Shadow slave: A Shadows Friend

"and if I die heiress of the Lunar clan, Rin Lunar will fight after me"

"...."

For years, she had guarded that secret like a glass box—pristine, unbroken, untouched. She handled it with care, knowing that one mistake, one slip of the tongue, one tiny crack, and she'd be just another dead kid in a world that wouldn't blink at the loss. But now, that glass box had been shattered—violently, mercilessly—hurled against the wall and left in jagged, gleaming shards for everyone to see.

She didn't know what to feel. Rage? Fear? Grief? Or was there simply nothing left inside her at all?

She couldn't turn around. She didn't want to see Sunny's face, didn't want to witness the expression that would confirm what she already knew. His silence was louder than any words.

She glanced back at Gemma, who looked just as stunned as she felt. And who wouldn't be? Two daughters of powerful clans—one believed to be extinct, the other barely hanging on. Sure, news traveled slowly here, but every newcomer brought whispers of the outside world, fleeting glimpses of the truth beyond their isolation. Even so, this revelation was a shock.

Immortal Flame clan. A clan that had been responsible for propelling the entire human species forward not once, but twice — first by helping conquer the Second Nightmare, then the Third.

The Lunar Clan—guardians of the moon, protectors of Earth, standing alone against the void to keep the world from ruin. A clan that had always placed others before themselves, bound by honor and duty. Their ties to the Immortal Flame Clan ran deep, a bond forged in trust and tempered in the Nightmares they fought together in. But in the end, it was their so-called kindness that led to their downfall.

But she didn't care about anyone's reaction. What left her reeling wasn't their disbelief, it was the way Nephis had torn her secret into the open, ripping it from her like it was never hers to keep.

She hadn't noticed until now. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her hands trembling as they tightened around the hilt of her blade. She forced herself to focus, drawing on her Sensory technique to steady her racing mind and closed her eyes the world around her pulsed with the emotions of others, carried to her on waves of essence. And then—there.presences she recognized, wrapped in a storm of raw, seething hatred.

A death sentence, signed in blood, and it was currently aiming at her and Nephis

It was none other than caster and several other clocked figures around the hall

She tucked the information away in the back of her mind, letting it settle as she turned her attention to the emotions of the others in the hall, emotions that swirled around her. Faint but undeniable, a fragile ember in the vast darkness—a whisper of hope.

Because now, for the first time, there were two figures standing against the impossible. Two who dared to challenge a fearsome Pathfinder to a battle to the death. And this was no ordinary foe. This was a Pathfinder under the control of Gunlag.

And here were two individuals who spoke out

Nephis met Rin's gaze, her expression teetering between annoyance and fury. Changing Star gave a curt nod, while Fallen Moon turned to face the crowd, sword raised in a defensive stance. She deliberately avoided looking at Sunny, as if refusing to acknowledge his presence.

'nobodies killing her but me'

Just as Rin turned away, Nephis chose that moment to summon her armor. A flurry of shimmering sparks enveloped her, swirling like a quiet storm of light. When the glow faded, she stood clad in sleek black and white armor, the contrast as striking as the woman herself.

All eyes were drawn to the emblem on her breastplate. Seven radiant stars, carved with exquisite precision into the pale metal, gleamed in the dim light, a silent declaration, a symbol impossible to ignore.

"Th—that symbol!"

"It's Starlight Crest!"

"The crest of the Seven!"

Gemma finally pulled himself together, his expression shifting as he cast a measured glance at Changing Star and the still form of Fallen Moon. Where once his eyes had held nothing but indifference, a new glint had settled there.. something colder, edged with suspicion.

Then, slowly, the leader of the Hunters smiled.

"Ah. In that case, nice to meet you two. I must say, those are very impressive names you have there. Makes one wonder where they came from."

He was basically saying Nephis was lying

'I wish I could just say yeah she's lying but… the comparisons already been made, i can't undo what was said'

It was as if those words had torn away a veil, exposing the truth beneath. The wistful looks vanished in an instant, replaced by something colder—somber gazes, dark anticipation. And now, woven among them, a new thread: the sharp glint of mocking disdain.

And yet, not all had turned against her. A few still watched with eyes full of hesitant, fragile faith, as though clinging to a hope they barely dared to believe in.

Changing Star met it all with unshaken calm. She did not flinch, did not waver.

She simply stood, serene and untouchable—just beyond the reach of this world's filth and sorrow.

And just then, andel had finally arrived in the grand hall

*******

The Pathfinder stood of average height but carried himself with the weight of a seasoned warrior. His frame was solid, his presence imposing. Menacing blue eyes glinted beneath a sharp, angular jaw, and his hair—shaved at the sides—was woven into a short, tight braid. He was older than most of the Sleepers gathered in the grand hall, though not by much. Only Gemma himself outpaced him in years. Andel was likely twenty-four.

He bore the look of a fighter honed by countless battles—skilled, ruthless, and utterly unyielding. Pathfinders were the elite among elites, and Andel was no exception. Even those who despised him watched with wary reverence, their hatred tempered by the sharper edge of fear.

As he entered the hall, his gaze flicked between the two girls, something dark and sickly twisting in his expression. Then, with deliberate steps, he strode forward to the base of the white throne. There, he halted, bowing low before the leader of the Hunters.

"I'm here."

Gemma stared at him with an irritated, contemptuous expression, and then sighed.

"You know why I've summoned you?"

The Pathfinder smirked.

"Some Wenches want to challenge me? Good. I was very sad to let Harus have all the fun last time."

A ripple of angry whispers spread through the crowd, sharp and venomous, yet no one dared to step forward, to give voice to the hatred simmering beneath the surface. The air was thick with tension, a fragile veil of restraint holding back the storm.

Gemma's lips curled faintly, the corners of her mouth dipping into a frown. He let the silence stretch, heavy and deliberate, before his voice cut through the stillness—low, measured, and laced with a danger that made the air itself seem to hold its breath.

"Fun? Did you say fun? Well, Andel, if you lacked excitement in your life, you should have just told me. How about this? After you kill these girls, I will show you what real fun is."

With a sharp, deliberate gesture, he signaled to the Guards that the fight could begin. Andel's brow furrowed briefly, a flicker of unease crossing his features, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He turned away, a shadow of a smile curling at the edges of his lips—dark, almost predatory, as if he already knew how this would end.

Rin shifted subtly, putting distance between herself and the growing crowd while maintaining her protective stance near Nephis. Her eyes darted around, ensuring no one would interfere with the duel. The grand hall was alive with tension, the air thick with the murmurs and restless energy of the onlookers. Sleepers had gathered in droves, their faces a mosaic of curiosity, dread, and morbid fascination.

All eyes were fixed on the Pathfinder, a figure of dread and reverence, and the two young women who stood against him. The contrast was stark—the seasoned warrior, his reputation carved in blood and survival, and the girls from the outer settlements, their faces set with determination but their odds slim. The crowd buzzed with a low, electric hum, a mix of anticipation and bloodlust. Some were there for the spectacle, hungry for the thrill of violence, their eyes gleaming at the promise of spilled blood. To them, it didn't matter who fell—only that the fight would be brutal, swift, and unforgettable. Few, if any, believed the girls would walk away alive. The Pathfinder was a force of nature, and they were but sparks against a storm.

The crowd seethed with a bitter hunger for justice, their voices clamoring for Andel to pay for his sins. Yet, even among those who thirsted for his punishment, there was a grim resignation—a quiet, unspoken belief that Neph and Rin were already as good as dead. Their hope, fragile and desperate, clung to the faint possibility that one of them might strike a final, defiant blow, carving a wound into the bastard's flesh before the darkness claimed them. It was not hope for survival, but for retribution—a fleeting spark of vengeance to light their way to the grave.

Perhaps there were only four people that really knew what the result of this fight was going to be, this fight wasn't going to be as predictable as people think it will be

Without hesitation, Andel summoned his weapon and strode toward Changing Star, his every step deliberate, charged with purpose. In his hand, a brutal, crudely forged falchion materialized, its jagged edge transforming before their eyes. The blade gleamed with an unnatural polish, its razor-sharp edge catching the light as if hungry for blood.

The Pathfinder moved with a deceptive grace, his steps soft, almost silent, betraying the countless battles he had fought—against Nightmare Creatures, against men, against the very darkness that now seemed to cling to him like a second skin. A dark smile played on his lips, never wavering, while his eyes burned with a feral intensity. Years of hunting monsters had carved him into something monstrous himself, a predator clad in human flesh.

Yet Nephis stood unmoved, her calm unwavering as she watched him close the distance. She made no move to summon her sword, no gesture to defend herself. Her stillness was unnerving, a quiet defiance that seemed to mock the tension thickening the air.

When the space between them dwindled to mere steps, the onlookers held their breath, the world itself seeming to pause. In a flash, Andel surged forward, his falchion slicing through the air with inhuman speed. The force of his lunge kicked up a cloud of dust from the ground, the sheer power of his movement leaving a faint tremor in its wake. His blade, enhanced by whatever dark magic he wielded, arced toward Nephis with lethal precision.

But just as the edge was about to find its mark, Nephis moved. It was not a frantic dodge, nor a desperate scramble—it was a single, fluid step to the side, effortless and precise. At the same time, her arms rose, and her longsword materialized in a cascade of ethereal light. The shimmering sparks of its summoning passed through Andel's falchion, coalescing into solid steel only after they had crossed its path. The blade gleamed silver, cold and unyielding, as if it had always been there, waiting.

Andel's eyes widened in shock, his momentum carrying him forward even as realization dawned. His expression froze, the bloodlust in his gaze replaced by something else, something far more primal….fear

Rin's gaze wasn't fixed on the duel. Her attention was elsewhere, sharp and calculating, tracing the subtle shifts in the crowd. She saw it before anyone else did—before the first droplets of blood bloomed crimson against the white marble, before the body crumpled to the ground. A figure moved, swift and deliberate, a shadow weaving through the throng. The glint of a dagger flashed, its deadly arc aimed straight for Nephi's still form.

But the blade never reached its mark.

Before the crowd could gasp, before the dagger could kiss Nephi's skin, the hand that held it went limp. A heartbeat later, the figure fell, headless, joining the first body on the cold, unyielding floor. Rin's katana gleamed, wet and unforgiving, as her eyes darted across the chaos.

She was the next target. From between the bodies of the crowd, another hooded figure surged forward, a blade flashing upward in a reckless, untrained arc. There was no precision in the strike, no calculated intent—just raw, desperate motion. The sword whistled past Rin's face, close enough for her to feel the rush of air against her skin. The miss left the attacker wide open, his momentum carrying him off balance.

Rin didn't hesitate. Her instincts took over. She seized the man's wrists, her grip iron-tight, and pivoted on her heel. With a fluid motion born of necessity rather than grace, she twisted and hurled him over her shoulder. He hit the ground with a grunt, the air driven from his lungs, his sword clattering uselessly to the side. Before he could even think to recover, Rin was on him. Cold steel flashed, and in an instant, the fight was over. The blade found its mark, and the man's throat opened like a grim, final punctuation to his failed ambush.

Rin stood, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of survival, the weight of what she'd done settling in the silence that followed.

Everyone was staring at them in utter disbelief — the Sleepers, the Guards, even Gemma.

Rin had flicked the blood off her sword putting it back into her scabbard, nephis on the other hand dismissed her blade letting it return to her core, Nephis walked over to the marble steps, picked up the severed head by the hair, and looked up at the leader of the Hunters.

Then, with a well-practiced polite smile, she said:

"...Oh. It was nice to meet you too."

The crimson trail of Andel's blood still dripped from his severed head as they strode away from the castle, the heavy gates groaning shut behind them. Nephis carried the grisly trophy by its matted hair, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever. To her, it seemed, the weight of a human head was no more remarkable than the burden of a stone—unworthy of even the faintest flicker of emotion.

But the moment they slipped beyond the watchful eyes of the castle, Rin's simmering fury boiled over. The deaths of the assassins had done little to quell the storm raging within her. With a sharp twist, she seized Nephis by the shoulder, spinning her around. Before Nephis could react, Rin channeled a surge of essence through the intricate pathways of her leg, her muscles coiling like a spring. The force of her kick slammed into Nephis's stomach, driving the air from her lungs. Without pause, Rin followed with a brutal punch to her face, the crack of bone against flesh echoing in the stillness.

Nephis staggered, her grip faltering as Andel's head tumbled to the ground. Blood streamed from her nose, a stark contrast to her usual icy composure. For the first time, something flickered in Nephi's eyes—surprise, perhaps, or the faintest hint of respect. But Rin didn't wait to find out. Her chest heaved, her fists still clenched, as she stood over Nephis, the weight of her anger far from spent as she roared at the woman.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"