the night sky split open with a crimson moon.
Villagers whispered in fear, for the Crimson Eclipse appeared only once every thousand years—always heralding disaster.
Inside the forest, a boy staggered through the darkness. His clothes were torn, his breathing ragged. In his hand, he clutched a rusty blade, its edge chipped and dull… yet faintly glowing with an otherworldly light.
"Not… yet," he muttered, forcing his trembling legs to move. The pursuers' footsteps echoed behind him—mercenaries hired by the noble clans, their orders clear: kill the last heir before he awakens.
The boy's name was Kael Ardyn, and though he did not know it yet, the blood running through his veins was not ordinary. It was the Blood of the Ancients—a lineage feared and erased from history.
Lightning cracked across the sky.
The blade in his hand pulsed once, then whispered, as if alive:
"Awaken me… and claim your fate."
Kael's eyes widened. For the first time in his life, he felt fear twist into something else—power.
And beneath the Crimson Eclipse, destiny stirred.