Beast's wings beat like thunder, each gust of wind carrying ash and embers across the broken valley. Kaelen's hand hovered over his sword hilt, his chest burning where the shard pulsed like a living heart. Ren clung to his arm, eyes wide with terror.
"Kaelen!" Malachor's cracked voice barely rose above the storm. "Do not let it drive you! Choose wisely!"
The shadow-beast lunged, its talons descending like pillars of night. Kaelen's instinct screamed to draw the blade, to let the shard's hunger off its leash. But something else stirred in him—something older. A whisper, but not the shard's.
A woman's voice.
"Kaelen… child of the forsaken path… the cycle nears its dusk."
The world froze. Time shivered like glass. The beast hung in the air, unmoving. Ren's scream caught in his throat, suspended. Even Malachor's staff hung mid-spark.
Kaelen staggered back, clutching his chest. "What—what is this?!"
From the darkness above, the stars bled silver. They aligned, circling, twisting into a spiral. Within it, an eclipse formed—blotting light, birthing shadow. And from the heart of that eclipse, she came.
Eclipsera.
She was not flesh, nor entirely spirit. A figure cloaked in twilight, her eyes twin eclipses—rings of blinding radiance swallowing infinite dark. Her voice was both lullaby and dirge, echoing inside Kaelen's skull.
"The blade you bear is not yours. Nor was it forged for mortals. It was torn from the marrow of gods, a scar carved into eternity. And you, forsaken heir, are its vessel."
Kaelen staggered, sweat cold on his brow. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"
Eclipsera drifted closer, each step bending the ash beneath her into spirals.
"I am not want. I am prophecy. I am the shadow the gods tried to bury, the song they cut from creation's throat. My name was spoken once, and once only—until now."
Her hand rose, pale and gleaming, and Kaelen saw visions erupt behind his eyes.
A city of white stone, drowning in black rain.
A tower split in two, its peak impaled by a blade of endless night.
A boy with silver eyes kneeling before a throne of corpses.
And beyond all, a sea of stars dimming, swallowed by the eclipse.
Kaelen gasped, falling to his knees. "Stop it! Enough!"
The images faded, but the echo of them lingered like fire on his skin.
Eclipsera bent low, her face mere inches from his. "You are both ruin and salvation. You are the end and the beginning. The blade will not ask. It will take. But if you can bend it if then the cycle may yet shatter."
Kaelen clenched his fists, shaking. "You speak in riddles! What do you want me to do?"
For the first time, her voice cracked—not with weakness, but with urgency.
"Remember this: when the twin moons bleed, and the Black Sun rises, you must choose. Either sever the blade or sever yourself. There is no other path."
Her hand touched his chest, directly over the shard. A searing pain erupted through his body, and for a heartbeat Kaelen thought his heart had burst.
Then—time returned.
The beast screamed, wings shattering the air as it lunged once more. Ren tumbled backward, Malachor's staff lit like lightning. Kaelen, gasping, staggered to his feet.
But the shard was no longer whispering.
It was silent.
The battle was chaos. The beast struck with fire and shadow, but Kaelen fought with raw instinct, sword flashing in the storm. Each blow rang like thunder. Malachor's spells cracked across the ridge, fire and arcane light striking the creature's wings. Ren, though trembling, hurled stones, shouting Kaelen's name like a rallying cry.
And in Kaelen's mind, Eclipsera's words repeated, echoing louder than the beast's roars:
When the twin moons bleed… when the Black Sun rises…
The prophecy branded itself into him, scar deeper than steel.
Finally, with a desperate cry, Kaelen drove his blade into the beast's chest. Not the shard—his mortal steel. The creature shrieked, wings convulsing, before collapsing in a storm of ash and smoke. Its body dissolved, leaving nothing but scorched earth.
The valley fell silent.
Kaelen dropped to his knees, chest heaving, his sword clattering from his grip. His body trembled not just from the fight, but from the vision still burning in his mind.
Ren crawled to his side, eyes wide with fear. "Kaelen… are you hurt?"
Kaelen shook his head weakly, though his insides felt torn apart. "No. Not hurt. Not yet."
Malachor approached, his face pale. He gazed down at Kaelen with something that looked almost like dread. "You saw her, didn't you?"
Kaelen froze. "…Her?"
The sorcerer's hands tightened on his staff. "Eclipsera."
Kaelen's blood ran cold. "You know that name."
Malachor's expression darkened. "Everyone who dares study the forbidden lore knows it. She is the prophecy that should not be. The whisper the gods tried to erase. If she has spoken to you… then the cycle is closer than I feared."
Kaelen struggled to stand, his fists clenched. "Then tell me—what is she? A god? A demon?"
Malachor shook his head slowly. "Neither. Or perhaps both. She is the shadow of divinity. The wound of creation. The truth the gods buried. And now she has chosen you."
The fire in Kaelen's chest flared, though the shard itself was quiet. He met Malachor's gaze with defiance. "Then let them bury me, too. I won't run from this."
Malachor's eyes softened for the first time. Not with comfort, but with grief. "Child… that is exactly what they want."
The air reeked of scorched feathers and burnt stone. The beast was gone, dissolved into nothing, yet the earth bore its scar—a blackened circle where fire had licked the soil raw. Ash still drifted like snow, and in that silence, Kaelen's breaths came harsh and ragged.
Ren helped him sit against a jagged rock. "You shouldn't push yourself like that." His hands trembled as he brushed dirt from Kaelen's brow. "That thing almost killed you."
Kaelen said nothing at first. He stared at his sword, lying dull in the ash, its edge chipped. It felt heavier than ever, as though Eclipsera's touch had seeped into its steel.
Malachor lowered himself slowly, his bones cracking. He rested his staff across his knees. "Tell me, Kaelen," he said, his voice dry as parchment, "what did she show you?"
Kaelen hesitated. The visions burned still—cities drowning in black rain, stars swallowed by an eclipse, corpses stacked into thrones. His gut twisted at the memory of her touch, her voice like a dirge echoing inside his soul.
He swallowed. "She called herself prophecy. She said the blade isn't mine… that it was carved from the marrow of gods." His gaze snapped up to Malachor. "What does that mean?"
The old sorcerer's eyes narrowed. "It means what I feared." He drew a shaky breath. "That shard lodged in your chest isn't just a relic. It's not a trinket or cursed jewel. It is a fragment of divinity itself. Torn from the gods long ago, during the War That Never Was."
Ren frowned. "The… War That Never Was? You mean a myth."
Malachor's lips curled in something between bitterness and pity. "Myths are history the gods have shackled, boy. Once, the divine fought not for mortals, but against each other. A war so vast it almost unmade the world. When it ended, the victors bound reality, sealed away all memory of the conflict. But scraps remain—shards, wounds. Eclipsera is one of them."
Kaelen's chest tightened. "So she's real. Not just some vision?"
"Real enough," Malachor muttered. "Real enough to mark you."
Ren crossed his arms. "Then why him? Why Kaelen? He's just…" He faltered, glancing at Kaelen. "He's not—"
"Not chosen?" Malachor cut sharply. "Not worthy?" He tapped the staff against the ground, sparks flaring briefly. "Do not mistake the will of prophecy for fairness. Eclipsera doesn't care for crowns, for lineages, for worth. She attaches herself to fractures—men already broken. That is why she came to Kaelen. Because he is both a blade… and a wound."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. The words stung, though he knew there was truth in them. He remembered fire, the burning city, the people screaming as towers collapsed. He had not saved them. He had fled. A broken heir, a forsaken child.
Ren's voice softened. "Then what happens now? What does this prophecy demand?"
Malachor looked away, his gaze fixed on the black circle where the beast had fallen. His silence stretched, heavy as stone.
"Tell us," Kaelen pressed, his voice low. "I saw things—moons bleeding, a black sun rising. She said I'd have to choose. Between severing the blade… or myself."
Malachor's knuckles whitened around his staff. Finally, he spoke.
"The Prophecy of Eclipsera is older than gods themselves. It speaks of a cycle—creation, destruction, rebirth. Again and again, worlds rise and fall, bound to the whims of divine war. But she… she was the first to see beyond it. To see an ending."
Kaelen leaned forward, heart pounding. "An ending?"
"Yes," Malachor rasped. "The end of cycles. True freedom. But at a cost. Always a cost." His eyes burned into Kaelen's. "The blade you carry is the key. If you sever it, if you destroy the shard, you might shatter the gods' hold over this world. But if you fail… then the shard severs you. And you become not savior, but harbinger."
Ren's face paled. "Harbinger of what?"
Malachor's voice lowered, almost a whisper. "The Black Sun. A night that devours stars. A thousand gods rising again, unbound, unchecked. A war that ends not in rebirth, but in nothingness."
The fire in Kaelen's chest flared, silent but burning. He clenched his fists. "Then I don't have a choice, do I? Either I break it—or it breaks me."
"Not yet," Malachor said, shaking his head. "Prophecy is not a straight road. It is a maze. Choices remain—paths unseen. But remember this: the gods will come for you now. Not just beasts, not just whispers. They will send heralds, champions, even fragments of themselves. Because if you succeed, Kaelen…" His voice trembled. "If you succeed, you will end them."
Silence stretched. Even the ash in the air seemed to pause.
Kaelen rose unsteadily, gripping his chipped sword. His eyes were shadowed, but fire burned in them still. "Then let them come."
Ren looked at him with a mix of fear and loyalty. "You can't mean that—"
"I do," Kaelen cut in, his voice rough but steady. "They've taken everything from me already. My family, my city, my throne. If they fear me because of this shard, then I'll give them reason to."
Malachor studied him, lips tight. At last, he exhaled. "Then the cycle has begun."
Far above, the clouds shifted. For the briefest moment, Kaelen thought he saw them part into a ring—a halo of light swallowing darkness. But when he blinked, it was gone.
Yet Eclipsera's voice lingered still, soft as breath against his ear.
"Remember, child of ash. The moons will bleed. The sun will blacken. And you must decide—what survives?"
Kaelen shivered, though the night was warm.
And deep in the distance, beyond mountains and ruined cities, something stirred awake.