Sunny exhaled heavily, leaning on the twisted shaft of Cruel Sight. His transformation after forming the Devil Core had reshaped him—more powerful, more fearsome. His body had grown larger, his skin now a shade of near-obsidian, as if he had been carved from shadow itself. His horns had thickened, curling like blackened crescents above his brow, giving him the visage of something monstrous and mythic.
Time was slipping through their fingers. After their fateful encounter with the Sun Prince, who had issued an ultimatum to return the knives, the cohort had launched into frantic preparation for the war to come.
Everyone had witnessed the moment Noctis severed the Steel Colossus's arm. Everyone… except Klaus.
Sunny didn't know what that cursed bastard was up to, but the distant screams that had echoed through the valley at dawn stirred a sense of unease in his gut. The oldest Dream among them was attempting something reckless—something deranged and possibly catastrophic. And, truth be told, Sunny wasn't even surprised. After all, Klaus had once faced a Saint… and walked away the victor.
Still, he revealed just enough to offer crumbs of explanation, never the whole picture. Half-truths, veiled answers, cryptic riddles—that was Klaus's language. It was maddening, especially to someone as inquisitive as Sunny.
But what unsettled Sunny most wasn't Klaus's secrecy—it was the memory of what Klaus had done to him.
He had nearly gouged out Sunny's eyes. Publicly. Without hesitation.
The damage had been healed—Noctis had seen to that—but the horror of it lingered like a shadow at the back of his mind. Klaus's ruthlessness, his sheer cold detachment… the madness that lurked beneath the surface—it all made him terrifyingly unpredictable. And Sunny hated that.
"Ah, Master Jet was right," Sunny muttered to himself, "I really ought to learn to keep my mouth shut."
In his defense, no matter how outrageous, deranged, or taunting his words had been in the Forgotten Shore, he had always managed to slip through unscathed. People had grown used to him. Even if they wanted to throttle him, they never followed through.
But Klaus… Klaus had crossed that invisible line, and it had shaken Sunny to his core.
He sank onto the grass, Cruel Sight dissolving from spear into dagger. His thoughts whirled. Klaus and Cassie knew one another well—too well. They shared secrets, comfort, tension. Jealousy prickled at Sunny's heart. Cassie had been his friend, once. He had severed that bond himself, granted. Hurt her with words meant to push her away. But watching her argue with Klaus one moment and fall back into his arms the next was something he couldn't quite stomach.
Sunny knew Klaus through Master Jet… or at least, he thought he did. Could Klaus be a government agent? Possibly. But after meeting Klaus's family, Sunny wasn't so sure anymore. The way Noah Zakharov spoke of their family, the casual authority in his tone… it felt like they belonged to one of the Legacy Clans. Or worse—something older, deeper, hidden from the world's sight.
"Too many questions. Not nearly enough answers," Sunny murmured.
Shaking his head, he decided to take break. he crouched near the lake and drew some water to wash the sweat off his face. Then, he poured some on his head and sighed, looking at the clear surface of the lake.
Obsidian skin, bestial features, eyes that seemed like pools of liquid darkness, twisting horns… Master Jet had once joked that he would be a flower boy one day. Remembering it, Sunny smiled.
'I wonder what she would have said if she saw me that way…'
And then, he froze.
His sweat turned cold.
...There was a third reflection on the surface of the lake.
It was a tall and slender young man, with pale skin and raven-black hair. His face was sharp and thin — not exactly handsome, but at the same time charming and strangely beautiful. His striking eyes didn't seem to possess a color of their own, and instead reflected the world back on itself like two pools of liquid silver.
Currently, they were as blue as the boundless, vast sky.
The young man smiled pleasantly, and then raised a hand in greeting.
A painfully familiar voice suddenly resounded in Sunny's mind.
"Ah, Sunless… how nice it is to meet you again, after all this time. Just look at you… goodness! I almost failed to recognize you behind that fearsome face…"
Hearing Mordret's pleasant voice reminded Sunny of the time they had shared in the Sky Below, and the closeness that had existed between them back then. A long time ago, he had considered the mysterious prince if not a friend, then at least an ally. He had been fond of the owner of the disembodied voice enough to worry when it disappeared.
Of course, all of that had been a lie. A masterfully crafted net of deception that Mordret had created to lure Sunny into bringing the mirror shard into the Night Temple, and setting him free.
The memory of the dark conclusion of that story — the fear, the pain, the shame of having been led astray and betrayed... the slaughter — gripped his hearts with icy claws. Sunny glared at the reflection of the young man for a few moments, then gritted his teeth.
He hated to admit it, but there was no escaping the fact that he feared Mordret. Sunny had met many powerful men and even more terrifying abominations, but the Prince of Nothing was perhaps the only one whom he was truly scared of. Not because of the Divine Aspect or the lineage of War, but precisely because of how insidiously cunning and inexplicable the Prince of Nothing was.
The same could be said of Klaus.
Sunny grimaced. How could he even begin to describe someone like that bastard?
People often called Sunny mad. And maybe he was, in his own petty, spiteful, knife-to-the-throat kind of way. But Klaus… Klaus was something else entirely. A different breed of lunatic.
He didn't just lack common sense—he seemed to actively despise it. Everything he did was drenched in drama, like he was putting on a performance for an audience only he could see. He chased excitement as if boredom was a mortal enemy, accomplishing his goals in the most outlandish ways possible. He cracked jokes with a lunatic's grin, riddled his speech with cryptic references no one understood, and floated somewhere between deranged and disturbingly dependable. That contradiction made him all the more unnerving.
What disturbed Sunny most was Klaus's strange detachment from life. It wasn't hatred. It wasn't even joy. When he executed the War Maidens, Klaus hadn't shown pleasure or regret. There had been no flicker of emotion—just a void. Like it didn't matter. Like nothing mattered. Not their lives. Not his own.
It was terrifying. That reckless disregard. That grin he wore as though the world were a farce and he had long since given up pretending to care.
Sunny shivered. That kind of emptiness… it scared him more than he cared to admit.
With a low growl, Sunny reached for the Extraordinary Rock, ensuring no one stood behind him. He glanced at the lake's surface and addressed the reflection in a rough, guarded voice:
His voice was rough, suspicious. "...Oh. It's you. What are you doing skulking in a lake, Mordret? Don't be a stranger—come into my Soul Sea, and let's talk properly."
The reflection didn't move. Its pleasant smile wavered ever so slightly.
"How curious," Mordret mused, his voice as melodic as ever. "I hear you clearly, Sunless... yet your lips remain still. Learning new tricks, are we? Good for you. I've been brushing up myself."
Sunny's eyes narrowed, shadows sliding over his face.
"Yeah, I've heard. A whole region of the kingdom, Mordret? Really? And here I thought you disliked slaughtering the innocent. Or did you convince yourself it didn't count because they weren't 'real'?"
The Prince of Nothing tilted his head, the smile lingering.
"What would be the point of killing them… if they weren't real?"
A chill ran down Sunny's spine.
Damnation! Him and Klaus both—they shared the same cold disregard for life.
Mordret's voice dropped into a gentle murmur, his silver eyes gleaming.
"They were real enough to serve their purpose. But don't misunderstand—I wouldn't do the same in the waking world. Those I killed were already dead, doomed to meaningless ends. I simply gave their deaths meaning. A new context."
He shrugged, expression wistful.
"A shame, truly. If Klaus hadn't meddled, hadn't saved those pitiful wretches… things might've turned out beautifully."
Sunny didn't respond right away, his expression unreadable.
"Why?" he finally asked, quiet but sharp. "Why would Klaus save anyone?"
Mordret chuckled. "Ahh, the question of the hour. I have a few theories. One, to limit my growth. Two, because of that blind witch. And three… maybe he wants something from me. Or maybe all of the above. Who knows?"
Sunny growled under his breath, fingers tightening into a fist.
"What do you want, Mordret?"
The reflection was silent for a moment. Then the Prince of Nothing offered another smile—soft, serene, and deeply unsettling.
"What else? To conquer the Nightmare, of course. Isn't that what we all want?"
Sunny's jaw clenched. "Don't play games. Just tell me what you're after."
Mordret sighed as if disappointed.
"Very well. It's simple, really. I want you to protect Noctis. Keep him alive, no matter what."
Sunny blinked, then stared with dark intensity.
"That's all?"
"That's all," Mordret confirmed, his voice light. "Do that, and I promise—we will escape this place alive."
Sunny sneered.
"Then I want something in return."
"Oh?" Mordret's eyebrows rose. "Let's hear it, shall we?"
The shadows around Sunny deepened as he hissed through gritted teeth:
"I want to know about Klaus."
At once, Mordret's demeanor changed. The warmth vanished. His expression turned blank—too still, too hollow. Those silver eyes lost their luster, becoming cold pools of bottomless resentment.
"You want to know about him?" Mordret's voice was quieter now, but it carried a venomous edge. "He's a traitor. A miserable bastard."
The silence that followed was heavy. Sunny hadn't expected this. To see the always pleasant Prince of Nothing angry. Really, truly angry.
Mordret's voice was colder now, brittle and sharp.
"Klaus is cursed with knowledge. One of the smartest minds I've ever seen. But no amount of brilliance has ever helped him solve his greatest puzzle—his own happiness."
He looked at Sunny, his expression unreadable.
"He understands, better than everyone, that the universe is random. Chaotic. Meaningless. And that realization… it devoured him. He stopped caring. About the world, about people, about himself. Why do you think he takes so many risks? Why he laughs, even as death reaches for him? He's not fearless. He's just… done."
Sunny said nothing, his throat tight.
Mordret's smile returned, brittle and bitter.
"That man lives like there's nothing left to lose. Because, deep down, he believes it."
Mordret smiled, a faint glimmer of nostalgia flickering in his silver eyes. He shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate, as if dispelling some lingering memory.
Then he continued, voice soft but sharp with meaning.
"He keeps people at arm's length, even those dearest to him. Not just to protect them… but as a silent cry for help. The closer someone gets, the more he feels compelled to wound them. As though hurting them first might spare him the agony of losing them later. He believes—no, he knows—that he's unworthy of joy. Undeserving of love. Doomed to a life of endless suffering."
A bitter smile tugged at his lips, one void of warmth.
"And yet… he wants to be happy. He aches for love. He yearns for peace with the desperation of a starving man reaching for bread. It's a paradox, isn't it? So desperate for connection, and yet too proud to accept it. Too broken to believe he deserves it."
Mordret's gaze grew distant, clouded by shadowed recollections.
"Do you know… there was a time when he was nothing. Weaker than me. Weaker than you, even. He could barely control his own power. Clumsy. Pathetic. But look at him now—standing at the summit, looking down upon us all. From the lowest depths to the pinnacle of strength... and yet, the void within him remains. No amount of power can mend a soul that's rotted from within."
He laughed suddenly, throwing his head back with wild amusement, then wiped a tear from his eye—whether from mirth or bitterness, it was hard to tell.
"Klaus is a madman, make no mistake. A beautifully deranged creature who gives no thought to consequence. A monster with a charming smile. He walks the world with a crown of delusion perched on his head, convinced he's the axis upon which the universe turns. Arrogant. Self-absorbed. He thinks himself untouchable, invincible. That he can act without repercussions, as if the laws that govern us all dare not apply to him."
Mordret's voice dropped to a near-whisper, cold and reverent.
"To him, the world is hollow. Meaningless. And in that meaningless void… he believes he is the only thing that truly matters. That… is who the Oldest Dream is."