Savior in Shadow Slave

The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of amber and bruised violet. From the distance came the low, rumbling sigh of the Dark Sea as it rose—ancient and restless.

From atop the Headless Knight's statue, the world below seemed distant—muted. Even the ever-hungry Crimson Coral Labyrinth dared not intrude upon this fragile silence.

They had made camp here, far above the chaos—atop that ancient, time-worn colossus whose gaze, long since lost, still pointed westward. A silent sentinel watching the horizon.

Murphy sat beside Lucas, who lay beneath a worn travel cloak, his breath shallow but steady. His armor had been removed piece by piece, cleaned of blood and soot, then carefully set aside—like a quiet ritual of remembrance.

Murphy leaned back against the cold stone of the knight's shoulder, eyes never leaving his friend's face.

The same Lucas who once complained endlessly about cafeteria food.

The same idiot who had tried to steal alcohol from Teacher Julius's cabinet and wound up getting whipped.

And now… the same man who had nearly died saving someone.

Murphy exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest heavier than exhaustion.

"You should've run," he whispered. "You didn't have to be the hero."

He didn't expect an answer. He wasn't speaking for Lucas's sake—just to ease the ache buried behind his ribs.

Just a few paces away, Akame knelt beside the woman Lucas had saved. Now wrapped in soft cloth, her body had been gently cleaned of blood and filth. Her dislocated shoulder had been set. Her worst wounds healed—paid for by a full day of Murphy's life, given without hesitation.

The woman hadn't spoken since, but her eyes had opened once—just long enough to weep in silence before sleep claimed her again.

Akame hadn't left her side.

Now she sat cross-legged, gently combing the woman's matted hair with her fingers, humming something low and wordless. An old lullaby, half-lost to time. A memory from a home long gone.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

When the woman suddenly stirred, waking with a jolt and panic in her eyes, Akame leaned in close.

"You're safe now," she murmured, gently placing a hand on her brow.

No magic. No power. Just warmth.

The wind picked up again, threading through their hair and cloaks, carrying the scent of salt, fire, and distant rot. Below them, the labyrinth shifted. Monsters stirred. Nightmares moved unseen.

But up here, it was still.

Two warriors stood vigil over two broken souls.

And atop a forgotten monument to a fallen knight, they waited—quiet and patient—for the strength of the fallen to return.

***

Lucas's eyes fluttered open, vision slowly sharpening against the starless sky. The ache in his body had disappeared like magic—but something else hit harder.

A presence.

Familiar. Impossible.

He turned his head slightly—and saw Murphy, sitting quietly beside him, his silhouette outlined by the last amber streaks of sunset.

Lucas froze.

At first, he thought it was a dream—some final mercy before death. But no. The details were too sharp. The wind, the scent of salt and ash, the exhaustion lining Murphy's face—it was all real.

His breath caught. "Murphy…?"

Murphy looked over. Gave a tired smile. "Took you long enough."

Lucas stared at him—disbelieving.

Then horror slowly bloomed across his face.

"…No," he whispered. "Not you too."

Murphy blinked, confused. "What?"

Lucas's voice trembled. "Not here. Not in the Forgotten Shore."

He pushed himself up with shaking arms. His whole body screamed, but he didn't care.

"You were also thrown into this hellhole," Lucas said, eyes wide with disbelief. "How did you find me and healed me?"

Murphy didn't respond.

Because there was nothing to say.

Lucas stared at him, the realization crashing down like cold seawater.

"…You were dragged in too," he whispered.

Murphy's expression didn't change.

"Into the Forgotten Shore," Lucas continued, voice cracking. "Of all places."

There was no answer—just the faint sound of the wind brushing over stone and coral.

Lucas slowly pushed himself upright, ignoring the pain in his limbs. His breathing was shallow, but steady now. Whatever had kept him alive had done its job… and done it well.

"I don't get it," he said. "You're not supposed to be here."

Murphy looked at him, brows raising faintly. "What does that even mean? It's completely random who ends where."

Lucas shook his head. "This place… is not meant to be for Sleepers like us. Even an Awakened or an Ascended can't survive here with guarantee."

A beat passed.

And then:

"Not someone like us is supposed to end up here, Murphy. Not even you. Especially not you."

Murphy let out a quiet breath, eyes fixed on the darkening horizon. "No one chooses where they go, Lucas. The Spell doesn't ask permission."

Lucas looked at him. "Still…"

His words trailed off. Because what could he say?

That Murphy should've been spared?

That he deserved a better location?

That the universe owed him mercy?

It was a lie—and they both knew it.

Murphy simply leaned back against the cold stone, his sword Rengoku resting across his lap, its dull glow flickering like dying embers.

Lucas glanced down at himself—no wounds, no bleeding. Just exhaustion. His soul felt raw, like something had been gently pulled back from the brink.

"…You healed me," he said.

Murphy didn't deny it.

Lucas frowned. "But how? Your healing… it was only good for minor wounds back at the academy."

Murphy didn't answer right away.

Just a quiet breath. Then:

"Does it matter?"

Lucas stared at him. And that answer—soft, evasive—scared him more than any Nightmare they'd ever faced.

He shifted uncomfortably, then forced a lopsided smirk.

"Alright, fine. Let's skip the heavy stuff. But seriously—how did you grow so old? I swear you looked younger last time I saw you."

Murphy tilted his head, then adopted a somber tone.

"Actually, Lucas. There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Something in his voice changed. A deeper note. A quiet darkness.

Lucas's throat tightened. His smile faded. "…What is it?"

Murphy met his gaze evenly.

"You've been asleep for seven years."

Lucas blinked.

Murphy continued, deadly serious. "I'm nineteen now. And you… you're twenty-six. You're basically ancient."

"What!?"

Lucas's thoughts reeled.

'Seven years!? How is that possible? Did I fall into some time stasis? Did the Spell mess up? Is he serious? No—he's lying. But… his face—'

Then came the sound.

Laughter.

Lucas turned his head sharply to see Murphy doubled over, one hand on his stomach, the other wiping tears from his eyes.

"You—" Lucas gawked. "You're joking!?"

Murphy gasped between laughs, wheezing. "Oh, gods. The look on your face—priceless!"

Lucas narrowed his eyes, mouth twitching. "You absolute bastard."

"Seven years!" Murphy snorted. "What do you think this is, a fairy tale? You think I aged into a wise old sage while you slept like Sleeping Beauty?"

Despite himself, Lucas let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing his face. "I swear, one of these days, I'm throwing you into the Dark Sea."

Murphy finally calmed, a wide grin still lingering on his face. "Wouldn't be the first time someone tried."

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, the tension between them broke—just for a moment. And high atop the headless statue, surrounded by ruins and monsters, two old friends laughed again like they were back in the real world.

Like nothing had changed.

Even though everything had.

"Now moving on."

Lucas looked him deep into Murphy's eyes.

"I've been here longer. I've seen what this place does. I know how fast it kills the unprepared. You think a few lucky fights make you ready for the Forgotten Shore? Just because that kind woman protected you doesn't you could be forever protected."

Murphy turned to him then, expression unreadable.

"I don't," he said calmly.

Lucas frowned, caught off guard by the softness of it.

"I'm not underestimating this place," Murphy added. "But I wasn't going to let you die."

Lucas scoffed. "You're going to get yourself killed at this rate. You're not me, Murphy. You don't have the power to keep doing this."

Murphy tilted his head slightly. "No. I don't have your power."

There was no edge to his tone—just quiet agreement and subtle amusement. But something about it unsettled Lucas more than a retort would have.

For a moment, he looked at Murphy, really looked—but all he saw was the same face he'd known back in the real world. Weary. Determined. Older. Dangerous in subtle ways, maybe… but still Murphy.

Not a warrior. Not a monster.

Just… Murphy.

And yet…

"You're reckless," Lucas muttered, lying back down. "You keep acting like you're made of stone. But you're not. You're just lucky you haven't shattered yet."

He could hear Akame's suppressed laughter most likely from pride to have her protection acknowledged.

Murphy didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

Because high above the Labyrinth, beneath the broken stars of a ruined realm, the truth sat quietly between them:

Lucas still thought he was the one watching over Murphy.

And Murphy decided he couldn't get enough from teasing him. So, he decided to keep quiet.

'I wonder how his face would look. I am gonna tease him as long as I live.'