The Dawnspire's war-hall glowed with firelight, banners of the rising sun rippling in the draft. Steel rang as armored knights stood watch along the walls, their visors fixed ahead. At the center, upon a long oak table scarred by decades of battles and councils, the nobles of House Dawncrest gathered.
Men and women whose very presence bent the air — commanders who had shattered sieges, knights who had stood against horrors born from eclipses. Compared to them, the world's strongest today were but pale embers. These were Dawncrest's pillars, the living legends of their house.
Lord Alaric Dawncrest, grizzled and sharp-eyed, spoke first. His beard was streaked with iron, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"Gareth of the Eclipse. The boy who walks like calamity. The world whispers his name already. Do we fear him, or do we guide him?"
Ser Kael Thorne, a knight in blackened plate with a scar carved from temple to jaw, leaned forward. His voice was harsh as grinding steel.
"Guide him? He is fifteen and already touches forces no mortal should wield. He consorts with shadows — I say we put him down before the other Houses do it first and call us weak."
Commander Lysandra Vey, silver-haired and hawk-eyed, slammed her gauntlet against the table. She had broken more sieges than any living general.
"And waste what the gods themselves delivered into our hands? No. This boy is not just a threat — he is a blade. If we do not seize him, Solara will. And then tell me, Ser Kael, when the Sun Throne wields calamity as its weapon, who will stand against them?"
Saphrina Melsis, her black hair streaked with silver, leaned into the firelight. Her eyes, dark as polished obsidian, glittered with cunning. Known for her ruthless campaigns on the northern front, her words cut like daggers.
"The boy is unpredictable, yes. But so is fire — and fire can forge empires or burn them to ash. Let us not fear what we might shape. We guide him, we test him, we bend him to Dawncrest's purpose before others have the chance."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber, voices clashing like swords.
Brennar Halvric, the veteran with half his face burned, spoke low, his voice rasping with old pain.
"He reminds me of the eclipse-spawn we fought at Redmor. I saw one man tear a company apart as though they were reeds in the river. This boy… he will either bring dawn, or endless night."
Lady Serenya Vale, robed in dusk-blue, her hands marked with faint runes, finally raised her voice. A master of arcane warfare, she rarely spoke, but when she did, silence followed.
"Do not forget, his power is untested. Shadow may devour him before we even lift a hand. The greater danger may be not what he does — but what consumes him."
At last, Lord Alaric raised his hand, silencing them all.
"Then it is settled. We will not slay him. Not yet. Gareth will be… watched. Tested. Guided when possible, restrained when needed. If calamity must walk this earth, then let it walk with our banner in his shadow."
The table rumbled with the weight of agreement, the war-hall trembling as if the stones themselves bore witness.
Far away, in the Academy courtyard, Gareth stared at the cold moon, unaware that House Dawncrest had already laid claim to him.
The council's decision did not linger long in silence.
Two names were spoken in the Dawnspire's war-hall that very night — Talia Nyx and Darius Quell.
Talia Nyx, sharp-tongued and quick-eyed, a girl who could slip through noble circles as easily as shadows through a doorway. Where others drew swords, she drew secrets. Her talent lay not in the battlefield, but in words, smiles, and the subtle tug of loyalty.
Darius Quell, broad-shouldered and silver-tongued, the son of a lesser vassal house bound to Dawncrest. Calm where Talia was quick, measured where Gareth was reckless. He was sent as the mirror — a steady presence meant to anchor Gareth, to pull him closer into the orbit of Dawncrest influence.
Lord Alaric's voice carried finality.
"They will not coerce him. They will not reveal their ties. They will befriend him. The boy must believe it his choice, not ours. Talia Nyx will weave herself into his days. Darius Quell will temper his fire. If Gareth Valven is to be calamity, then let calamity be chained with bonds of trust first."
Saphrina Melsis smirked, leaning back in her chair.
"Bonds of trust break the deepest when the time comes. Very well. Let the children play their game."
And so, while Gareth Valven stared up at the moonlit sky, two names began their quiet march toward him — smiles upon their lips, oaths of Dawncrest hidden in their hearts.
The Academy courtyard was alive with chatter that morning, students filing between lecture halls in their crisp uniforms. Gareth Valven sat at the far end of a stone bench beneath a pale sycamore, half-listening to the distant toll of the bell tower. His eyes were fixed on the sky — always the sky, as though the moon's memory lingered even under daylight.
"Lonely spot for someone who's already the Academy's most whispered name."
The voice was light, teasing. Gareth turned to see a girl drop onto the bench beside him without invitation. Talia Nyx — her dark hair cut short around her sharp face, eyes gleaming with irreverent curiosity. She leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head.
"You're not nearly as frightening as the rumors say. Should I be disappointed?"
Before Gareth could answer, another shadow loomed — Darius Quell. Broad-shouldered, calm-eyed, his uniform immaculate. He gave a polite nod.
"Talia," he said flatly, "you could at least let him breathe before prying into his soul."
Talia grinned. "Breathe? Please. He looks like he's suffocating already." She tilted her head toward Gareth. "Well? Do you always brood at trees, or are we special?"
Gareth let the silence stretch. Most would've left by now. These two didn't. Finally, he smirked faintly.
"Depends. Do you always talk this much?"
Talia clapped her hands together. "He speaks! And with bite. I like him already."
Darius gave Gareth a measured look — calm, steady, but something weighing behind it. "Ignore her. She thrives on stirring fires." He extended his hand. "Darius Quell. And this troublemaker is Talia Nyx. We thought it was time we met the boy the Academy can't stop whispering about."
Gareth eyed the hand, then the two of them. Trust did not come easily. But for the first time in days, he felt the corner of his mouth tug upward.
"Gareth Valven. And I don't care what they whisper."
Talia leaned in, smirking.
"Good. Then maybe you won't mind if we sit with you tomorrow, too."
As the bell tolled again, the three of them rose — a boy of calamity, and the two Dawncrest pawns sent to chain him. None of the other students knew that behind their easy smiles lay the shadow of a House already moving its pieces.
The three of them stepped away from the bench as the crowd thickened, students pushing toward the lecture halls. Gareth walked a pace behind, his hands shoved into his pockets, listening but not fully trusting.
Talia was already rambling about how dull the Academy's breakfast bread was compared to her favorite street stalls, while Darius trailed beside her with the patience of a stone wall.
"Street stalls?" Gareth muttered. "What kind of noble spends her mornings in alleys?"
Talia shot him a sideways grin. "The kind who doesn't like staring at polished silver spoons all day. Don't tell me you're one of those."
Before Gareth could retort, a familiar voice cut in.
"Gareth."
Lyra stepped into their path, sunlight catching strands of her hair. She held her books close against her chest, chin tilted just slightly higher than needed — as if bracing herself. Her gaze flicked over Talia and Darius, narrowing just enough to show she'd read them in a heartbeat.
"You've collected new friends," she said, tone sharp but calm.
Talia smiled sweetly, though the spark in her eyes was anything but innocent. "And you are?"
"Lyra," Gareth answered before the tension could stretch. "She's… a classmate."
Lyra's lips curved, but her eyes never left Talia's. "A classmate," she repeated, as though the word meant more. Then, turning her gaze to Gareth: "Try not to forget who you were sitting with before the whole Academy decided they wanted a piece of you."
With that, she brushed past, her shoulder lightly tapping Gareth's as she went.
Talia let out a low whistle. "Oh, I like her. She's fire. Careful, Valven — you keep company like that, and you'll never be bored."
Darius gave a small, thoughtful nod, his eyes lingering on Lyra's retreating figure. "She doesn't trust us."
"She doesn't trust anyone," Gareth muttered, though he couldn't stop the faint tug of a smile.
The bell tolled again, calling them inside. As Gareth followed, flanked by his new companions, he couldn't shake the weight of Lyra's glance — sharp, warning, protective.
Neither could he guess that the girl who clashed with Talia in a single glance might one day be the one to stand against Dawncrest's will itself
The noon bell freed the Academy into the streets. Students spilled from the gates in chattering clusters, their laughter mixing with the clatter of carts and vendors calling out wares.
For once, Gareth didn't walk alone. Talia Nyx tugged at his sleeve with little ceremony, dragging him, Darius Quell, and a reluctant Lyra toward a small café tucked along a sunlit corner.
The place was simple — whitewashed walls, the scent of fresh bread, and iron tables crowded beneath a wide awning. The four of them claimed a spot at the edge, plates of steaming pastries and mugs of spiced tea arriving moments later.
"Finally," Talia sighed, tearing into her roll. "Food that doesn't taste like it's been sitting in the Academy kitchens since the last eclipse."
Darius shook his head, calm as ever. "You exaggerate."
"I always exaggerate," she said through a mouthful, "but that doesn't make me wrong."
Gareth leaned back in his chair, watching them with a faint smirk. It was strange — here, with the clatter of mugs and the warmth of bread in his hands, he didn't feel like a calamity waiting to happen. Just… a boy at a table.
"You're smiling," Lyra said suddenly, her fork tapping her plate. "That's suspicious."
"I'm allowed to smile," Gareth muttered.
"Not you. You usually glare at the world like it owes you a debt."
Talia leaned in, grinning wide. "Oh, I like her more and more."
Darius, ever the peacekeeper, interjected smoothly. "Perhaps let him eat before you both tear him apart."
Lyra snorted, but her lips curved slightly — almost a smile. Gareth caught it, and the corner of his mouth tugged again.
For a fleeting moment, it was easy to forget councils, shadows, and prophecies. Easy to believe this was all he was meant for — laughter, bread, and the warmth of sunlight.
But in the high halls of Dawnspire, the names Talia Nyx and Darius Quell were already etched into the council's ledgers. And though Gareth did not know it, even this small moment of peace was part of the game being played around him.
Talia propped her chin on her hand, watching Gareth tear into his pastry.
"You eat like you've been starving for weeks."
"I have been starving," Gareth said flatly. "The Academy portions are fit for birds."
Lyra arched a brow. "And yet you somehow manage to tower over half the boys in our year. Maybe starvation suits you."
"That's cruel," Darius said mildly, sipping his tea. "And inaccurate. He's clearly not starving. Just… brooding."
Gareth muttered into his cup, "I don't brood."
All three of them stared.
"You absolutely brood," Lyra said.
"Like a crow on a church spire," Talia added cheerfully. "Dark, ominous, terrifying to pigeons."
Darius tilted his head thoughtfully. "To be fair, he broods less now than when we first sat with him."
"Which means we're a good influence," Talia declared, pointing at herself and Lyra.
"Don't lump me in with you," Lyra snapped, though a small smile betrayed her.
Talia gasped theatrically. "Admit it — you like him. Our little calamity boy."
Gareth nearly choked on his drink. Lyra's ears flushed, though her expression was composed. "Unlike you, I don't befriend people as toys. I sit with him because—" She stopped, searching for words. "…because someone has to."
Talia smirked, victorious. "Aww. That sounded almost sweet."
"Say another word," Lyra warned, "and I'll pour this tea in your lap."
Darius sighed, setting down his cup. "Must every meal with you three end in threats of violence?"
"Yes," Gareth said dryly, earning laughter from Talia and — just barely — from Lyra too.
For the first time since he'd entered the Academy, Gareth realized he wasn't sitting apart from the world. He was inside it, tangled in its noise, its warmth, its arguments. For once, he didn't feel like the boy of the Eclipse.
The forest hushed as the four walked deeper, the canopy weaving a ceiling of emerald and gold. Shafts of fading sunlight speared through the leaves, dappling the ground in shifting patterns. Roots clawed across the path, stones lay broken under moss, and the air smelled of rain-soaked bark and wildflowers.
Talia spread her arms wide as though she could drink it all in. "Finally—no tutors, no scheming lords, no stinking streets. Just… this."
Lyra's voice softened, brushing fingers across an oak's rough bark. "It feels like the world here is older than us. Like the land itself remembers what we've forgotten."
Darius smirked. "Trust Lyra to find poetry in a tree."
"Better poetry than your obsession with sweetbread," she shot back.
Talia gasped in mock outrage. "Sacrilege! Pastries are holy—take that back!"
Their laughter rang warm through the ancient wood, chasing shadows back into silence.
Then the trees fell away.
Before them stretched the ruin. Black stone thrust upward like the ribs of some dead god, cracked and veined with ivy, but unbroken. Its arches still loomed, its walls still bore the faint scar of ancient carvings. The setting sun painted it in firelight and shadow, as if the ruin itself had been waiting for them.
Lyra's breath caught. "It's… beautiful."
"A cathedral of ghosts," Darius whispered.
Talia grinned with bright eyes. "Mystery. Adventure. I say we explore."
The three of them stood, awed by forgotten grandeur.
All but Gareth.
He stared longer than the others, gaze unmoving. To them, it was wonder. To him, it was memory. This was the place where he had once bound a god to his will.
In the quiet of his thoughts, irritation stirred.
Umbrael…
The name echoed in his skull like a bell struck in the deep. You should have returned by now. I commanded you to seek the signs of the next eclipse. Why do you linger?
Silence. Only the sigh of the wind through the ruins, the murmur of his friends marveling at history.
Gareth's face betrayed nothing. But within, his thought hardened like iron.
Servant or not… I will not wait forever.
Gareth's eyes lingered on the ruin's jagged silhouette. The air was still, almost reverent, when a ripple of cold pressed into his mind.
Master.
Umbrael's voice slid into his thoughts like smoke curling beneath a door—velvet, ancient, and heavy with shadow.
I have entered the Vault. The glyphs yield slowly, but they speak of the eclipse yet to come. I will wrench their secrets from stone and silence. When I have the answers, I shall return to your side without delay.
Gareth's fingers curled around the strap of his satchel. To anyone watching, he looked only like a boy pausing at the sight of fallen grandeur. But within, he weighed the god's words.
The Vault… then hurry. I'll not be left blind while others plot.
As you command, Umbrael whispered, then faded, leaving only the hush of wind through broken arches.
"Gareth?" Lyra tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing. "You're staring again."
He blinked, forcing an easy grin. "Just… imagining what it must've been like, when this place was whole."
Talia laughed, tugging his arm. "Then stop imagining and start walking. Ruins don't explore themselves."
Darius smirked. "Careful. Knowing our luck, we'll find a monster instead of treasure."
The three of them pressed forward, their chatter ringing against ancient stone.
But Gareth followed in silence, his mind still echoing with Umbrael's vow—and the promise of truths waiting in the Vault.