Sunny remained silent for a long time, staring at the black mask. The tranquil sea of his soul was still and silent... not at all like the storm that was currently raging in his heart.
After a while, he thought:
'That Weaver was one sly guy… girl… person… being? Well, the fact that I don't even know that much only serves to prove the point. And I thought I was good at deceit and manipulation.'
How devious one must be to not let even the gods, even the Nightmare Spell know anything about them?
But it was fitting, in a strange kind of way. If Weaver's domain was that of fate, there was no other way. Fate was a terrifying, but subtle tool. Manipulating it to your advantage required a very special kind of genius, one that was directly opposite to any kind of directness, straightforwardness, and brutal power.
However, if given the choice, Sunny would have preferred to face War God in battle than to make someone like Weaver his enemy.
