Xin let the silence sit for a while before speaking. He stirred the remnants of his broth absentmindedly, eyes still locked on Shun.
"…Why not the Sovereigns?" he asked at last.
Shun blinked, then turned his gaze back to the sky, the stars twinkling in his eyes. For a long moment, he didn't answer. When he did, there was a sadness in his voice—an old truth, one he had likely carried alone for too long.
"The Sovereigns don't care what happens," he paused. "Not truly. They have no love for the realm. Not anymore."
Xin frowned, caught off guard by the bluntness.
"They're too independent, too unpredictable, Some of them don't even live within their domains anymore. They move from world to world, chasing their own ambitions. The old promises? The vows to guide and protect? Those were broken long before our time."
Xin said nothing, unsure what to say.
Shun leaned back, placing his empty bowl beside him. His eyes drifted upward again. "There used to be a dragon primordial. A great one. It roamed the dragon realms long ago, some say it was the dream-giver, that it could turn the wishes of mortals into truth. It's the reason our people used to believe so deeply in miracles. But after the war with the demons…"
He shook his head.
"…it vanished. Just like the gods. Trapped"
Xin's heart skipped a beat.
"My world," Shun said, his voice quiet now, "is on a collision course with a supermassive black hole. Slowly… unstoppably. No one's paying attention to a backwater planet like mine. It's not powerful. Not prestigious. Not even pretty. But it's my home."
He paused, jaw tightening.
"I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing. If I just watched it get swallowed whole. Someone has to try. And if not the leader, then who?"
Xin stared at him. This wasn't just a warrior. This wasn't just a good man. This was someone who had decided to shoulder the weight of a dying world alone.
"And the gods?" Xin finally asked, voice low. "You think they're here… trapped?"
Shun nodded slowly. "It's a theory. Ever since the war, the divine presence in our world's been… faint. No responses to prayers. No miracles. Not even omens. And then I got here. This 'Black Theatre.' And I started meeting people. Powerful ones. Ones with strange auras. Divine traits."
He looked at Xin, solemn.
"It made me think: what if this place isn't just a battlefield? What if it's a prison?"
Xin sat back, breath caught in his throat. He didn't know what to say. Talks of gods, primordials, dying stars—those were above his head. He wasn't a philosopher or a ruler. He was just… Xin. A fighter with a hammer and a sharp eye. What could he possibly say to any of that?
But when he looked at Shun, he saw something familiar in those bright blue eyes. Something burning behind the exhaustion, behind the sorrow.
Hope.
Not the blind kind. Not foolish or naive. The kind that endured after pain. The kind that made a man walk through fire for people who may never know his name.
Xin smiled, a quiet respect blooming in his chest.
"…I'll try to help however I can," he said.
Then, covering his mouth with one hand, he leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for Shun to hear, "I've got some connections with Mr. Cole. Maybe I can pull a few strings for you."
Shun blinked, then grinned a wide, grateful, boyish grin. "I'd appreciate that."
Their conversation drifted after that. They started trading gossip. Light things. Jokes about other summit members. Whispers about who snuck seconds from the kitchens and which members had a crush on which Raven. For a little while, the weight of dying stars and fading gods faded away into laughter under the starlight.
Eventually, they finished their meals, gathered their things, and went their separate ways.
Xin returned to the small room he'd been assigned. The bed was firm, the walls plain. But tonight, sleep came slower than usual. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. The firelight from outside cast faint shadows across the stone.
It was hard not to think about Cole without thinking about Belial.
Mr. Cole… he was a pillar. A leader among leaders. But Bel...he was closer to Cole than Xin ever could be. Bel had the trust, the conversations behind closed doors, the connection. Xin had always been fine with that. But now?
Now, all he'd done was offer Shun a shred of hope. A whisper of assistance. And Shun had looked at him like he was a miracle.
That stuck with him.
He exhaled and rolled onto his side.
Sleep came slowly, full of thoughts about blue eyes, broken gods, and the terrifying burden of hope.
...
Morning crept over the summit, its golden light spilling gently through the crevices of the mountain shelters. The crisp air carried the scent of burning wood and simmering broth as early risers moved through the settlement in quiet routine.
Xin stirred from his sleep with a slow stretch and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The stone floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he rose and gathered his things. He made his way to the washing quarters, a space carved out behind the mess hall where steam rose from heated water pools.
The people here tough survivors of this cursed land had grown resourceful. They had figured out how to render monster fat into usable soap, scented faintly with wild herbs picked from the summit trails. It wasn't perfect, but it worked well enough to keep the grime off. Xin lathered himself, the suds clinging thickly to his skin, and rinsed in the hot water. He exhaled deeply, enjoying the moment of warmth.
Toothpaste, though...that had been another matter entirely.
They hadn't known how to make it, not until Xin explained it. Now, thanks to his tinkering, they crushed monster eggshells down to powder and mixed it with salt-mineral crystals harvested from the deeper mines. The result was gritty and sharp, but it cleaned better than anything else they'd had.
After freshening up, he strapped on his boots, clipped on his belt, and headed out into the town.
For once, he had some free time.
His duties for the day wouldn't begin until noon, so he decided to roam the settlement a little. The summit town had grown a lot since he first arrived. What had once been a scattered camp was now a network of stone walkways, dome-like dwellings, torch-lit corners, and communal spots that bustled with life. The vibrant conversation, the clang of tools, and the laughter of men and women mixed together in a melody of survival.
He made his way toward the training grounds.
The field was open and flat, its borders marked by hanging cloth flags and heavy wooden poles. Soldiers moved in organized groups, their movements sharp and efficient. Some sparred in circles, others drilled formations or practiced with weighted weapons. These were the restless ones—the kind who could never sit still, even when off duty.
Beyond them, near the far edge of the field, something softer caught his eye.
A young girl was training with a woman, she looked like her older sister or a guardian. They each held wooden swords, worn smooth by repetition. The girl's stance was a little awkward, her swings unrefined, but there was focus in her eyes. The woman corrected her gently, guiding her posture, encouraging her without harshness.
Xin paused for a moment and watched.
It was such a simple scene, yet it held something rare in this world, normalcy. A child learning to fight not out of desperation or fear, but with discipline. With guidance and necessity. There was care in the woman's movements, in the way she kept herself just fast enough to challenge the girl, but never fast enough to discourage her.
Xin found himself smiling faintly.
This was what they were fighting for.
Not just to survive, but to live. To build something that could last. Something that gave even the youngest among them a chance.
He leaned against a nearby post, arms folded, eyes tracking the girl's footwork. She stumbled slightly, caught herself, and tried again. The woman gave her a soft nod.
A world where that could happen, a world where a little girl could grow up holding a sword not because she had to, but because she wanted to, and that was a future worth defending.
And maybe… just maybe… people like Shun were the reason such a future was even possible.