Long after the light of the eclipse faded and the echoes of war were buried in silence, the world began to whisper of a truth forgotten by time.
The eclipse was never a call to arms. It was a veil—carefully drawn by the divine—not to shatter, but to shield. The Dragon and the Fox Spirit, ancient forces once seen as harbingers of chaos, had not risen to destroy the world, but to restore what was lost. Together, they opened the eclipse not as an act of destruction, but as a sanctuary—a rift between realms where the chosen one could be hidden, even from fate itself.
Yet, to open such a rift, they had to pay the price—their very souls, offered to sustain the balance they had fought to preserve.
For the world had never been truly balanced. There was a land that had long stood without a guardian, a sacred place left vulnerable in the divine order. The gods, in their silence, sought not vengeance nor retribution, but harmony. And so, they chose a sacrifice.
You—unaware of the weight you carried—had been marked not for greatness, but for disappearance. His life was to be the tether that sealed the imbalance. Had he been wholly offered, the world would have found order. Yet, something ancient and fragile intervened.
Love.
It was not divine, nor written in any celestial scroll. But it was real.
Someone who truly loved him—deeply and selflessly—changed everything.
Not with power, but with presence.
That single act bent the divine script, twisted the threads of destiny, and broke the seal of sacrifice.
And so, when the eclipse finally closed, it took with it the Fox Spirit and the Dragon, their roles fulfilled.
They vanished—not in defeat, but in peace—leaving behind silence, balance...
...and a boy whose fate had been rewritten by love.
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