When the world stopped burning, silence returned like the slow settling of ash.
The boy woke to it — to stillness so complete that he could hear his own breath tremble. The light was gone. The city that had once gleamed beneath the dawn was now washed in pale gray, as though color itself had fled.
He sat up, clutching his side. The air stung like iron. A dull ringing echoed in his skull — not sound, but memory. Fragments of what he'd seen still clung to his vision: the screaming moon, the wings of fire, the blade that shimmered like a mirror of the soul.
And through it all, one phrase burned: "Remember what they buried."
"Easy," a voice murmured.
Seraya knelt beside him, her cloak torn and singed at the edges. Blood streaked her temple, but her eyes were steady. Behind her, the cathedral's great spire leaned at a fractured angle, its upper half lost in a haze of dust and smoke.
"What… happened?" he asked.
"The valley awakened," she said. "Something buried beneath Asterra stirred when your mark flared."
He looked past her — and felt his stomach twist.
The city's outer walls had collapsed inward, swallowed by jagged rifts of black stone. The canals that once shimmered with blue light were now still and dark, reflecting only the ruin above them. Statues of gods lay shattered, faces ground to dust.
Only the cathedral's core remained intact, its silver altar still pulsing faintly — though now its light was red.
"The Custodian?" the boy asked.
"Alive," Seraya said, though her tone carried no relief. "He sealed himself within the inner sanctum when the light rose. He's… speaking with the Warden."
"The Warden?"
She nodded grimly. "The Moon Warden of Asterra — the city's protector. Or what's left of it."
Before he could ask more, the air changed. The faint whisper of chanting drifted from the cathedral's heart — low and resonant, like an ancient song echoing through a hollow shell.
Seraya stood. "Stay close. Whatever happens now, do not speak unless I tell you."
They crossed the shattered nave, stepping over fallen pillars and fragments of stained glass. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, until each breath felt like it carried centuries of forgotten prayers.
At the altar's base stood the Custodian — robes torn, face pale, but his presence still commanding. Before him rose a column of light, within which hovered a figure of pure luminescence — neither wholly male nor female, its form rippling like water seen through moonlight.
Its eyes, twin silver voids, turned toward the boy.
"The Eclipser," the Warden's voice said. It was not spoken, but felt — vibrating through bone and thought alike. "So the Cycle dares begin again."
The Custodian bowed his head. "Warden, the boy bears the mark. He did not mean to awaken you."
"Intent is irrelevant," the Warden replied. "The mark does not act by will. It acts by need."
Seraya stepped forward, her hand on her sword. "Then what does it need now?"
"To be judged."
The Warden's gaze turned to the boy. "Each Cycle's Eclipser faces the Moon's Trial — a test to prove whether their soul remains bound to light… or consumed by the darkness they carry. If he fails, his mark will reclaim him."
The Custodian looked stricken. "That could destroy him!"
"And spare the world another catastrophe," the Warden said calmly.
The boy's throat tightened. "And if I pass?"
"Then you may yet walk as yourself," it said. "But the path forward will demand everything you are."
Seraya turned to him. "You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do."
For the first time since the valley, his voice carried no fear — only resolve. The images in his mind had not left him; they burned behind his eyes, too vivid to deny.
The Warden extended a hand. "Then step into the light, child of eclipse. Let the Moon see your truth."
He obeyed.
As his foot touched the altar's surface, the world vanished.
He stood in darkness.
A mirror stretched before him — vast, seamless, reflecting not his face, but a thousand faces layered atop his own. Some were young, some old, some not human at all. All bore the same glowing mark.
"Who are they?" he whispered.
Your echoes.
The voice wasn't the Warden's this time. It came from everywhere and nowhere, familiar and distant at once — as though it were his own voice, multiplied through eternity.
"They carried the same burden," the voice said. "Each believed they could break the Cycle. Each failed."
He stepped closer. The reflections moved with him — but in their eyes, he saw ruin. Cities in flame. Oceans turned to glass. Moons fractured like broken mirrors.
He wanted to look away, but couldn't.
"Why show me this?" he asked.
"To remind you what mercy costs."
The mirror rippled, and from its surface, hands reached out — pale, ghostlike, clutching his arms, his throat, his mark. Their touch burned cold.
"Stop—"
"They begged for the gods' forgiveness," the voices whispered. "But forgiveness is not for those who remember."
The bandages on his hand ignited, searing white light spilling from the wound. The reflections recoiled, shrieking.
And from behind him, a figure stepped forward — cloaked in shadows, wearing his face.
The reflection spoke softly. "You can't escape what you are."
"I'm not you."
"You will be. When the moons align, you'll take my place — as I took the one before me."
He backed away, shaking his head. "No."
The shadow smiled. "Then prove it."
A blade materialized in its hand — the same one from his visions: long, curved, and bound in chains of light. The shadow lunged.
He barely raised his arm before the first strike came, the clash echoing like thunder in a void. Pain shot up his arm as his own mark flared, and suddenly his hand wasn't empty — it held the same chained sword, glowing with lunar fire.
The duel was swift, merciless. Each strike tore through the black void, scattering shards of reflected light. His double fought with precision, with fury honed over lifetimes. Every motion felt remembered, like muscle memory carved into his soul.
When their blades locked, the shadow whispered, "You fight to live. I fought to end it. That's why you'll lose."
The boy's knees buckled — but he saw it then: the faint glimmer in the shadow's eyes. Not rage. Fear.
He pushed back with everything he had. The chains on his sword shattered, and for the first time, the weapon blazed pure.
He drove the blade through the reflection's chest. Light exploded outward.
The shadow smiled faintly. "Then perhaps… this Cycle will be different."
And vanished.
—————
The darkness crumbled.
He gasped awake on the cathedral floor. The Warden's light had dimmed to a soft glow, the Custodian standing in awe.
Seraya knelt beside him again — though this time, she was smiling faintly. "You came back."
He blinked, dazed. "Did I… pass?"
The Warden's voice was quieter now, distant. "You endured. That is enough."
A new mark shimmered faintly at his throat — a crescent moon intertwined with his original rune.
"Your path is sealed," the Warden said. "The Moons will turn once more, and the Cycle will remember your name."
Then it faded, leaving only silence and the scent of burning incense.
The Custodian exhaled slowly. "He survived the Trial. That hasn't happened since—"
"Since before the fall," Seraya finished. Her eyes met the boy's. "You did what no Eclipser before you could."
He tried to stand, unsteady. "Then what happens now?"
She looked toward the broken city. "Now? We find out why the Cycle began again — and who woke it."
Outside, the faint light of dawn crept through the ruins, touching the cracked moon above. For the first time, its reflection shimmered red.
—————
Fragment from the Lunar Codex, Vol. II
"When the Eclipser bears two moons upon his soul, the heavens shall tremble, and the gods shall remember the fear of mortality."