When the world came back, it was in fragments—sound first, then color. Bells were still tolling somewhere far above, but their rhythm was wrong, as though time itself had stumbled. Aethen lay on his back beneath what had once been the cathedral floor. Broken marble framed a circle of misty light overhead, and dust drifted down like gray snow.
For a long while he couldn't move. His right hand still burned, the mark pulsing through the bandages in steady, painful rhythm. Every pulse brought an echo of the scream he had heard before the world split: a voice that was not voice, the sound of a wound in the sky.
He rolled onto his side, coughing dust from his lungs. The air tasted of stone and ozone. Dim silver radiance poured through cracks in the ceiling, tracing runes that hadn't glowed in centuries. When he tried to stand, the floor gave way beneath his heel and he tumbled into darkness.
He landed in water. Cold. Deep. The shock tore the breath from his chest, but instinct pushed him upward. He broke the surface into a cavern lit by veins of crystal that ran through the rock like lightning frozen in place. Each vein throbbed faintly, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.
"Seraya?" His voice echoed and came back smaller. Nothing answered.
Aethen waded toward a bank of shattered tiles. The chamber around him was vast—a forgotten crypt beneath the Sanctum. Stone effigies of winged beings knelt in circles, their faces buried in prayer. Between them stood a single monolith, its surface carved with two perfect circles overlapping—a twin eclipse.
As he stared, light seeped from the lines of the carving, filling the room with ghostly glow. The monolith's surface shimmered until it became liquid mirror, and in it he saw not his reflection but a city of fire—Asterra, burning. The spire was breaking apart, the crystal bridges collapsing into molten rivers.
He stumbled back. "No… that's—"
The reflection shifted. Now he saw himself standing at the center of the ruined city, older, eyes like molten gold, the same mark blazing across his chest. Around that other self lay fallen figures—friends? Lovers?—their faces hidden by ash.
Remember, the mirror whispered, though no mouth spoke the word.
Pain struck like a blade behind his eyes. Images burst and died: moons colliding, a hand reaching through light, a woman's voice saying Don't forget who you are.
He clutched his head, gasping. "Stop—"
But the mark on his hand flared, and the cavern answered. Crystals screamed as energy ripped through them; the water rose in spirals, weightless. For an instant, everything around him froze mid-air—the droplets, the dust, even his own breath suspended between heartbeats.
Then the moment collapsed, and time crashed forward. The stored force hurled outward in a shockwave that shattered every statue in the crypt. When silence returned, Aethen knelt at the center, trembling, the air around him hazy with residual light.
Footsteps echoed down the tunnel behind him. He turned, expecting Seraya—but the figure that emerged was no human.
It was tall and thin, its body a lattice of translucent light wrapped in faint mist. Where a face should have been was a mask of glass, featureless save for two slow-spinning rings where eyes might dwell. The being moved like water, rippling without sound.
Aethen froze.
The creature halted a few paces away. When it spoke, the sound was many voices speaking through one.
"Fragment recognized. Eclipser-core unstable."
"I don't—" He swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
"Designation: Shade of Dawn. Function: Witness of Cycles."
The term made his stomach twist. "Witness… so you've seen me before?"
The rings in its mask rotated faster, studying him. "Iteration seven-hundred and twelve. Failure state recurring."
"I don't understand!"
The Shade tilted its head. "You will. Or you will end. Both outcomes serve balance." It raised an arm—fingers like shards of morning light—and pointed to the ceiling above. "Ascend. The Sanctum fractures. Guardian calls your name."
"Seraya?"
The rings pulsed once, in affirmation. Then the Shade dissolved, leaving only drifting motes that faded into the mist.
Aethen stared at the spot it had stood. The mark on his hand dimmed to a faint glow. "Seven hundred and twelve times…" he murmured. "How many worlds have I already lost?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
Seraya pushed through the smoke choking the cathedral nave, half dragging the wounded Custodian. His white robes were torn, his calm gone. Chunks of ceiling littered the floor like fallen stars.
"You fool," he rasped. "You brought him here. The Cycle begins anew."
"Then help me end it," she snapped. She shoved aside a broken pillar, revealing a stair spiraling downward. "He fell through here."
"You'll die chasing him."
"Better that than waiting for the gods to erase us."
She descended before he could answer. The stair wound deep beneath the Sanctum, the air growing colder with each step. Somewhere below, she felt it—the same pulse that had haunted her dreams since the last eclipse. Aethen's presence was a storm barely contained.
When she reached the cavern's edge, the sight stopped her breath. Every statue had been pulverized, the air glittering with residual mana. At the center, Aethen stood amid a ring of molten stone, eyes wide and unfocused, light still bleeding from his skin.
"Aethen!"
He turned slowly, disoriented. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know." She stepped carefully toward him, boots sinking into ash. "Listen to me. You have to breathe. The mark feeds on fear."
He tried, but the glow only intensified. The walls trembled. She realized he wasn't hearing her—his consciousness was half elsewhere, caught between moments.
Seraya drew the short dagger from her belt, its hilt etched with lunar sigils. She pressed the flat of the blade against his wrist. "Then let it feed on me instead."
Light flared, silver meeting gold. For a heartbeat, their pulses aligned. The rune on his hand dimmed, stealing strength from her instead. She staggered but smiled faintly. "Good. You're back."
He caught her as she nearly fell. "Why would you—"
"Because if you lose yourself now, we all die before the story even begins."
Before he could answer, a deep rumble rolled through the ground. Cracks spidered across the floor. From beneath the shattered monolith rose a glow not of sunlight but of moonfire—cold and vast.
The Custodian's voice echoed faintly from above: "You've woken it! The Moon Warden sleeps no longer!"
Stone split apart, and an enormous shape unfurled from the depths. It was neither beast nor machine—its body was crystal and bone, wings stretching to scrape the cavern roof, eyes twin moons burning with ancient memory.
Seraya drew her sword; Aethen felt his mark respond.
The Warden's voice filled the cavern without sound: "Bearer of Sin. Fragment of the Eclipse. The gods remember."
Aethen's pulse roared in his ears. For an instant he saw flashes again—himself standing before this same creature in another lifetime, sword raised, the same scream of light ending all things.
Seraya's hand found his. "Whatever happens, you're not alone this time."
He nodded once, fear and resolve twisting together. The Warden lowered its head, energy building between its jaws.
Light met shadow. The air cracked.
And as the beam descended, Aethen stepped forward, raising his marked hand toward it.
The world inverted.