The stars were dimmer now.
Callan felt it in his bones.
The sky above had once been the domain of the Goddess—her eternal watch, the prism of her divine design. But now, something was missing.
Not a momentary lapse, but an absence.
For the first time in centuries, Lumiera was no longer watching.
The stars flickered, like dying embers in a forgotten hearth.
And in the silence of that celestial void, Callan raised his sword to the heavens.
The Gathering Storm
In the aftermath of the Saints' fall, the land had become untethered.
The world no longer hummed with the unnatural harmony that had once been dictated by Lumiera's will. Cities, liberated from divine shackles, teetered on the edge of chaos and freedom.
But among the scattered ruins of her empire, there were those who would not stand idle.
In the cities, whispers spread. The old myths of the Goddess—the tales of creation, perfection, and her promise of a pure world—began to gather followers. There were those who still believed in her vision of order. The remnants of the faithful, long hidden in the shadows, now rallied.
And they called themselves the Eclipsed.
These were not mere zealots; they were descendants of those who had once walked beside the Saints. They wore the sigils of the Eye in the Sky across their chests. Their eyes glowed with an otherworldly fire—the faintest remnants of Lumiera's lingering influence.
And they were preparing for something far darker than any mortal could comprehend.
The Cult of the Eclipse
Their leader, a man who called himself Kyran, stood at the heart of the old temples—ruins now, their beauty fractured by time. His body was marked with symbols of light, glowing faintly as if they were carved from the very stars themselves.
"The Goddess still watches," Kyran said, his voice cold but filled with unshakable conviction. "She will return."
The followers gathered in silence, awaiting his next words.
"In the absence of her gaze, we must reclaim the balance. The Ashbearer's interference has torn the threads of the world. The sun must rise again."
One of the disciples stepped forward, eyes bright with feverish zeal. "How do we restore the will of the Goddess? How do we bring her back?"
Kyran's lips curled into a twisted smile.
"By becoming the sun ourselves."
The Truth of the Eclipse
Callan had felt the stirrings of something terrible long before Kyran's followers came into view. It was in the shifting winds, in the tremors of the earth—like a shadow stretching across the horizon.
Solenne was the first to sense the change.
"We're not alone," she said one morning, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the rising sun. "There's something wrong with the sky. It's... warping."
Caedra clenched her fists. "It's the Eclipse. I can feel it too."
Ren stood silently, his hand on the hilt of his blade. "We need to move. Now."
But it wasn't just the land that was shifting.
Within Callan's chest, the sword was singing—its voice low, like a tremor beneath the ground, stirring memories, fear, and a deeper hunger.
"I know what they're trying to do," Callan muttered, tightening his grip on the sword. "They want to become the sun."
"And they'll burn everything for it," Solenne added, her voice full of dread.
Into the Heart of the Eclipse
The Citadel of Dawn had fallen to dust.
But Kyran's new order had taken root in the shadows, and from there, they began their march.
The Forsaken—Callan's remaining allies—followed closely behind. Their path took them through forgotten paths and crumbling temples, each step closer to the heart of the Eclipse.
The land grew colder the closer they came.
Not because of winter, but because the light itself was being sucked into the heart of the Cult's power.
The Eclipse was not just a name.
It was a process.
The followers of Kyran had begun to absorb the light, not just as an energy, but as a form. The sun itself began to bend, curving around the Citadel of Dawn.
The sky was no longer blue.
It was silver—a thin, stretched membrane of light, flickering and twisting like the last dying breath of a star.
It was not the light of day.
It was the light of something else entirely.
The Betrayal of the Sun
At the heart of the Citadel, Kyran stood atop an altar—an ancient stone platform, shaped like the petals of a closed flower. He raised his arms to the sky, his eyes glowing with an unnatural fire.
"Witness," Kyran called out, his voice amplified by some unseen force, "the rebirth of Lumiera. The Goddess shall return, not as a watcher, but as a force."
He pulled a blade from the altar—a slender, curved weapon that gleamed with the reflection of a thousand suns. This was no ordinary weapon; it was forged from the very essence of the sun itself.
And in that moment, Callan understood.
Kyran had become more than just a servant of Lumiera.
He had become the light.
And with that blade, he would cast the final shadow—the Eclipse of the Goddess.
The Unraveling of the Light
As Kyran prepared to strike, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The Forsaken, led by Callan, fought through the encroaching cultists. Each strike was a step closer to the altar, each moment spent unraveling the tangled web of their divine delusion.
"Callan!" Solenne cried out. "We need to stop him! If he completes the ritual, the sun will be gone forever!"
Callan did not respond.
He didn't need to.
He could already feel the world falling apart—the fabric of existence fraying as Kyran's power grew.
The sword's cry rose to a deafening pitch, as though it too could not bear to witness what was unfolding.
But Callan did not hesitate.
With a single step forward, he closed the distance.
And as Kyran raised the sun-blade to strike, Callan's sword sang—a song of forgotten blood, of loss and resurrection, of ash and flame.
The clash was not of steel.
It was of will.
The sun-blade shattered.
And Callan's sword pierced through the heart of Kyran, shattering the illusion of light, sending the Cult of the Eclipse into chaos.
The Dying Sun
Kyran's body crumpled beneath Callan's feet, his life force drained into the earth like the last rays of the sun sinking beneath the horizon.
But the damage had been done.
The sun was no longer what it had once been.
The stars, dim and fractured, flickered once more.
And Callan knew—this was the price.
The world could not survive in the light alone. It needed the shadows.
The balance had been broken.
And the only way forward was through the darkness.