The eclipse did not weaken.
It hung above the world like a wound that refused to close—black sun devouring gold light, a halo of dying fire trembling around its edges. Even at midday, the land lay in permanent twilight.
Three days had passed since Kael left Ember Hollow.
Three days since the sigil burned itself into his flesh.
Three days since the world stopped making sense.
The road south had once been busy with merchants and farmers hauling grain to the capital. Now it was empty. No wagons. No laughter. Only wind whispering across brittle grass.
Kael walked alone.
His cloak snapped behind him in restless gusts. Beneath the leather wrap on his right hand, the sigil pulsed faintly. Not painfully—just aware. Like something watching from inside his own skin.
He had tried ignoring it.
It did not appreciate that.
Every so often, heat would ripple through his palm, spreading up his arm in a quiet reminder:
You are not what you were.
He flexed his fingers and exhaled slowly.
"Not now," he muttered.
The wind answered with silence.
The ruined watchtower came into view at dusk—though dusk meant little anymore.
It stood on a ridge overlooking the valley, broken stone silhouetted against the eclipsed sky. Once, it had belonged to the Sunwardens: knights sworn to defend the realm in the name of the Radiant Throne.
Now it was abandoned.
Or so he thought.
Kael climbed the ridge carefully. The air grew colder with each step. Not natural cold—this felt… hollow. Like warmth had been drained rather than displaced.
At the tower's base, the earth was scorched.
Freshly.
His pulse quickened.
Shadow beasts.
He drew the iron shortblade at his side—not because he believed it would save him, but because it felt better than standing empty-handed.
The tower door hung crooked on one hinge. He pushed it open.
It creaked loud enough to sound like a scream.
Inside, moonlight filtered through the broken ceiling. Dust floated lazily through pale beams of silver light.
Then—
Footsteps.
Behind him.
Kael turned sharply.
She stood in the doorway he had just passed through.
Silver hair fell freely down her back, catching the faint lunar glow. Her armor was light but intricate, etched with symbols that seemed to shimmer when he tried to focus on them. A crescent-bladed polearm rested easily in her grip.
She did not look surprised.
She looked… disappointed.
"You're late," she said.
Her voice was calm. Controlled. Like someone who had expected this moment for a long time.
Kael did not lower his blade.
"I don't remember setting an appointment."
Her gaze dropped to his wrapped hand.
The leather began to smoke.
Heat surged through his palm without warning. The sigil flared beneath the binding, molten lines searing through the fabric. The wrap ignited and fell away in ash.
The symbol shone bright orange against the darkness.
The woman's eyes narrowed.
"So it chose you."
"I didn't ask it to," Kael replied, jaw tightening.
"No one ever does."
The air between them shifted—pressure building, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Outside, something howled.
Not wind.
Not human.
Kael felt it before he heard it fully: shadow pressing against the edges of the tower. Crawling. Gathering.
The woman did not turn.
"They followed you," she said evenly.
"I didn't invite them either."
She almost smiled at that.
The door exploded inward.
Three creatures spilled through the opening—forms of smoke and bone, their bodies twisted like burned trees. Their eyes burned violet in hollow skull-like faces.
Kael moved without thinking.
The sigil answered.
Fire erupted from his palm—not wild this time, but focused. A ribbon of molten light tore across the nearest beast. It shrieked, dissolving into drifting embers.
The second lunged.
The silver-haired woman moved faster than sight.
Her crescent blade flashed, leaving a trail of pale light as it cut through shadow. The creature split in two, evaporating into black mist.
The third leapt for Kael's throat.
For one heartbeat, fear took him.
Then something inside him shifted.
The sigil pulsed—once.
Flame erupted outward in a controlled sphere, engulfing the creature midair. It disintegrated before it touched him.
Silence returned.
Ash drifted down like snow.
Kael's breathing was heavy now. The fire on his hand dimmed but did not vanish.
The woman studied him carefully.
"You're stronger than the last one."
"The last one?" he asked.
Her gaze lifted toward the eclipsed sky visible through the broken roof.
"The Mark appears when the Sun dies," she said quietly. "And every time it appears, the world fractures further."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting for now."
She stepped closer. Not threatening. Just deliberate.
"My name is Lyra Vael," she said. "I am the last sworn Warden of the Crescent Order."
"Never heard of it."
"You wouldn't have. We protect the world from things it refuses to see."
She stopped an arm's length away.
"And right now," she continued, eyes locking onto his, "the world is about to break."
A tremor shook the tower.
Not from outside.
From beneath.
Stone cracked.
Dust rained down.
Kael felt the sigil flare violently—brighter than before. Not reacting to the shadow beasts.
Reacting to something deeper.
Something ancient.
Lyra's expression hardened.
"It's awakening," she said.
"What is?"
The ground split open.
From the darkness below, a voice rose—low, resonant, older than language.
"Bearer of Flame…"
Kael's blood ran cold.
"…return what was stolen."
The sigil burned white-hot.
Lyra grabbed his arm—not to restrain him, but to steady him.
"You don't understand what you carry," she whispered.
The earth beneath them gave way.
They fell into darkness.
And far above, the eclipse pulsed once—
—as if in satisfaction.