Shadow Slave: Kindness

Cassia was sitting in the main hall, waiting for the induction ceremony to start.

She was alone, seated on a bench tucked into a corner. Sleepers were unwilling to approach it.

The reason?

Because of her Flaw, she seemed to be surrounded by an invisible—but almost palpable—aura of death.

Sleepers usually weren't very superstitious, but anyone would feel uncomfortable in her company. And so she was left alone here, with no one to bother her.

She didn't mind.

She didn't want to talk to anyone.

She just sat there, listening to the idle chatter buzzing around her like static. When absolutely necessary, she gave short, clipped answers. Most of the time, she just ignored them.

Because she could feel it.

The pity.

It radiated from them like a stench—heavy and obvious. It lingered in the way they spoke to her. The tense way they tried to sound "gentle."

Trying to save her.

Trying as if they had been chosen by some divine force to help the weak.

But they didn't want to help her.

They just wanted to make themselves feel good. Inflate their own egos. Make themselves out to be kind—noble—even if they weren't.

To look special.

To feel special.

They said most people were kind, or at least good.

No. That's wrong.

Most people aren't kind.

A lot of people aren't.

And young kids being sent into a world where violence and trickery were not just common—but rewarded?

Here? In this place?

There were no kind people here.

Only polite ones.

And there is a difference.

There's a big difference.

Anyone could be polite.

Just like how anyone can be cruel.

Those that are weak, those who can be suppressed by others, they are polite.

Those that are strong, those who can't be suppressed by either authority or power.

They are cruel.

She could tell.

In her own way, she could.

The way they spoke.

Their tone of voice.

The way they moved.

Even the breath they took.

Her senses had sharpened. All of them.

Ever since she lost her sight—her other senses had grown. Heightened beyond a normal person's. More than that, she was Awakened now. Every Sleeper had a kind of awareness, a budding aura that helped them feel the world around them.

Ascension was, in its simplest form, becoming more aware—deeper, sharper, of the world, of everything—than others.

So yes.

She could tell the difference.

Kindness is giving—without expectation. When someone helps another without needing a reason, without seeking a reward, not even gratitude or even a smile—that is kindness.

These Sleepers?

They were polite.

And their politeness… it reeked.

She could feel them probing. Seeing if she had anything to offer.

Maybe some useful memory.

A hint. A vision. A secret.

After all, she was going to die soon, wasn't she?

Might as well wring some value out of her before she does.

They come up to her. Whisper fake condolences. Murmur pre-made words of comfort. Pretending to care.

And then—

"How was your First Nightmare?"

"Did you get anything?"

"You must've received something powerful if the Spell took your sight…"

And so on.

She could feel it. Even the most polite ones. Even the softest voices.

They all radiated the same energy:

Her memories might go to waste.

They might even help her if they came across her in the Dream Realm. Might.

But the next day?

They could just as easily kill her. Or abandon her in silence.

She didn't blame them.

Not really.

Everyone would act like that.

Weakness is the only sin.

And strength is the only virtue.

So the weak are discarded—unless they have something worth using.

And Cassia?

She probably could offer something. She probably did know something that would be useful to them.

But she wouldn't share it.

Why?

Because she hated them.

Hated their fake smiles. Their careful tone. Their "Awakened" arrogance.

Among mortals, Sleepers were special. But among themselves, they were normal.

Yet they treated her like she was something else.

Something broken. Something cursed.

So yes.

Cassia hated them.

And that hatred? It was the only power she had.

So even if she could help them…

Even if she could promise something…

She wouldn't.

Out of spite.

Simply—purely—out of spite.

These were the dark thoughts currently running through Cassie's mind, as she gloomily sat there.

All alone.

Against the world.

At least, that's what it felt like.

She sat, arms folded and head bowed slightly, the din of chatter around her falling into a distant hum.

Then—

A soft aroma touched the air around her.

Subtle. Sweet. Like wildflowers after rain.

It was getting closer. Along with it came the sound of hesitant footsteps, slightly uneven, like someone unsure if they were doing the right thing.

She knew that scent.

And she knew those footsteps.

Her heart skipped once.

Then fell again.

It was the same boy from yesterday.

The awkward, oddly-sincere boy from the garden.

Sunny.

She had returned to the same bench as yesterday, despite herself. Despite her logic and defenses. Despite the cold truths she clung to.

Why?

Maybe… maybe some small, stubborn part of her had hoped.

Hoped he might come back.

That someone—just once—might treat her like she wasn't cursed. Like she was normal. That someone might sit with her not because of pity… but choice.

But he hadn't shown up yesterday. And he hadn't come earlier this morning.

Just like everyone else.

Cassie had already concluded that he was no different from the others.

She'd told herself that.

Told herself not to expect anything from anyone.

So when she felt him sit down next to her, right on the same bench, she didn't turn her head. Didn't greet him.

That was the plan.

And it might have worked.

If not for the smell.

Freshly plucked flowers.

Carried in by his presence.

Are those… for me?

The question burst uninvited in her mind.

All her heavy, cold thoughts scattered like mist in sunlight.

Her cheeks warmed, and despite herself, a faint blush touched her skin.

Still, she stayed silent. Composed. Waiting.

She would not speak first.

She was adamant about that.

Then she heard it—a soft cough, then the awkward clearing of a throat.

And then the voice.

That same unpolished but honest voice. The voice of a young man just tumbling into adolescence, still unsure of himself.

"G-Good morning, Cassie. Here are… ah… beautiful flowers, for beaufu–me–no–I mean, beautiful flowers… for you, from… beautiful me...?"

Cassie almost smiled.

Almost.

His words stumbled out like he'd tripped over every syllable, and she could feel the heat of his embarrassment radiating beside her.

There was a pause.

Then she heard him mutter under his breath:

"…Ah, shit. I practiced that in the shower too… all to waste…"

A few seconds of silence followed.

Then, after a deep breath, he tried again.

This time slower. Quieter.

"Here… here are beautiful flowers, for someone as beautiful as Cassie."

Cassie's heart did a backflip.

But outwardly, she stayed still. Composed.

Well—mostly.

"…Oh?" she said after a long pause, tilting her head just slightly, her voice cool and teasing. "So you mean… they're only as beautiful as me?"

Sunny didn't reply.

She could feel his nervous panic starting to rise.

She pushed just a little more.

"Why base a woman's beauty on her flowers?" she said, voice still soft, but now with the slightest edge of mischief. "Or are you saying my beauty is only worth a few plucked petals?"

"…N-No! That's not—I didn't mean—"

She cut in again, just to twist the knife a little deeper.

"Hmm. So if you find a prettier girl one day, you'll bring her better flowers?"

Sunny was absolutely squirming now.

"I–I wouldn't! That's not— I just—That's not what I meant at all, I swear!"

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile.

The awkward sincerity, the sheer panic in his voice… it was adorable.

And more importantly—it wasn't pity.

It wasn't forced politeness or strategic friendliness.

It was real.

It was stupid and clumsy and poorly delivered.

But it was genuine.

And it was for her.

She turned her head just a little toward him, enough for her long blond hair to shift over her shoulder. Her blindfold fluttered slightly as she tilted her face toward the scent of the flowers.

"What kind are they?" she asked softly.

"Huh?"

"The flowers," she said. "What kind did you bring me?"

Sunny blinked.

Then looked down at the little bunch in his hand like he hadn't thought that far ahead.

"Uh… I think they're… wild daffodils? Maybe some lilac… and that blue stuff Avi called forget-me-not?"

Cassie's lips parted slightly.

Forget-me-nots?

She reached forward—slowly—and gently took the flowers from his hand.

"...You remembered I can't see, didn't you?"

"Y-Yeah. I mean… I figured, since you can't see them, it made more sense to pick ones that smell nice... instead of just ones that...you know...j-just look nice."

Silence.

A long, still silence.

Then Cassie spoke again, barely above a whisper.

"…Thank you, Sunny."

He straightened a bit, surprised at the shift in her voice.

It was the first time she'd said his name.

The first time her voice didn't sound like cold steel.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to act like it was no big deal.

"A-Ah, don't mention it. I mean—yeah. It's no big deal, right? It's just flowers…i got this chocolate as well..."

But even as he said it, a small smile tugged at his lips.

Cassie turned her head slightly, hiding her own expression.

But inside?

Something was cracking open.

A tiny warmth. A seed of color in her grayscale world.

And for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel quite so alone.