Four weeks.
That was how long he had until the next descent. Four weeks to sharpen every instinct, every skill, every edge of his mind.
So he treated each day like a blade—refined, tempered, and honed with precision.
Julius's lectures had remained as intriguing to Chrollo as ever. They had finally gotten further down the rabbit hole of the Dream Realm's secrets. The lectures had taught him and Sunny how to read the runes of the spell—at least from what humanity understands so far—alongside learning about ancient kingdoms from the small details gathered through Nightmares previously explored by the Awakened.
Sunless had also grown noticeably closer to Professor Julius. After all, that classroom was the only place where he dropped the charade of lunacy. That alone spoke volumes—it was only possible because of the respect he held for the professor, and because he knew Chrollo had already seen through his true self. More importantly, Chrollo wasn't a dullard. He had most likely figured Sunny out to some extent, and so, there was no longer any need for the act.
But it wasn't just their minds being tempered in those weeks. Bodies were honed, too.
Rock's combat classes had evolved from basic sparring to full-on experience drills—pair rotations, team-based games like capture the flag, and complex scenarios that tested not only strength but coordination. Chrollo had extracted every scrap of wisdom he could from them, even staying behind to ask questions, seeking guidance on how to use his twin daggers—or batons, depending on what he had access to—more efficiently. He lacked any true battle art, no real foundation to build on. So he fell back on the most basic teachings Rock could offer, supplementing them with sheer observation.
Still, progress came in inches.
From what Chrollo could glean, the Legacies possessed the most complex—yet deceptively efficient—battle arts. Passed down through generations and refined by both blood and memory, they were an art form in themselves. Most Sleepers settled for standardized techniques from schools and guilds. Even that would have been a luxury for him and Sunless.
Unlike Sunny, who would later be mentored by Nephis herself, Chrollo had no such path. Kaelen, despite being a friend, never divulged the secrets of his Clan's style. But that didn't stop Chrollo from watching. And learning.
The Ardent Clan's combat art—at least from what Chrollo observed—appeared reactive, not aggressive. Soft and fluid. But that was misdirection. Its true purpose was rhythm. Build it, lull the opponent, and then break it violently. It was about unpredictability. Water pretending to be still—until it wasn't.
Chrollo couldn't recreate it. Not really. His early attempts to imitate Nightwing's baton-based style—moves he'd memorized from old comics and shows—were abysmal. Where Nightwing looked like a blur of precision and flow, Chrollo stumbled through mistimed strikes and shaky stances. His movements lacked the poise or intent that made martial forms effective. He was clumsy. Worse than average.
But he kept trying.
He filtered those crude impressions through Rock's solid fundamentals, sanding off the most foolish edges of his technique. With constant sparring, he picked up the basics—how to stay grounded, how to breathe, when to retreat. His body slowly learned to follow his mind.
His style, if it could be called that, was still a mess. But it was a functional mess. He fought with intention now—offering patterns and then breaking them deliberately. It wasn't artful, or clever, or even effective most of the time… but it had just enough uncertainty to throw off someone expecting predictability.
It was ugly, but it was his.
Throughout the days, Chrollo's skills improved, but so did his relationship with Cassie. After their initial interactions, something subtle began to shift between them. She started trusting him more, developing an almost irrational attachment—a favor she could never explain, the same kind that had once led her to betray Sunny in the novel in order to protect Nephis. This trust wasn't spontaneous, though. It was the result of small moments, quiet conversations, and, importantly, when Cassie finally decided to use the memory he'd given her—the Vowbound Ring. With it, she could see, not through her own eyes, but through Chrollo's.
For Cassie, this wasn't just about understanding him—it was about seeing him as a light in her darkness. Having lived in the shadow of her blindness, both literal and figurative, Chrollo became a small ember of hope. He wasn't just a man to her; he was the spark that reminded her she could still find something good, something worth holding onto in a world that often felt distant and cold. He became the point of light in a darkened world.
Day by day, the atmosphere in the mess hall grew tense. Conversations grew quieter, the weight of their shared fate settling on everyone's shoulders. But there was one corner of the hall where things felt a little different—where Chrollo and Cassie sat together. It had become their space. At first, Sunny had joined them, drawn by the peace it offered, the familiarity of Chrollo—a fellow student in Julius's lessons.
Ironically, their silence was soon pierced by Kaelen's presence. He wasn't loud, but his social nature was undeniable. He had a way of speaking that naturally filled the spaces others left open. Kaelen wasn't someone who demanded attention, but he had a way of making those around him feel seen, heard. His curiosity and warmth made him a steady presence, one that subtly drew Sunny further into the group dynamic.
Chrollo, in contrast, continued to carefully play his part. He wasn't broken in any overt way—his acting was too polished for that. He lied easily, especially to Cassie , but his analytical mind remained sharp. He knew when to pull back, when to push forward, and most importantly, how to keep his guard up. He wasn't revealing much of himself, but it didn't matter. His ability to build trust was what kept him close to the others, particularly Cassie, who had begun to see him as something more than a mere ally. In a world where trust was scarce, he became her beacon—an anchor in the storm that she didn't even realize she needed.
Before Chrollo realized the winter solstice had arrived, his plans had already shifted. Instead of quitting Rock's classes after two weeks, he had simply minimized his attendance, prioritizing Julius's lessons above all else for this particular day.
"So, how long are you planning to keep dodging me, Chrollo? Is this your idea of some secret mission? Because you're not exactly subtle about it." Kaelen's voice cut through the quiet murmur of the mess hall, his eyes lingering on Chrollo with a knowing smile.
Chrollo looked up, expression deadpan as if he was looking at absolute dumb-ass . "I'm not dodging anyone, just keeping space to myself. I ain't got that legacy nepotism to help me out " His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that had cut dryly .
chuckling "Ah, so that's how it is—man my family isn't even that big of a clan we barley gain requests and jobs from the government let alone hold power like the major clans id say its caster who got it cosy"
"He's got the skills too, even without his clan possibly giving him cool memories. He'd make it. But you… you're being carried." Chrollo's words were a quiet observation, his tone sharp but not unkind. His bantering of Kaelen had always been his way of helping him—and Cassie—prepare for the trials ahead. Kaelen, like Sunny and Chrollo, was calm and collected, but his composure stemmed not from cold logic, but from a deep confidence in his own abilities.
"Oh yeah, Sunny—what were you and Cassie talking about before we showed up?" Kaelen's curiosity finally caught up to him. It wasn't every day you saw two walking corpses sharing a pleasant conversation.
To be honest, Kaelen would've never interacted with either of them if not for his strange endearment toward Chrollo. Not that he'd ever admit it. Chrollo just had… gravity. And Kaelen, despite being one of the stronger Legacies—comparable to Caster if not for the difference in their Aspects,not that it mattered. His own Aspect was plenty useful—couldn't help but be drawn in.
"Oh, nothing," Sunless replied casually. "She was just wishing me a happy birthday. Though honestly, I've got no clue how she figured that out. Was it the sweet coffee?"
His Aspect Flaw made it impossible to lie—but that didn't mean he had to be honest in any way that made sense. A madman speaking truth still sounded like nonsense to the world.
****
A short moment later, Chrollo and Sunny stood in front of the weathered door to the Wilderness Survival classroom. The air was still, unusually still, like the world had forgotten to exhale.
Chrollo glanced sideways.
Sunny stood with his hand raised, not knocking, not pulling away — just hovering, like he wasn't sure if this was really happening. There was something stiff in his shoulders, something unspoken curled in the crook of his neck.
"Scared?" Chrollo asked gently.
Sunny gave him a dry look. "Of a door?"
Chrollo just smiled. "Could be a metaphor."
With a small sigh, Sunny knocked.
Inside, the familiar bark of Teacher Julius snapped through the wood: "Well? You gonna loiter out there all day or come in and save me from these bloody reports?"
The door creaked open, and they stepped in.
Julius looked up from behind his cluttered desk — a mess of dried leaves, old maps, ration wrappers, and half-empty mugs — the sort of organized chaos that had somehow never lost its charm. His eyes lit up at the sight of them.
"Come to say goodbye?"
"Something like that," Sunny muttered.
Chrollo remained quiet. He always liked watching Julius talk — there was a rhythm to his madness, something wise nestled beneath the sarcasm and dust.
The old man stood with a groan, stretching till his back popped. "Right, listen up. First things first — stay warm, stay dry, and for the love of all that is holy, document everything. Got it?"
Sunny blinked. "Everything?"
"Yes, everything! Terrain, weather, sky color, smells, weird noises — even if the grass crunches wrong under your feet. You think I'm joking, but I once survived an ambush because I remembered that the moss in that particular glade didn't squeak. So write it all down!"
Chrollo nodded. "Understood."
Julius rummaged through his desk, pulling out two small notebooks — worn, battered, edges curled like old bread.
"These are from my field days. Figured you might make better use of them now." He handed them over.
Chrollo accepted his with a soft "thank you." Sunny gave a nod, more reverent than usual.
"And if you see signs of human activity — broken twigs, burnt wood, footsteps that aren't yours — don't assume the worst. Sometimes it's a monster, sure, but sometimes it's someone like you trying to find a Citadel. And if you find one…"
"Leave a trail," Sunny finished.
"Good lad." Julius grinned, then paused, pointing a weathered finger skyward. "And don't eat glowing fruit. That stuff'll give you visions. Bad ones."
Chrollo smirked. "We'll remember."
But then something shifted. Julius sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked older all of a sudden — not in the way his face sagged or his bones creaked, but in the heaviness behind his gaze.
"You're going to see things. Things you can't unsee. Some beautiful. Some… not. Don't lose yourself in either."
For a beat, the room quieted.
Then Sunny, in a voice far softer than Chrollo expected, said, "Thanks, Julius. For everything."
Chrollo echoed, "We'll make it back."
The old man looked at them — hands on hips, eyes a little glassy — and said, "I know you will. That's why I'm not saying goodbye."
A beat. Then Julius snapped his fingers, like something had just occurred to him.
"Oh! And when you come back — not if, when — I'll put in a recommendation for the two of you to get assistant researcher slots. Real ones, with stipends. None of that glorified intern nonsense."
Chrollo turned slightly, just enough to catch Sunny's expression. The boy's posture didn't shift much, but Chrollo saw it. The pause. That tiny breath caught in his throat.
Sunny raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"I'm serious! You two'll probably know more about the Dream Realm firsthand than most of the faculty by then. Hell, if you actually keep proper field notes"—he gestured to the notebooks with flair—"you might even publish something useful."
Chrollo tilted his head. "We'd be… researchers?"
"Well, technically research assistants," Julius said, "but that's just academic lingo for 'the poor sods who get all the credit when the old guys retire.'"
Sunny gave a short, amused snort. "We'll hold you to that."
"You better," Julius pointed. "And no dying just to spite me. That would be very unprofessional."
They all laughed, the sound warm and oddly out of place in the musty little room.
But Chrollo was only half in it. He watched Sunny, the way his hand rested over the notebook's cover like it was something fragile. He wondered if Sunny believed it. Believed they'd come back. Believed that offer meant something more than just comfort.
He wants to. But he doesn't.
Chrollo could feel it like a splinter in his own chest.Sunny wouldn't take that offer — not that he could. That [fated] of his wouldn't allow it. He's the main character, after all. His life's only good for conflict. But maybe, just maybe, it would matter down the line. A stupid promise, vague and blurry, waiting for him in the distance.
Chrollo filed the thought away. It wasn't time yet. But if they lived? It was something.
Julius gave them a final wave, a little too brisk to be casual. "Now get out of here before I start crying."
Chrollo turned as they stepped back into the silent hallway. The door clicked shut behind them.
Only then did he whisper to Sunny, "He's going to cry anyway."
Sunny nodded. "Definitely."
They stood there for a moment.