Fate's Slave - Shadow Slave X Honkai Star Rail-Chapter 497: Slay All (III)

People filled the streets.

Not in sparse, cautious clusters, but in dense, lively currents that flowed between stalls and decorations, laughter and conversation blending together into a constant, vibrant hum that seemed to echo off the very walls of Belobog. Citizens from both the Overworld and Underworld mingled freely, their presence interwoven in a way that would have been unthinkable not long ago, the remnants of division softened, if not entirely erased, by the simple act of shared celebration. Stalls lined the pathways, offering food that steamed in the cold air, trinkets that caught the light, and games that drew clusters of people eager to participate, their expressions ranging from amusement to competitive focus.

Decorations had been strung across the streets with surprising care, ribbons and banners swaying gently in the breeze, their colors standing out vividly against the muted tones of stone and snow. The Solwarm Festival had transformed Belobog into something almost unrecognizable, layering warmth and liveliness over a city that had long been defined by survival and restraint.

Sunny noticed all of this.

And then, just as quickly, he filed it away.

His awareness extended beyond what could be seen, brushing against the presence of others through the subtle reach of his shadow sense, mapping the movements of those around him with quiet efficiency. There were more Awakened than there had been a week ago, their presence distinct in a way that made them stand out even among the dense crowd. It was not an overwhelming number, nor was it enough to raise immediate concern, but it was noticeable, a shift that suggested growth, adaptation, or perhaps something else entirely.

Belobog was changing.

He chose not to dwell on it.

"Stop walking off on your own."

The words struck him before the sensation did, sharp and immediate, snapping his attention away from the broader environment and back into something far more personal. A hand closed around his, firm and unyielding, halting his forward movement with a decisiveness that left no room for negotiation.

Sunny turned his head.

Slowly.

And then he froze.

Seele stood beside him, her expression hovering somewhere between mild irritation and casual expectation, as though the act she had just performed required no further explanation. Her fingers had not merely grasped his hand in a loose, temporary hold. They had interlaced, weaving between his own with a familiarity that suggested intent rather than impulse.

His brain stopped.

Not metaphorically, not partially, but completely.

The significance of the gesture struck him with a force that far exceeded its outward simplicity, his thoughts grinding to a halt as he stared down at their joined hands as though they represented something far more profound than mere physical contact. In his mind, this was not a casual act. This was not something that could be dismissed as meaningless or convenient.

This was—

’The... the legendary handholding maneuver!’

The thought rang through his mind with an almost absurd level of intensity, his entire perception of the situation shifting in an instant as he struggled to reconcile what was happening with his own understanding of interpersonal boundaries. In his worldview, shaped by a mixture of skewed logic, limited experience, and an unfortunate tendency to overanalyze, this act fell squarely within the realm of extreme intimacy. It was not something one simply did without significant implications.

He flinched internally.

Veliona.

The memory surfaced unbidden, sharp and unwelcome, dragging with it the phantom sensation of lips against his own, the brief yet undeniable contact that had completely derailed his thoughts at the time. The comparison did not help. If anything, it made things worse, compounding his avoidance with a layer of unease that he had yet to fully process.

Seele noticed.

Because everybody just has to notice everything, right?

Her gaze shifted toward him, her brow furrowing slightly as she took in his expression, the tension in his posture, the way his entire body had gone rigid in response to something that, from her perspective, was entirely normal.

"What’s wrong with you?"

Sunny snorted.

"I’m perfectly right. What’s wrong with YOU?"

Seele, seemingly deciding that whatever was wrong with him was not worth addressing further, continued forward without hesitation, dragging him into the flow of the festival with an ease that suggested familiarity, even comfort. They moved from one activity to another, the passage of time marked not by any conscious awareness on Sunny’s part, but by the gradual shift in the crowd, the changing positions of stalls, the subtle progression of the day as it unfolded around them.

They played games.

Simple ones, designed more for amusement than challenge, yet Seele approached them with a level of engagement that made it clear she was enjoying herself, her focus sharp, her reactions quick, her occasional smirk or glare directed at him when he either performed too well or not well enough adding an unexpected layer of interaction that he found himself responding to almost instinctively.

They ate.

Food that was warm, practical, and heavily influenced by the environment in which it was created, each dish designed to provide comfort against the cold that lingered even in the midst of celebration. There were skewers of meat that steamed in the air, pastries that flaked apart with each bite, and drinks that carried a warmth that spread through the body with quiet effectiveness.

It was... much too normal.

The realization settled into Sunny’s mind with a strange, almost detached clarity, as though he were observing the situation from a distance rather than actively participating in it. From an outside perspective, there would be little to distinguish them from any other pair moving through the festival together, their interactions aligning with expectations in a way that felt almost scripted.

For Sunny, however, nothing about this felt natural.

Wrong.

Not in the sense that it was inherently unpleasant, but in the sense that it did not align with his understanding of the situation, with his perception of their relationship, with the logic he had constructed to explain her interest and his own lack thereof. Seele did not know him. Not really. What she knew was simply the idealized version of him that she sees.

That was not enough.

It should not have been enough.

And yet, the hand he held was... too warm

Sunny felt like he was walking through a dream, one that did not quite belong to him, its idealized normalcy clashing violently with the memory of Veliona’s warning, the quiet certainty with which she had spoken of approaching death. The contrast was jarring, enough to create a persistent sense of unease that lingered beneath the surface, subtle yet impossible to ignore.

Nothing had happened.

Not yet.

The festival continued, the crowd remained lively, the world did not crumble beneath their feet.

Perhaps she had been wrong.

The thought surfaced tentatively, uncertain, as though even considering it might invite contradiction. Veliona had never said anything like that before, had never spoken with that level of seriousness, yet that did not mean she was infallible. It was entirely possible that this was nothing more than a misinterpretation, a fleeting glimpse of something that would never come to pass.

Perhaps—

Sunny’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp impact against his shin.

He flinched, his attention snapping back to the present as he looked down at the table in front of him, his expression shifting into something that hovered between irritation and confusion. The restaurant they had entered was modest, its interior simple, its focus clearly on function rather than appearance. It was not designed for the festival, not tailored to celebration, but rather to provide reliable, consistent food to those who needed it.

Before him sat a bowl of soup.

It was a deep, rich red, the color stemming from a broth that carried both meat and vegetables, the combination creating a scent that was both unfamiliar and oddly nostalgic. Sunny stared at it for a moment, a faint sense of recognition stirring in the back of his mind despite his certainty that he had never encountered it before.

Across from him, Seele was already eating.

Her movements were steady, unhurried, the ease with which she handled the meal suggesting familiarity, perhaps even preference. There was a quiet focus to her, a subtle shift in her demeanor that indicated this was not just food, but something she enjoyed, something she had likely chosen deliberately.

Sunny made a face.

It was not subtle.

It was, in fact, a very clear expression of discomfort, his features twisting slightly as he processed both the taste and the unfamiliar sense of déjà vu that accompanied it.

’The hell is this abomination...?’