A/N: I KNEW SUNDAY WOULD BE A MUSICAL PRODIGY, BEHIND THE SCENES GREAT WITH ANY INSTRUMENT AT HIS DISPOSAL. He is the conductor AND THE WHOLE DAMN ORCHESTRA. I just love him so much T_T I watched his Keeping Up With Star Rail where I screamed at Robin being there because hallelujah to the sibs just always out there for each other, Myriad Celestia trailer and fell over my knees for hooded Sunday and conductor Sunday, because why the hell are they gorgeous and the piano solo trailer... Yep, I'm done but on with the story as I feel even more strongly about the sibs. FYI, for Sunday game mechs, I do love that we get priest Sunday vibe but when we see the goddamn musician he is, why can't we have conductor Sunday as well who is the whole orchestra himself. WHY???? Prays for skins... Priest Sunday is Imaginary... Conductor Sunday is Physical / Ice / Quantum... Yeah right, but a girl can dream.

Robin: Brother, was that dream real for you as well, meeting each other in what-ifs and a spot to visit together in real life for a family reunion? Whatever ordeal you are facing now, I hope you fare better from it. You once said we will 'see each other soon', is that a promise or something you simply said as a courtesy or its own farewell? I know circumstances realistically won't let us see each other 'soon' as the word truly means but will we ever catch up?

Robin: I did say that I understand your circumstances, and I should have known I would be left on read but are you worried that texting would incriminate me because you are still a criminal to this galaxy and I am an idol, a singer whose reputation so dearly cherished could be tainted by your own? If I hit right on the mark, you are easy as ever to read brother. As you can see by now, I have texted you on our private phones only known to just the two of us so it is more unlikely that anyone else will trace this connection. So, please, will you say something?

Robin: I guess you are still going to keep me on read? It's been a while and there is no news about you in the galaxies, which is good news after what happened in Penacony but I guess I still can't help but worry. Sometimes, I feel like even when we don't talk normally like we usually do, I can still hear your voice in my head, the lullabies sang and toys like Mr. Bun Bun and Ms. Halo seem to take a liking to me in my own privacy. You don't have to tell me for me to know that this was your doing. ... Thank you for reaching out. I will wait when one day you will text back. Don't think that I have never seen you trying to type at your end~

Robin: It's been a while, brother. Were you surprised to see my TV appearance for a concert comeback? I know you might still keep up with the news since you seem to be able to Even when I have texted you before about how I have cancelled my idol activities in favour of a self-journey with audience of my choosing? This was one of the times, and I had not expected for fans to be so enthusiastic and let it get viral. Even if I desire a break from idolhood, it seemed I cannot be left idle for so long, with slotted TV sessions with that famous IPC show host Owlbert that I know you have met a few times for yourself as well and maybe a few more concerts just for certain celebrated cornerstones... so, what if my biggest fan came to a few? What do you say?

"I need a favour."

Sunday looked up in surprise at Blade who had spoke such words. He was still relatively new to the Stellaron Hunters and believed he had not bonded well enough with any of them to the point that they would go ask him of all people for a favour.

Still, such an interruption helped when he had been staring at his phone, to the bombardament of messages as spordiac as they were from Robin herself after the shared dream together and a promise Sunday wasn't sure how to interpret for the both of them even though he was the one to say 'see you soon'. He hadn't even contended with it until around the time that he had started conducting for Kafka's job and even then, he focused solely on his tasks at hand before addressing the elephant in the room but it was only so long that the increasing number of notifications and the rising number above the messaging app wouldn't drive anyone insane. So here he was now.

It had been almost a month and despite his definition for eternal separation and the script close to heart with written destiny that was not as set in stone as people would like to think in a world of 'infinite possibilities', he had kept contact with Robin, in his own ways although he was not gung ho about it, would not jump for it. That Robin was right that Sunday cared about her reputation, that her dreams should not be sullied because of her relation with him, that fame and infamy, of idol and criminal simply not mixing well.

And yet, even if the easier part of him felt that it was better she had forgotten him altogether, pursued her dreams on her own and even just finish him during that very day at the theater for what they had been against each other in one of the fewest and rarest times ever when their differing views could settle for a compromise more often than such a clashing battle, Sunday knew what Robin wanted and as a brother to sister...

He tries. He still didn't know the outcome to such contact despite their doomed fate in the future but the easy part did not make up his whole heart, the parts that was grateful to his own life, who never wanted to sadden Robin and wished that he could have held such a positive mindset like Robin and that since they were always family, how could Sunday leave her alone?

So he tries. It was hard. And he had been trying to text even though paranoia was not reassured by Robin's statements that the phone was not traceable and a text, a few more as a preferable contact over their telepathic one that drains them of their power and the toys Sunday sends that might act as messangers but are not of Sunday himself...

Needless to say, he was grateful for the distraction that Blade gave him, putting aside the phone where he had once more deleted any statements in his phone and put all his attention to the latest matter at hand.

"A favour? From me?" Sunday asked, as if repeating it would somehow make sense. It didn't, and he continued, "Me? Not from Miss Kafka, Miss Silver Wolf or Miss Firefly?"

"Who else but you here?" Blade asked, as bluntly as ever which now piqued Sunday's curiosity.

Blade always struck Sunday as a cold individual who had little to say. His indifference and disinterest made it hard for Sunday to get close to this unapproachable man even if he tried. A distant but efficient swordsman who had pledged loyalty to Destiny's Slave.

What would Blade want from Sunday?

"What favour are you asking for?" Sunday asked.

"You once worked as a priest right? I need you to infiltrate a church worshipping the Abundance and find the Denizien's secret base," Blade answered, cutting to the chase without any beating around the bush called back and forth one would expect to get all the information needed in conversations like this.

Such answer simply left more questions as Sunday was left entirely without context. He wanted to ask, but Blade had answered what Sunday felt like he rather have answered than the unasked questions that could have been met with silence.

All there was left for him to do was accept or reject, even though the lingering question of why laid on his toungue. All Sunday could surmise for such why, at least with Blade's Xianzhou origin, was some kind of hatred for the Abundance. But would Blade truly be a man who hunts people down simply out of just hatred? Sunday knew if he wasn't going to ask, then it would be best not to dwell when neither pried for the others' life and thus only a professional relationship remained.

Without a script leading them on, the Stellaron Hunters had their own downtime and Sunday was figuring out soon enough that so far what consisted of their downtime might be as criminal as parts of their scripted lives could be, unknowing how to live normally after this road taken. Then again, he had so far experienced Kafka's life outside of the script and now a taste of Blade's. Maybe Silver Wolf's downtime would just be anything video game related. He was not sure about Firefly but maybe it might be similar to his sister with shopping or going out for walks and yet what would he know?

Sunday now simply stared back at Blade, who met a silent gaze with an equally silent gaze as he only awaited an answer. Sunday had no reason to accept the favour but neither to reject it. He could ponder about the pros and cons, about Blade's motivation to sway him either way or his own relationship with the Stellaron Hunters and whether it would be worth it. They would all be useless thoughts. What mattered more was what he wanted. This was his own downtime too, away from the script. Away from the structured life that he only knew ever since he was groomed to be the Oak Family Leader.

"Sure," Sunday finally answered, "What else do I need to know?"

He didn't mind dabbling into the religious route after knowing what it was like to be a conductor. Getting out more would foster more opportunities for finding where a wanderer without rest could lead. Unlike his conducting skills, he had his Bronze Melodia experience to fall back to. A worthwhile expereince.

As he ignored some elephants in the room, mattering little to others and only so much to himself unknowing what to do.

If Blade showed any surprise about the acceptance and following eagerness, it didn't show to his everlasting indifference on his face as he spared no detail about what he wanted out of Sunday and the objective at hand.

Sunday nodded, tallying up the information at head before Blade unceremoniously declared that they should get going now.

No rest for the wicked they say.

***

That was merely a few days ago, as Sunday settled well into the church Blade wanted him to infilitrate on a distant planet far from Pier Point where they usually held base unknown especially to the IPC and anyone else wanting their heads. At first impression, it was just as normal a religious dwelling that any planet hosts, whether they serve Aeons, gods mistaken from either Arbritrators or Emanators leaving a lasting impression and untold by the wider galaxy how mortal truly Emanators are despite their power and really anything in between, anything that could be idolized to a vision of god that deserves their religion told fanatically and taking hold of the planet they touch upon.

As a planet open enough for space travelling and yet lacking resources to travel out themselves or at least provide for themselves any means to make space travel common which holds itself very true for many planets out there, it was unsurprising for them to have people who stumbled upon the planet rather than anyone who left the planet themselves. So when Sunday came, with his new fit hooded to cover up his wings without the halo elsewhere on person, even without his prominent Halovian features, locals could feel how alien he was and were yet quite welcoming to the strange yet respectable traveller from what they could only assume as afar and even made no qualms when Sunday found a calling within the local church, rising steadily up to the ranks.

The church did not paint themselves with the Abundance that Blade insisted was hiding beneath the surface with idolatry of another god that could give any kind of salvation to the masses, of why people have prayed for the higher powers and yet what Sunday knew throughout and especially from his ordeals to be futile when one can only rely on themselves for the way forward to their dreams, when he knew from experience how conditional pathstriding and Aeons' blessings can be.

Despite such blasphemous thoughts from the once Bronze Melodia, his faith which is the root to all religion never wavered, simply directed anywhere and elsewhere that graces people with a saving light. Even if he did believe that people can only rely on themselves to uplift their own dreams and to stride upon numerous paths, a listening ear and support in banding together for mutual goals is a reliance never wasted and which Sunday still excels quite well, which he finds necessary in building paradises for everyone even as a first step. To listen to suffering and to emphatise, to find even more motivation for the dream he once held and in walking through mortal suffering as an experience to reshape and remold techniques once failed, it was a path he happily embarked and what made him a natural priest in infiltrating the church.

As a strange and respectable traveller, especially with his Halovian nature endearing and charming people around him with the amiable state he shows everyone, Sunday was now finishing up a piano piece for the church's choir accompanying mass to signal a start of the day.

In the span of the few days, he had gone from errand boy to being accepted enough from musical talent to at least provide accompaniment to the choir at his first mass, being recognized immediately as musically inclined and practicing enough to deliver a spell binding performance to the people that lacked regret in such decision on such sudden staging.

It was also prime opportunity for Sunday to do reconnaisance on what Blade has requested upon this infiltration about a church that has hidden its Abundance origins, which is strange to say the least.

The Abundance is easily loved and hated for those who fear death and know the horrors of immortality respectively but many short lived species, using Xianzhou terminology here, it would be formerly favoured because the fear of death is always the strongest.

Sunday easily felt the same, not only for himself but for his loved ones such as his mother he had lost and cried over that fateful day and then his sister who he believed died once upon a time only to find out she was alive all along in gratefulness.

The fear of death, salvation of a soul for prolonged life if just for achieving dreams without regrets or fear of losing loved ones would make sense in a planet without complications to immortality like the Xianzhou, to favour the Abundance and yet the church itself had it been infiltrated by the Abundance covered it up instead with another god that do not hold a candle over the Aeons. It warranted a bit of digging, if nothing else for it.

As Sunday took a bow along with the choir to head back to the front seat for the rest of the sermon, he was unsurprised to find a familiar stuffed angel toy at his seat, having no qualms taking it up and placing it on his lap that caught the eyes of those sitting in between him, who had noticed the stuffed doll in the first place when entranced by the performance.

He wasn't going to field off any unasked questions their curiosity holds as he pretends to look shock at its appearance and yet does nothing but just holding it on. He smiled pleasantly as the head priest took up to stage for a word of their God's teachings. What anyone would see as reverent listening had actually been telepathic conversation between a vessel and yet another familiar different from Mr. Bun Bun.

'Ms. Halo, what have you found out?'

After Mr. Bun Bun, it was unsurprising that Ms. Halo would be the next one to be sentient especially after the Genesis debut during his conductor period. Even after naming the seven of his angels after the Order's commandments, they seem to end up just being one stuffed doll summoned in seven as the angels at his beck and calling, as Ms. Halo who seemed to have a marked influence in his life since childhood.

Unsurprising among all toys although Mr. Bun Bun was the first to awaken among his array of toys, because while the rabbit plush would always be a favourite for Robin, cheer her the most and always there as found by herself or brought by Sunday under any dire childhood circumstances... it was Ms. Halo that would hold his heart and resonate the most because that angelic toy, that Halovian toy has yet to be found anywhere else but the planet the siblings once resided and gifted by their mother, who had made it to a cartoonish likeliness of their species and a toy that Sunday and Robin protected in the memory of their mother.

What it means to be a Halovian, what it means for the angelic powers, what their mother hoped they would feel keeping that toy close especially when it survived out of their meagre possessions when the siblings were sent to Penacony.

A toy also used in childhood that inspired the question about golden cherubs and music boxes, of angels and songs.  Such a toy wouldn't have such a marked influence otherwise and for the toy to turn into the very angels, the golden cherubs, that Sunday had at beck and call thanks to THEIR power leaking out. Nothing but poetic.

And maybe since Ms. Halo was made in the image of Halovians, the telepathy that they possessed simply relaying the emotions needed, which spoke of assurance, self-confience and maybe even a hint of mischief that was luckily formed into an answer.

'They hide their cards well more than we thought, but not enough that anyone poking around wouldn't find something suspect. They are certainly suspicious of you, and any move you make might dive you headfirst into whatever schemes they have hatched. But getting into the thick of things is what you wanted, correct? Considering the favour you are about to do, they saw me poking around what I wasn't meant to poke around and since I am here with you, they might inquire. Whatever you do with this opportunity is up to you, good luck.'

Sunday was almost in disbelief with the wayward action that Ms. Halo seem to take, that while he was entirely focused on the sermon before him like many others, his eyes subtly darted to his surroundings and caught people staring at him, and also the doll in his hands. What he once thought as confusion now gave way to an intrigue he could not entirely make out, with a new meaning considering what Ms. Halo had done.

He almost want to sigh at how bold and almost reckless Mr. Bun Bun and now Ms. Halo are, wondering how they ever became like this, even though he wasn't entirely sure how they were made sentinent. Even with wanting to make a quick job out of it, simply wanting to keep it at a chapter of his life moving forward in this story of self-discovery and answers he had yet sought out, he found such frivoulessness a little distasteful for company he liked to keep. Really, it was a confounding question where they got such a personality from when they have been with him his whole life.

Or maybe, in an alternate timeline, they simply signify another possibility in him, of little changes made in his childhood giving birth to someone more open, 'less dull' and yet with frivolousness that a person of decorum such as himself could not bear to emulate. It was distasteful and disliking and yet it was company in unexpected surprise he did not mind keeping and accepting and learning from, especially it recalls the personality of who he used to be, and who he could still be underneath how he grew up to become.

Of course, Sunday was not a fool even with Ms. Halo's intervention to get the better of him and land himself into trouble. He could not stand imperfections nor risks, not when the life he had to uphold, to prolong against THEM until the bitter end was at stake. Even then, it was a habit unchanged ever since childhood, Bronze Melodia and even as the Oak leader.

Just as he once stated that day he was in the middle of Aventurine's grand performance that was all but preparation for it, Sunday was the type of person to make sure even his clothes were put and worn without the slightest deviation. Of grander scales such as plans and actions with deep consequences one way or another, of course no stone would be left unturned.

And even so, he knew he could not account for everything, in this chaotic open world unlike when he was simply sheltered in Penacony knowing the ins and outs which was why inevitable risks would present itself one way or another.

Thus, one way or another, he simply would leave this up to fate not necessarily surrendering to any disastorous inevitabalities but adapting as he saw fit, something he had long learned in defaulting himself to Elio's script at the beginning in compromise for being taken in when he had nowhere else to go as a fugitive and the subsequent crimes and scenarios that followed soon after. The journey after his fall was not smooth sailing but still held the desirable outcome as long as he got back up from his failures and avoiding mistakes he rather not be doomed to repeat.

As fate had it, at the end of the sermon and its proceedings for priests to stand at the foot of the stage for any lost soul to reach out for a simple prayer, he was stopped short from standing up by the priest that had sat next to him with his hand clasped firmly on his shoulder. If he remembered right, it was a senior priest that had been responsible for taking Sunday in and allowing him to indulge in the desire to work for the church to give back the hospitality.

"Is there anything you would like to ask me, sir?" Sunday asked, as he made no more move to stand up and simply played with the plush toy that people expectedly did not come to claim while waiting for an answer. He didn't miss how the priest had looked toward the toy before coming back to him.

"Raven," the priest addressed, a name that Sunday was using more as his disguise even though it might be obvious at first glance of how unreal it might be as a true name, "What have you been writing all this time? Were you so absorbed by the sermon that you wished to jot everything down?"

Having expected the plush toy question, he was more taken aback by the question of the journal now holstered at the side of his outfit with only the barest tip of a pinkish feather sticking out between pages. He could still remember it was a short while ago that Sunday received it anoymously, a blank journal waiting to be filled out just sitting right there at his desk. A note with a small paw print was enough to answer the anoymity question. Elio wouldn't give it to him without reason, and in dreams of potential futures when he cannot deny true human nature need in sleeping, the book apparently accompanies him evermore as the prime weapon, a medium, for the journeys starwards.

Even when he chosen the journey of trailblaze instead of finality, of freedom instead of destiny, that book would always be by his side with as much questions and answers he had once written as a child and writing now in this vast journey to the answer he could satisfy himself with in the ascetic journey of self-improvement, knowledge and vows. Seemingly free but with the mysteries still surrounding him, with Gopher Wood's determination and plans beaten for sure and yet still lingering maybe within a Family far away, of what the Harmony could be... would freedom be a foolish thought? Something he will keep quiet upon himself despite any questions given especially from the gray-haired Trailblazer.

Sunday almost wanted to shake his head. Even subtly, mayhaps, he would never escape destiny's clutches although it may strive him forward, kindly or not, to a future with the answers he seek and the paradises that he coveted like the sun in the sky. Maybe the infinite possibilities will always be taken advantage by some others, either in mutual agreement or someone's gain more than his, for the bigger picture at store. And yet even so, he found himself comforted that he knew as such instead of being potentially kept in the dark.

If he ever doubts his position as Stellaron Hunter instead of letting himself journey on his own feet in his lonesome, he preferred the fact that not only was he closer to the action of the faction holding sway to a destiny beyond anyone's imagination that will affect many whether they like it or not, that being here simply meant he could know more about his enemies, his allies and himself and face the situation boldly, grandly without mistakes repeated in the past.

"It is a habit for a curious soul such as mine," Sunday said smoothly, easing away from the flashback about what the journal now means and how much significance it may hold, "Even as a child, I like to question everything and figure out the answers as life goes on. I write them down in a journal, just to satiate myself and remember what brings me to this point."

"That is a good habit to have," the priest patted Sunday's back jovially, somehow inching upward with every pat, "Does that mean you had questions with our sermon that you sought out answers for?"

"I don't particularly have answers I seek throughout this sermon this time," Sunday answered firmly, "Other than questions and answers, I do use the journal to simply jot down what I deem important, and after such hospitality from you all alongside my desire to follow along your footsteps in helping the masses, what I would need alongside ascetism is knowledge."

"Then, did you learn anything?" the priest asked, his hand inching close towards the angelic plush toy but stopping short for a second.

"This is only my first sermon, so I am not sure whether I have learned anything if I do not hear more," Sunday gave a somewhat non-answer in preference to figuring out what the priest truly wanted from this beating around the bush, "Only time will tell about what I have learned."

"Is that so?" the priest hummed, "Then are you willing to hear more now?"

Sunday could easily sense the turning point in this conversation, piled up by how the priest kept looking at Ms. Halo and even him with zealous eyes, how the priest had patted his back inching up to his neck as if searching for something and now that the atmosphere turned out like this, he decided on a brief counsel with Ms. Halo for any final decision.

The counsel proved itself shocking.

'Just let them knock you out.'

Before Sunday could even think 'excuse-', Sunday already stood up in time to avoid a chop to the back of his head by the senior priest. Unfortunately for him, the whole church was in cahoots with him, indicating a potential hive minded trait species from the Abundance faction could potentially exude. Sunday would have defended himself, but it seemed like something agreed with Ms. Halo's counsel when a forgotten bracelet from a certain not meant to be forgotten someone squeezed at his arm before he could even potentially grab his book and so surprised was he by the sensation that he really ended up getting knocked out.

And once more into a dream.

THEY frowned at the audacity, by the bracelet and wondered how it was even possible. The thorns once more clashed with the strings, hissing about promised wishes and future vested interests, as a reminder, to never be forgotten. The dreams THEY hold dominion over was now being put in convinience for the vessel's situation, all for a travelling merchant's wish and the fact that bestowed knowledge would further understand the cause. Honestly, the bracelet as an entrusted good and returned favour might hamper THEM more than THEY thought... Was this lucky or unlucky?

Sunday was suddenly thrusted into a dream, not dissimilar with how he had experienced Luocha's, a thought that somehow made sense to his mind suddenly. It reminded him of dream hopping, especially for people in close proximity dreaming for him to even get a glimpse. And what a glimpse he got, although it came in glitches and stops because-

Angels and demons. Churches and salvation. Blessings and curses. They weren't strong-

Devils, that they overpowered everyone. Devils, that they have all become. Cursed, that they do not deserve the Merciful One's blessing. Because they were tainted. Because they were not blessed enough. Because they needed to overcome this tria-

A religious war once more, of a closed off planet declared dead and yet alive because of an endless cycle. Don't worry, even they don't unde-

But they want to live. That was what important. Only the blessed live forever. And to reduce the curse, even a little, all they needed is a blessing. Even if that means absor-

How long will their trial go on? They could no longer consider themselves Abundance, when they were once ally, now ene-

But they do not want to be this dastardly creature. They could become stronger, better. All they needed was-

Bits and pieces stuck out from many dreamers, but Sunday could piece it together.

There was a reason why the Abundance was hidden from the church's origins, because they refused to worship the Aeon that had blessed them for the curse they now carry and deeming themselves impure upon them. They could only truly worship the Merciful One, pridefully call themselves as such if they cleanse themselves of their sins and truly obtain the immortality they truly seek out.

And  to cleanse themselves from sin was simply a way to become better than the cursed. Strange yet respectable travellers even if untouched by the Merciful One at least had what THEY have always sought out to give to so many, life. And life was enough for the citizens to prolong their own until their life became pure.

Why did Sunday feel like there was a similar situation, in another dreamer's world?

But before he could ponder it, he woke up.

Sunday was horrified at what dwelled in the basement, pods of people resembling closer to devils than humans and which was most likely where his dreams originated from. The deniziens revealed themselves, more grosteque than anything, with a gurney where Sunday found himself strapped in and finally revealing his Halovian features that made those devils smile.

"An angel! An angel gracing us by the Merciful One~"

'Have they never seen a Halovian?' Sunday thought, before he remembered a similar situation such as this one. A blonde hair child growing up to the travelling merchant Luocha who had no idea about Halovians and deeming Sunday as an angel for how he simply looked. Luocha, who once lived in a planet that suffered devilry like what he was witnessing now. Luocha, who was called an Abomination in the Xianzhou and this planet with its citizenry suffering the same ailment as Luocha's own home planet...

Sunday could hazard a guess, a sickening one, for what planets blessed by Yaoshi might have suffered for the price of immortality. At least he was beginning to understand Luocha's war against Abundance although he reminded himself despite the odd events that he was here doing Blade's favour and should focus on that instead.

The Abundance, Harmony and Order were not dissimilar in how they came from the 'good' concepts and even so they could end up as the villainous entities with criminal intent to maintain what they got out of such good concepts, and the curses that replaces the blessings as the prices to pay for such good.

Still, whether Blade came or not, he was already getting out of here. His toys had enough autonomy to simply lead Blade to this place as Sunday fulfilled enough of the favour in this infiltration. Thankfully, that was a point he didn't have to worry needlessly.

"Again and again, there are always certain deniziens have sought immortality and fallen short even with the blessing you have received. Always, somehow, you have received the curse from your race to immortality and never achieve perfection and can still die. And ironically think to achieve the perfect immortality that cannot die, you must kill that said perfect immortality and absorb it within yourself believing to be unkillable when you have just killed them in the first place. So that means the unkillable can die, that immortality is imperfect but then why..."

The unknown voice came from nowhere, but easily pinpointed to the entrance where all heads turned to see a black long haired man, holding a pulsating red sword in his bandaged right hand as two golden cherubs hovered over him having led him to the place.

"Why can't I reach the other side instead?" Blade finally asked, descending the steps to the devils that immediately understood what stood before them, and actually paled in fear with a fearsome title, Eternal Swordsman.

... Maybe there was more reason as to why they have hidden their Abundance origins after all.

***

'Of the five, three must pay the price.'

What people would see as a personal vendetta might simply be the price he had been paying even as he wandered around aimless until he met Jingliu, was taught and remembered, even before he was picked up by the Stellaron Hunters, pledged loyalty to Destiny's Slave and held his promise unto Elio in exchange for the resources at hand to pursue the goals now set firmly in his heart.

Even with following to the very end of Elio's script, whether simply sparing the reincarnation of Imbibitor Lunae from paying the price after chasing him for so long or staying alive long enough himself, it never deterred him from still chasing after Imbititor Lunae and hoping for his own death in the prices they had to pay or have his death at the hand of anyone who can finally deliver him to the other side of the paradise.

Even if loyalty towards Destiny's Slave meant that he could not die until the very end of the script instead of at the very present that he craved for, it never stopped how he welcomed many assassins and swordsmasters trying to take his head and failing every time for him to return the favour that stuck out better than what he had given him. Even seeking out the deniziens, the abominations and those of cursed immortality with their own irony that they do not truly possess the eternal life they seek when it can be easily cut down unlike his own was among the only things that could pique his curiosity to only want more. To see whether their methods to kill the unkillable could finally be applied to him even if it was meant to fuel their own immortality as long as he finally died in the end because death cared for nothing else beyond that.

He now looked at Sunday who now freed himself from the deniziens' trappings with the help of his golden cherubs signifying he could have gotten out of this situation anytime and looked towards Blade, wondering the next move as well to the deniziens themselves in alarm at how the atmospere suddenly changed and that bloodlust was in the air.

If Sunday was expecting any explanation on Blade's part, disappointment was only what awaited at the end when only quick decisive action simply exists in the wake of flaring mara especially in front of the deniziens that were always painful reminders such as now where he had seen what the devils were about to do to Sunday, of how closely it reminded of a long forgotten memory that turned a kinder past to a crueler present and flared the mara within to the loathsome and yet familiar tunnel vision that signifies an end.

Blade could barely make out Sunday's wide eyes of understanding, darting between him and the other deniziens as he boldly made his way towards Blade, something the swordsman would caution against the priest. But maybe this was all a part of what he would soon be shown.

Because Blade never intended to rope Sunday into this favour, this personal pursuit of his akin to a solo mission unless Kafka comes in by courtesy of all-seeing Elio to simply accompany him when the mara might be too much on occassion and a whisper was needed to quell. It had been surprising when Elio confronted him that day, asking what he thought about Sunday and even sneakily suggesting the newest recruit to join in his downtime with his priest background potentially making it easier to infiltrate the churches the deniziens like to hole themselves into.

When it comes to Elio, a suggestion wasn't made without reason especially when Blade's 'why fix what's not broken' method of brute forcing his way in that didn't need the softer touch of a priest infiltration. Even though it would not harm him to take upon Elio's suggestion simply to see to the end of it, that only piqued his curiosity enough to seek out a fellow Stellaron Hunter to simply ask any other opinion than his own impressions about a determined person ready to step through this willful road and yet soft with a kindness in his eyes unseen by many to truly dive into what destiny might ask as a price for the ending required. But that was all he knew.

Eventually, he found Firefly, the first person to meet Sunday even before his fall of grace and involved in what he was informed about a ludricous plan about eternal dreams and godhood ressurection. Once enemies turned allies, he was certain Firefly might have a better grasp to Sunday's character than the rest barring the all-seeing Elio and it was intriguing with what she had to say:

"Even when I did oppose him, he was a person who sought out understanding from his opponents about a paradise for all humanity despite his pessimism about them leading to those misguided but pure intentions. And now here he is growing from the loss of a fair duel he initiated towards the Astral Express instead of sneaky schemes at the end. As the allies we are now, I hope we can all achieve our goals in better ways than we once thought."

That was enough to resolute Blade to simply approach Sunday, reminding him what he thought about this faction overall. That together they simply banded to achieve their respective goals. Even if that much doesn't seem clear for something clearly more to Blade's benefit if any, anything can happen especially now when he was about to lose all reasoning.

Thus, Blade with the last of his mind spoken aloud in deserved warning:

"You. Get out of here."

As whatever happens next would be either pure blissful nothingness or simply awakening once more alive and seeing Sunday at this side, with whatever answers he might garnered from this excursion.

***

Only insane slaughter awaited Sunday. Ruthlessness he had not seen ever since Kasbelina-VII, a literal warzone, decided to grace his presence again. Truthfully, Sunday knew that he was going to encounter such a scene sooner or later but that didn't make it easier to witness.

Truthfully, even knowing the slaughter that the Stellaron Hunters had dabbled in, either personal vendetta or getting the mission done quicker, Sunday hoped that while he traversed in this group, he could minimize it. Even a little.

That was of course soft and futile hope. This was no longer a dream that lets people believe in their immortality at least a little longer nor a nightmare that could be left behind for everything to be alright. For the first time that Sunday had been aided by the inevitable fate to join the Stellaron Hunters at least as safe refuge until other possibilities opened up, he felt like he truly knew now what he was getting into.

Of course he didn't like it, as he prepared his own weapon without hesitation and summoned the angels who do their best to minimise the casualties in supporting those nearly costing themselves their lives, with thorns and feathers flying as he felt his halo buzzing around.

The book glowed slightly, even as Sunday wondered whether this was the appropriate weaponry even at quick thinking on such an unexpected event but felt reassured of himself that he still kept the baton at ready in his pockets as his only spare weapon should anything worse happen.

Even so, Sunday was already having a hard time throughout the craziness where friend and foe have mixed up in trying to not get himself killed and prolonging as many lives here as he could with the book in hand and the angels circling around for respite. It might be useless, even unnecessary but maybe it was for his own self for the untainted paradise he once sought out. Maybe it was so that he could at least prevent anything like Kasbelina-VII happening in front of his eyes. Why else would he try?

As much lives as he could saved, he couldn't save much others either. It was little comfort to those who did escape and mourn for those who haven't, for whatever sins they have died for because even when Sunday believed for sins to be judged, rendering the final judgement without atonement for change to a rewarded paradise would never sit right with his own principles.

If anyone wanted to point to the Aventurine incident with the Harmony brand and seventeen system hours, he would like to point out that shackling and bluffing exaggerated threats existed. The Eternal Centurion's wrath wasn't meant for a singular person after all.

Along the way, Sunday had been focusing on too much that he had momentarily forgotten Blade, a mistake on his part when the blade swung up to him unaware of friend or foe. He managed to dodge but had almost tripped and another slash forced manoeuvre that loosened the grip of his book and thus forced him the backup weapon he carried at all time, with the baton that protected him better from the sword's slashes with echoing metal rather than rustled pages.

It certainly didn't make it easier to find himself at the end of an ally's blade. The red eyes held no recognition, only a certain level of madness that gripped Sunday in fear and only countered with screaming survival instincts to defend, to live.

To save.

The damned could be easily judged and left to rot but repentance, or at the very least the absolute invaluableness in life, alongside the fact that enough suffering has been seen for one day propelled Sunday's saviour instincts to reach out and fight back instead of running away, in order for any opening he could use to bring Blade back to his senses.

Unfortunately, this was where his sheltered life, cooped up in Penacony and occasionally to the planets where Robin performs her music tours on very rare occasions he was allowed the trip after his many responsibilities, had highlighted his inexperiences for such situations.

Of course Sunday never dealt with a mara-struck before, let alone anyone with Blade's unique situation even when he tried to use the power of Harmony, or Order in whatever he had left as a failed path strider on both with all the mistakes he had made, to only find an entangled mind and dissonance ringing so loud that he quickly cut the connection himself in order to focus more on reality of self-defence without getting his head too much into dissonance and losing it from getting stuck in that tangle. He knew he would still have to persist to calm down the mara within, like how Kafka can somehow easily do with her Spirit's whisper but a threat to life and his unfortunate inexperience proves this difficult enough as it is.

Sunday's baton could only do so much to a violent sword swing, only not snapping purely by the magic his path or maybe even the Aeonic power imbued into it as the medium he uses to fight, to summon and to conduct. And even then, there's so much he can do when his powers were purely uncombatative, unable to truly attack or defend except in bursts like how any unarmed pacifist who had ever gotten into a fight could muster up.

Even so, he still had his wits. He still had his powers, and just like Kafka, like how he knows this will play out, he had to try easing Blade out of the mara. He needed to-

Sunday was careless once more and just like the book, the blade had gone up to the hand holding the baton, and quickly manuevering he managed to block but not without an unsteady grip and almost lost fingers that loosened his hold of the baton and let it clatter to the ground. Enough to leave him wholly defenseless without a summon that can help him block at once, or any other power disposable to truly shield once the blade, swift and expected as ever, lunged to his chest.

(Any other power disposable, as if he was ignoring the one thing he did have on hand and yet one he rather not use in the face of consequences...)

Sunday could have done anything right now, from dodging or preventing his vitals from getting hit and yet when death comes close, whether it will truly happen in the mere seconds or not of an obviously fatal attack, Sunday could only have his life flashing before his eyes, childhood to now with the most prominent thing forefront being... Robin.

The promises. The texts. Such an elephant in the room and yet... the very fact that... that...

'Shouldn't I have seen her, truly seen her after everything, just once? To just text back? Or tried harder enough? Robin... I wish I wasn't so scared.'

Even with such thoughts straight out of a confessional, just like many mortals out there, based on only reassurances made up from the mind as if death cared about such things, Sunday was still quite confident at holding onto life. And yet, very scared that he would not. In mere seconds as the tip of the sword almost tore fabric to skin and eventually blood, Sunday's reassurances suddenly become certainty.

He would not die. Because THEY would not let him die. And that scared him as much as the situation before him, especially the action resulted afterward for the statement to be proven true, when golden threads he wished he held back came forefront.

The golden threads took over the sword before it could struck Sunday true. And it all ended with a blade to the mara-stricken swordsman's chest.

***

Blade woke up to humming. And fervent prayers. He appreciated the former and felt confused with the latter.

His eyes fluttered to a splotch of crimson and tasted iron and he knew he must have died, and yet...

'I have not died again.'

Would he have expected anything else? Would it have been any different?

Blade tried to recall what had happened, but like anytime before, the memories ended up hazy and blurry. Only scarlet remains through the fog and a headache, indicating more towards the fact that he had fallen to the mara before death.

Soon, he realized that the humming and fervent prayers had stopped immediately. His scope of vision did not end just to the splotch of crimson and instead saw a field of it, painted below unmoving bodies that he wished were his own and finally settling on a familiar face right above him with too many emotions swirling around it for him to pinpoint any of them.

"You... you really are awake after all," Sunday said, with undeserved relief that Blade was too tired to think through.

The minutes had passed on enough by then for Blade to realize that it hadn't been long since his massacre with the deniziens through the fresh blood that had yet to dry and that he had to find himself lying on Sunday's lap.

"You don't seem surprised," Blade remarked as he looked around to find the blade that he had yet to sheath as he wondered how he died and tried to recollect the events to understand the gist of what happened.

"As a Family leader in Penacony, it would not be surprising for me to be updated on every criminal faction to guard against the planet even if it was the Bloodhound's job. You are particularly infamous for being an eternal swordsman, where many tried to take you dead and failed no matter how sure it likely seemed," Sunday stated.

"Eternal swordsman. How fitting," Blade remarked, more cold on his tone at the utter fact of how true it was, how unchanging it all seemed to be and that the faintest glimpse to the other side might turn permanent on a promise he chose to believe, the reason why he was here with an ally he would never have otherwise.

He then found the sword, strangely entangled with golden threads snapped around the sword's hilt. His hand reached the threads, wanting to untangle them from the sword when a touch felt like it burned mercilessly and finally, Blade was able to recollect.

"Ah let me help," Sunday quickly said, as he easily took away the threads that Blade could not and gingerly held the sword for Blade to take. In recollection, Blade was slow to notice such things, only looking at Sunday in the eye when his memory finally piece something he could not understand considering what he knew of the person before him.

"You... you were the one that killed me."

Sunday's face fell at the statement but he did not deny it even when his hand gripped at the golden threads still in his grasp.

"And I am sorry for it," Sunday sincerely apologized, although Blade felt like that was nothing to apologize for, "It was either me or you, and apparently, I am not allowed to die."

Sunday looked down at the golden threads and Blade's gaze followed. As aware as Sunday was about Blade's own origin, Blade was equally aware of Sunday's. He understood what Sunday was conveying.

"There is nothing to apologize for," Blade muttered, "In fact, I had welcomed it. And if it had stuck next time."

As an Aeon to be, and an inevitable one at that, the embryo of an Aeon somewhere inside Sunday would not want the vessel to die before having the chance to become fully realized. Unlike for Blade, that might be a blessing to Sunday who does not seek out death the same as him. It might be a lot to digest but the cosmos have far more oddities experienced and to experience for something like this to shake Blade up.

Still, it posed a curious question. Even someone with powerful Aeonic abilities could not kill him, only the result of his breathing mattering than how close to death he might actually have been. But was it because of the power not being enough to end his curse once and for all or the owner's will that he was still alive?

That only made Sunday aghast and he fervently shook his head, "This will not happen again. However you feel, I am still apologetic about it, if not for you then for myself. You might not even want to hear this, but I am glad you are alive."

Blade frowned, because Sunday was right and he didn't want to hear this. Yet, he understood it was more for Sunday than for him when Sunday knew well enough this was not what Blade would want. It just proved the fact that throughout this favour posed by Sunday, Blade knew he found another opposite about the opinion between life and death. At least, Sunday never commented nor help Blade out of his frankly suicidal spiral, pained as he looked to the fact. Very professional, in fact.

And yet, it would not stop the deep wish inside that Sunday does wish for Blade's livelihood despite not knowing much about his circumstances because there's so much you can garner from public news and that the idea of death would remain unappealing to those who have not lived long enough for life to be a curse than a blessing that priests especially those of Abundance preach it to be.

Blade frowned suddenly, wondering if Sunday had accepted Blade's death, a will to not keep him alive back then whether he would still be alive. There was so much in the universe he didn't know, and even if he did want to ask, what would Sunday know? And what did Elio plan in such regards despite his promise of the quick end that Blade sought out, not when the script is still flipping to its end, not when Blade cannot just exit stage left for purposes beyond him. Thoughts above his paygrade, Blade knew and thus shook such out of himself.

For now, he could only feel disappointed that not even someone near Aeonic could kill him but does that mean he needed an actual Aeon for it? A finale if there ever was one. Still, there was no use for such thought with the feelings and revelations coming and going as Blade stood up followed by Sunday to leave.

Although Sunday looked at the devastation with a myraid of emotions that Blade can't nor care to discern, Blade could only stare ahead, eyes only darting around to find the singular thing that he wanted out of this whole debacle.

And only finding nothing, once more.

A/N: Also, finished the 2.7 story quest. Let's just say... I screamed a lot. Screenshotted a lot. And got dumped with a lot of lore and even more screaming. Surprisingly I didn't cry but that was because I was too absorbed and screaming in keysmash while looking with the far away gaze and at times muffling myself with the pillow. More often than not, I'm like... this man. Whatever decisions I have made despite being an  SH truther was dependent on his happiness and the journey that he not only believes best for self-improvement but also taking into account the freedom and his own decisions after weighing everything that happened. So wherever he goes, I'm just happy as long as it's his choice... and that  we get his charracters and voicelines along the way. So overall, I'm reasonably satisfied with the story. So that means this is totally canon divergence, like you guys don't know already... suddenly no longer confident in my Sunday characterization and knew I have to deal with the choices I made especially with the increasingly messy way my work is written which at least makes sense to me if nothing else. Anyone somehow hanging in there and liking the story giving a comment despite shameless promo just to feel a little more alive is welcome. Onward and out.