Fate's Slave - Shadow Slave X Honkai Star Rail-Chapter 477: The Shadow

Sunny blinked at her statement, not once but several times in slow succession, as though his brain required multiple attempts to reconcile the quiet, almost apologetic tone with the sheer absurdity of what had just been said. For a long heartbeat he simply stared at her, searching her face for any hint of exaggeration, humor, or delusion, and finding none of the above.

He asked at last, the words coming out flatter than intended, stripped of sarcasm by genuine uncertainty:

"Shadow God?"

Clara’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, the kind one offers when a student arrives at the correct conclusion by intuition rather than instruction. There was no mockery in it, only a gentle confirmation that he had recognized something real and deeply dangerous.

"As expected of the one who carries Shadow’s ichor. Yes. Shadow’s Left Hand grazed me, and that contact left behind a Curse."

Seele’s face had gone completely blank, her earlier irritation wiped clean by the kind of confusion that bordered on dissociation. Sunny, on the other hand, wore a much more complicated expression. He did not look enlightened so much as half-informed, a man who had glimpsed the outline of a map but none of the terrain.

Clara, of course, had no way of knowing that rightful inheritance he had once possessed had long since been devoured by Blood Weave, consumed and repurposed into something far more suitable for a cockroach. He briefly considered correcting her, then decided that explaining the cannibalization of one’s own godly lineage was unlikely to improve the conversation.

"Shadow’s... Left Hand? That sounds very specific. Actually, how did you even run into him in the first place? And isn’t he supposed to be dead?"

Clara’s expression shifted subtly, not into offense but into a kind of formal attentiveness, as though she were about to deliver a correction that carried more weight than a simple factual error.

"Shadow God should be referred to as ’Him’, in this specific dialect."

Sunny’s frown deepened.

"There’s a dialect for talking about dead gods now?"

"In a manner of speaking. This dialect prevents beings of the Sacred and Cursed level or higher from noticing us when we speak of ’Them’. It functions as a form of conceptual insulation. The same principle is why Aeons are referred to as THEM. THEY are only omniscient within THEIR Paths, and addressing THEM improperly can extend THEIR perception beyond those boundaries."

Seele stared at her as though she had just explained gravity using interpretive dance.

"I am starting to feel deeply underqualified for this conversation."

Clara inclined her head apologetically before continuing, her tone patient and measured.

"As for the Gods, the fact that ’They’ are dead does not mean ’They’ have ceased to exist. Death, for entities of that magnitude, is not annihilation. It is a transformation. Their influence persists, their remnants endure, and their authorities continue to shape reality in more incomplete ways."

Sunny and Seele exchanged a glance that conveyed mutual bafflement layered over a growing unease. Sunny, in particular, felt a prickling awareness creep along his spine. He had been referring to the Gods however he pleased for years, often with a level of disrespect that would have been suicidal in most mythological frameworks. The notion that correct terminology could function as camouflage implied that incorrect terminology functioned as a beacon, and that was not a comforting thought.

How would a dead being notice him, though?

His mind supplied an answer unhelpfully: the same way Shadow had once sent a blessing from beyond the grave.

Clara continued before either of them could pursue that thread further.

"Shadow God’s authorities — or, more accurately, the authorities that originated from ’Him’ — are Death, Curses, and Shadows. The first two manifest as ’His’ Right and Left Hands, while the third is embodied by ’His’ Divine Shadows."

Clara continued.

"Death is the shadow of Life. Curse is the shadow of Blessing. Shadows themselves are... foundational, encompassing absence, concealment, formlessness, and the boundary between existence and nonexistence."

She paused, studying their faces as though gauging how much strain they could tolerate.

"As for the rest of ’His’ nature, I could describe it, but doing so carries significant risk. Knowledge of that scale can damage the mind. In extreme cases, it induces Corruption severe enough to bypass intermediate stages of Corrosion."

...Sunny had no knowledge of what a Corrosion was, but Corruption likely meant becoming a Nightmare Creature. That wasn’t ideal whatsoever.

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Everything he thought he knew about Shadow God suddenly felt incomplete, like a children’s story that omitted the parts too disturbing for young audiences. He had heard of Death, Shadows, Peace, Solace, Mysteries — but Curses had never featured. All he knew of them was that Blade made weapons using them, and if Phantylia was to be believed, Sunny’s own mother had Cursed him, though unintentionally.

The implication that the true scope of those latter authorities constituted forbidden knowledge capable of destroying the unprepared was deeply unsettling.

...Knowing what his mother’s wish had been, Sunny realized that he absolutely must not fulfill it.

Clara went on, her voice steady.

"Shadow God’s Hands are not literal appendages. ’They’ are two Divine Shadows created to embody ’His’ authority. Not shadows cast by His form, but Shadow Creatures of Divine Rank."

She hesitated, searching for a more accessible comparison.

"Imagine a being that is simultaneously a weapon, a priest, and a law of nature. Something that exists not to serve but to enact a concept."

Sunny felt a cold weight settle behind his sternum as she continued:

"I believe I entered the Shadow Realm in an attempt to resurrect someone. The specifics are fragmented. My memories from that period are... damaged. What I do remember, however, is that the Hands did not die with ’Their’ God. To followers of Shadow God — Shadows, Priestesses, Doomsayers, Slaves — the Defiance of Death is the ultimate sacrilege. Resurrection is an affront to the Curser ’He’ placed on existence."

Sunny grimaced.

"Yeah, that sounds like something they wouldn’t appreciate."

Clara sighed.

"I escaped, but ’Their’ Will alone was sufficient to cripple my soul. It shattered something essential, reducing my power while embedding a Curse that binds my existence."

Her fingers tightened together unconsciously.

"Beyond that point, continuity dissolves. My life became... cyclical."

Seele leaned forward slightly, forgetting all the complicated crap she just heard, curiosity overriding discomfort.

"What kind of cycle?"

Clara exhaled slowly, as though the explanation itself carried weight.

"I am similar to the Undying. Except, unlike them, when I die, I am reborn as a child."

Sunny blinked. He had no idea what an Undying was, but the meaning of the word was not lost to him.

’That’s... one way to deal with mortality.’

She lowered her gaze.

"My memories do not return immediately. I can regain them, however, which hastens my aging. However, once my chronological age reaches sixty, the process resets regardless of circumstance. Illness, injury, success, failure — it makes no difference. I regress to infancy, and the cycle begins anew."

Sunny rubbed his temple, trying to process the scale of what she was describing. So Clara had once been powerful enough to challenge death itself, had encountered two Divine Rank entities embodying Death and Curses, and had been reduced to a Saint trapped in an endless loop of rebirth. The sheer drop in status was staggering.

She must have at least been a Sovereign!

"How did you end up on Jarilo-VI?"

She shook her head.

"I do not remember. What I have shared represents an infinitesimal fraction of my experiences. Entire lifetimes are missing."

Sunny nodded slowly, mind racing. Then a detail from earlier snapped into focus with startling clarity, freezing him mid-thought.

"Wait. The Shadow Realm. How did you even get there?"

Clara answered as though it were obvious.

"I used a Gate of Shadow. Though it is almost certainly irreparable by now. The Sorcery woven into them was of Divine Rank. I doubt anyone in the Wa—"

She caught herself.

"—the Waking World could restore such a structure."

Sunny noticed the correction but did not comment. His attention had locked onto the phrase Gate of Shadow with laser precision.

Memory Enchantments: [Gates of Shadow].

His pulse quickened.

"Clara, this wouldn’t happen to be the same thing, would it?"

Darkness gathered in his palm like liquid night drawn into a mold. Threads of shadow intertwined, solidifying into a compact object that settled into his hand with surprising density.

A lantern.

It was crafted from material so black it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The frame was engraved with intricate patterns resembling overlapping serpent scales, while the panels consisted of polished morion that glimmered faintly like frozen darkness. A tiny door occupied one side, and a short chain allowed it to be attached to clothing or held easily.

As it appeared, the ambient shadows thickened noticeably, deepening into something almost tangible. The air cooled, as though the lantern drank warmth as readily as it consumed light.

Sunny reread the runes in his mind, the description echoing with ancient hostility.

Clara’s eyes widened in genuine astonishment.

"It is far smaller than the structure I used, but yes. That is a Gate of Shadow."

Sunny stared at the object in his hand, realization dawning with uncomfortable intensity. He had been using it as a storage container for shadows, a convenient tool rather than a doorway to the afterlife.

Clara stepped closer, alarm sharpening her voice.

"Don’t even think about it. At your current level, you would not survive. Any Shadow powerful enough to maintain its Will in that realm would destroy you instantly. Even if you avoided them, the Realm itself would erode your soul."

Her expression softened slightly.

"You would need to Transcend, at the very least. Perhaps become a Supreme. Even then, I wouldn’t bet on you surviving."

Sunny coughed, suddenly very interested in not meeting her eyes.

"Y-yeah. Who would ever try that?"

Seele looked utterly defeated by the sheer volume of incomprehensible information.

"I have no idea what is happening anymore. I feel like I skipped several hundred years of context."

Sunny dismissed the lantern, letting it dissolve back into shadow. The oppressive atmosphere eased, though a lingering chill remained.

After a moment, he asked the question that had been quietly nagging at him.

"Where’s Svarog?"