Shadow Slave-Chapter 1285 Ananke

"Ananke greets the Children of Weaver…"

The word hung in the air. Sunny and Nephis glanced at each other warily, both confused by this strange situation. Why was the old woman prostrating in front of them? Why had she addressed them as children of Weaver?

'What is going on?'

Sunny was tired out of his mind, and the inexplicable nature of the strange old woman was simply too much for him to process.

She didn't seem hostile, at least.

With a sigh, he allowed his exhausted body to collapse and sat down on the wooden deck of the ketch. Nephis, meanwhile, hesitated for a few moments, then took several steps forward and carefully pulled the old woman up. "Please rise, Grandmother. Do not bow on our account."

responsible for the great calamity that had befallen Earth… or maybe for its salvation. Regardless, Old Ananke seemed to have a deep connection to Weaver and the The owner of the ketch — Ananke — allowed herself to be gently pulled into a sitting position. Then, Nephis returned to Sunny and sat side by side with him. The two of them were now facing the old woman, waiting for her to say something. But she remained silent.

After a few moments passed, Sunny frowned. He felt nervous… there was no telling just how powerful this woman was, and what her intentions were. Ananke was a complete mystery. …She could also provide answers to many mysteries that had plagued him.

So, he asked:

"I am sorry, Grandmother… but why did you call us the Children of Weaver?"

There were many questions he wanted to ask, but this one was the most pressing — its answer could explain how Old Ananke would treat them. The old woman took a deep sigh, then spoke in her thin, creaky voice:

"Because you are the Chosen of the Nightmare Spell. You are... a miracle. Your existence is Weaver's triumph." A proud smile appeared on her lips. It was warm and almost… motherly. As though she was indeed a grandmother looking at her young, beautiful grandchildren. Sunny took a deep breath, feeling embarrassed. 'Weaver's triumph…'

He was all but certain that the Nightmare Spell had been created by the Demon of Fate. Now, the last, tiny sliver of doubt had disappeared. Weaver was indeed the being responsible for the great calamity that had befallen Earth… or maybe for its salvation. Regardless, Old Ananke seemed to have a deep connection to Weaver and the Nightmare Spell. She was also, most likely, one of the people they had wanted to find — a native inhabitant of the Great River. One of the ancient people who had entered the Tomb of Ariel before the gods fell. …But wouldn't it mean that she had come to the Great River before the Spell was created?

Things were still not making any sense.

As if reading his thoughts, Nephis leaned forward and asked as politely as she could:

"Forgive me for asking, but who are you, Grandmother?"

Ananke smiled. What she said next made both Sunny and Nephis flinch: "...I am Ananke. The Priestess of the Nightmare Spell."

In the silence that followed, the old woman gently shook her head. "It must be hard for you to imagine, my Lord and Lady. You come from a time when the Nightmare Spell has matured and rules unopposed, its blessings given freely to all. But it wasn't always like that. At the beginning, which was also the end, when the Nightmare Spell was still in its infancy, there was a need for people like me to tend to it, protect it… and, above all, to help it spread, so that it could grow stronger."

Her wrinkled face grew somber, and a heavy sigh escaped from her lips. "Which wasn't easy… wasn't easy at all. After all, we, the followers of a daemon, were deemed heretics and persecuted by servants of the gods. All were despised, many were hunted down and put to death. Well… not that I experienced any of that myself." Every sentence the old woman spoke was a revelation, and they followed one after another. There were so many startling pieces of information she was sharing freely with them that Sunny found himself unable to digest it all.

He felt like a person who was drowning in a deep sea after spending years dying from thirst in the desert. 'Priestess of the Nightmare Spell… the beginning that was also the end? Must be the early stages of the war between the daemons and the gods… wait, the Spell was not created as it is today? It had to grow? Be grown, even? Persecuted by the gods? What?'

He was failing desperately to keep up, tired as he was. Nephis was struggling, too, but it seemed as though she had a slightly better grasp of the conversation. White sparks ignited in her eyes. "So, our existence is proof that the suffering of the followers of Weaver was not meaningless? That the Nightmare Spell you worshiped and proselytized has realized its great design?"

River, which flowed from the future into the past, would have had a different Ananke nodded and looked at them with reverence, which made both feel uncomfortable. "Indeed. You are very wise, my Lady."

Nephis remained silent for a few moments, then remarked evenly:

"...You don't seem to be surprised by the fact that we come from the future."

Sunny forced himself to focus. It was a very poignant question, and one that he had failed to think of himself, distracted by the avalanche of revelations. The old woman slowly nodded, her breath ragged. It seemed that it was hard for her to speak for so long, but she still forced herself to answer:

"Of course, I am not surprised. Haven't you come from upstream, my Lord and Lady?"

Nephis and Sunny glanced at each other. They had indeed. The natives of the Great River, which flowed from the future into the past, would have had a different perception of time. For them, people from the future might not seem that strange. Ananke took a breath, then added tiredly:

"Oh, but I was also warned that you would come."

'Huh?'

That was perhaps the most shocking revelation yet. After a moment of silence, Sunny raised an eyebrow while hiding how shaken he truly was. "...Warned? How?"

The old woman nodded again, her unbound white hair moving in the wind. "I received a message… in my dreams. A message that the Children of Weaver would come. And that…"

She paused for a few moments, catching her breath, then finished fervently:

"...And that I must help them reach Fallen Grace, where Dusk, the last of the sybils, reigns."