here somewhere.'
Before he could gather his bearings, a voice—gruff, yet distinctly feminine—cut through the fog.
"Oh, looks like Sleeping Beauty finally decided to wake up!"
Sunny's eyes slowly opened, blinking against the harsh light. He turned his head to see the source of the voice. There, standing at the foot of his bed, was a woman whose presence filled the room effortlessly. She wasn't as striking as Master Jet, but there was something about her that commanded attention. Maybe it was the sharpness of her features or the way she carried herself, but she definitely wasn't someone you'd easily forget.
Her hair was a fiery red, its vibrancy almost blinding against the pale, clinical walls. Her skin was dark, a beautiful contrast to the fluorescent light, and the sharpness of her facial features—high cheekbones, a strong jaw—added an edge to her look. Yet, there was something soft about the way she smirked, a playful, knowing look in her eyes that spoke of a woman who'd seen it all and wasn't easily impressed.
But what really caught Sunny's attention were her ears. They were clipped in a way that made them appear elongated, giving her a sharp, elfin appearance. It wasn't something you saw every day, but somehow, it worked. The subtle point to her ears reminded him of stories he'd heard about elves—something mythical about them, and bows.It felt out of place in the sterile setting of the infirmary.
Her nurse's uniform clung to her frame, the fabric slightly worn from long use, but still fitting her perfectly. It was the kind of uniform that didn't try to be sexy but had that undeniable effect anyway. The buttons strained just a little across her chest, and the skirt was modest—at least, by the standards of the academy—but the way she carried herself made it clear that she didn't need to show more to command attention. She exuded confidence, her posture straight and unyielding, as if she was used to taking charge of every situation.
She was holding a chem stick between two fingers, its tip glowing faintly as she took a slow, deliberate drag. The combination of nicotine and stimulants hung in the air, mingling with the antiseptic smell of the room. Her gaze never left Sunny, and that knowing smirk remained as she took another drag.
"You look like hell," she said, her voice thick with mock sympathy. "Guess you really took a hit. Didn't think you'd go down that easy."
Sunny's brain struggled to process the words, still fogged from the pain in his head and the disorientation that clung to him. He tried to move but only managed to shift a little, his body protesting every action. His jaw throbbed sharply, and his face burned in embarrassment. It was a humbling feeling to know that he'd been knocked out, his pride bruised more than his body.
"Time to get your little ass out of here," the nurse continued, her voice dropping into an authoritative tone. Without waiting for him to respond, she reached down and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him upright. His head spun immediately, and his knees wobbled under the sudden shift. His vision blurred, but he managed to steady himself against her, just for a second.
"You've had your nap," she said, her voice now more teasing than stern. "Now, get moving. No more beauty sleep."
She gave him a little shove toward the edge of the bed, the movement sudden and firm, and Sunny tried to push himself up. His legs felt like jelly, but before he could stabilize himself, she gave him another push, this time with more force, sending him stumbling a bit. Just as he started to right himself, she delivered a sharp, sudden slap to his backside,—loud enough that the sound seemed to echo in the small room. It wasn't lost on him that, in the process, she might have "accidentally" taken more than a little liberty with the moment.
"Get out of bed already!" she said, her voice a mix of mock indignation and amusement. Her grin widened, clearly enjoying his discomfort.
Sunny's face turned red, his body stiffening from both the embarrassment and the pain. 'Did she just...' He couldn't help the thought, his face flushing as he tried to regain his balance. The nurse, however, was already focused elsewhere, taking another long drag from her chem stick. The smoke billowed from her mouth in lazy curls, giving the room an even more surreal feel.
.
With a last glance at her, Sunny stumbled out of the bed, trying to steady himself. The door behind him swung shut with a soft click, leaving him standing in the hallway, the pain in his jaw still sharp, and the lingering taste of embarrassment biting at him.
'Why is everyone here completely insane?'
Sunny thought with a mix of confusion and resignation as he limped his way to his room, a dull ache still throbbing in his face. He cursed his luck that he
Ended in the same class as Nephis—nothing but bruises and embarrassment followed, but still, it was better to be roughed up here in the academy than to be left half-blind in the Forgotten Shore.
As he made his way to his room, he let his shadow—Gloomy, his independent and ever-reliable companion—tune into the whispers of the other Sleepers. Through the shadows, he caught snippets of conversations that drifted toward him like the gusts of wind through an open window.
It seemed that Casanova had bested Nephis—not just in raw strength, but also in martial prowess. The gossip was thick, revolving around those two: debates over who was the better fighter, rumors of their relationship status, and more. It was practically all anyone was talking about.
But the rumors didn't stop there. Several Sleepers murmured about things to out of the ordinary for it not to have a grain of truth in it.
"I heard Caster isn't just a fighter. Word is, his clan has been pulling some strings behind the scenes, making deals with the upper echelons of the academy. There's talk of him being groomed for something bigger... a special position or some kind of honor. And you know, if you're that important , you can get away with just about anything."
Another voice, she sounded like she had a cold , countered, "I don't know about that. I heard Nephis isn't as clean as she seems either. Some say her clan isn't really fallen,it was a just a ploy they orchestrated. There are rumors she's here for more than just training. Something about revenge and restoring their Clans honor. Some even say she's got ties with the underground."
Sunny felt a chill run down his spine as the words filtered through the shadows. As his scar itched. He remembered things that fit these roomers, there was some truth in them.
But it wasn't the scandalous chatter about those two that grabbed Sunny's attention. No, it was the unexpected frequency with which he heard his own name. He didn't mind the casual mentions, like people discussing his origins from the Outskirts or tossing around a few surface-level questions about him. But there was something about it that left him uneasy. He couldn't quite place why, but it felt like the chatter about him had grown a little too intense, a little too curious.
"Adion said he's a druggy ," one voice murmured, "but did you hear about the deal he was in, at the Outer District? Apparently it went horribly wrong and , a bunch of the dealers wanted his gang dead, but they walked out without a scratch,it was something straight out of *The Reckoning*,like when sleeper Anastasia broke into the Dragon's Den .Alex say he's got the a nasty reputation, and he would know his Uncle owns a factory in the Outer District."
Another sleeper quickly jumped in, "Maybe he's one of them. You know, the ones who vanish in the middle of the night. I heard from a Yuri, he is from the lower districts ,that the government has been taking kid they suspected of having the nightmare seed. I wonder if that's why he's here.How else would an outskirts kid survive."
"Don't call it the Outskirts it's rude" a girl budded in, she seemed to be older than the rest," but from what I heard he was born into one of those Outer District crime families, you know like in book *New thorn*, and they apparently trained him so they could have their own loyalty Awakened"
Sunny's heart skipped a beat. The roomers could not be further from the truth, though some may fit the memories he had of Aslans life in northern Europe,and they seemed to be stemming from propaganda Novels and Movies, only there were the Outskirts called the *Outer District*.
What upset him was the fact that he could not think of a reason why there was a sudden interest in him. He did his best to unremarkable, average performance in class, not the highest or lowest survival odds, he made sure not to leave an impression let alone a bad one. So why focus on his? Was he some kind of exotic animal to them, like a cat?
With his mood soured and his thoughts lingering in uneasy circles, Sunny made his way to his room, hoping to shake off the discomfort before his night classes with Teacher Julius.
'*'
At the other end of the Sleeper compound, Caster was practically buzzing with excitement over the information he had uncovered about the mysterious, vertically challenged boy. He was almost certain the boy had been sent there for the same reason as him—especially after their first combat class. The boy, who went by the obviously fake name of *Sunless*, might have tried to conceal the truth, but Caster could see right through him. A punch like that wasn't something you just learned—it came from real experience. And the way the boy had forced Changing Star into the Offensive, with such ease, making it look effortless, confirmed that he wasn't just some amateur.
It was after a bit of subtle questioning that Caster's fanbase—mostly a group of girls—began piecing together a series of fascinating insights about Sunless. According to Stephen of the Pandavar clan, who had gathered valuable information from trusted sources, the boy's past was far more intriguing than anyone had originally thought. One of these sources was Alex, whose family had a powerful grip on the "Outer Districts"—the government's term for the area, which they used to paint a more positive light on the region. The Outer Districts were full of people abandoned by the system, but these girls had studied the culture there extensively and had a deep understanding of the region's social dynamics. Another name that came up frequently was Yuri, a boy with connections to influential figures, who had heard stories of Sunless's exploits from years ago.
But Caster's greatest breakthrough came from a group of young girls—eager, wide-eyed, and deeply knowledgeable about the Outer Districts. These girls had immersed themselves in the world of the Outer Districts, studying every aspect of its society as if it were a complex puzzle to be unraveled.
Not knowing better than to trust in the novels, movies and government propaganda.
They spoke passionately about the different powers and factions within the district, each having a deep understanding of the various dynamics at play. Their insights were grounded in a thorough study of the region, not simply casual gossip, and Caster found their perspective both fascinating and convincing.
After all they were designed to be convincing by the government in an attempt to paint the Outskirts in rose tinted glasses.
The *Movers*, as the girls referred to the dominant forces in the Outer Districts, were their favorite subject. They spoke of them as figures of profound influence, each representing a different aspect of life in the district. The Crime Families, for example, were like ancient dynasties—families that had survived the collapse of the old world and now reigned over the streets with a firm grip. According to the girls, these families were led by elders who had lived through the fall and were seen as wise and untouchable figures. Their so-called "family members" were the loyal soldiers who ran the streets and maintained their families' dominance. The girls often described these families as being bound together by secretive rituals that ensured their unity and loyalty—a practice rooted in ancient traditions that had stood the test of time.
Little did Caster, who grew up in another world entirely, that this was just s romanticized retelling of Orginised crime
Then there was the Government—the supposed force that had brought order to the lawless land. The girls spoke of the Government not as the enemy, but as a necessary stabilizing force. They were the ones who had created the structures that brought some measure of law to the Outer Districts, even if they were also known for their controversial actions. The rumors of their experiments on children painted the Government as a shadowy organization, but these stories only added to the girls' fascination with their methods. In their view, the Government was a complex, multifaceted entity—both a force for order and a reflection of the darker sides of keeping power.
The next two Movers were less structured, but still significant. The Upstarts were groups of criminals who banded together under the leadership of charismatic figures. These leaders, the girls explained, had the power to shape the world around them, rising from the chaos of the streets to challenge the established powers. In the girls' eyes, the *Upstarts* weren't just criminals; they were revolutionaries, individuals who could change the course of history with their actions. And then there were the *Rogues*—individuals who didn't belong to any faction, driven by personal beliefs or grudges. They were the lone figures of the Outer Districts, operating alone and without reward, motivated by their own ideals and principles. These Rogues were seen as mysterious and powerful, always standing on the edge of society, challenging the status quo.
For Caster, it all felt so compelling, so real. The more he heard, the more he became convinced that the Outer Districts were a place of hidden power and intrigue—a world of complex social structures and untapped potential. With every new detail, Caster was drawn deeper into the narrative of the Movers, believing that they were part of a grand, ongoing struggle. He saw the Outer Districts as a stage for something much larger than himself—a place where power dynamics and personal motivations intersected in fascinating ways. Caster had come to view the Outer Districts as a unknown and unstable society ,and the girls' insights, that came from fictional stories unbeknownst to him, had given him a glimpse into a world that was far more intricate and fascinating than he had imagined. One that he needed to understand if he was to compete with his fellow Assassins.