The sky was no longer the same.
The light of day, once so familiar and comforting, had turned cold—an artificial glow that flickered and sputtered like a dying flame. The sun no longer cast shadows, for the shadows had become the true light. The world below, once radiant, was now an expanse of muted colors, a canvas without its brightest hues.
Callan stood amidst the wreckage of the Citadel of Dawn, the once-proud temple now reduced to a heap of broken stone. His sword pulsed quietly at his side, its hunger stilled for the moment, but its song still resonated within him. He could feel the weight of the new world pressing in on him.
The balance had shifted.
A Fading Hope
The Forsaken gathered around him, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. They had fought long and hard, and though Kyran was no more, the aftermath of the battle was far from over.
Solenne approached Callan, her expression unreadable. "We did it. But at what cost?"
Callan looked toward the horizon, where the sun hung as a faint, dying ember in the sky. "The sun is gone. The world won't survive much longer in this state."
Ren stepped forward, his eyes shadowed with worry. "And the cultists? They're still out there. Their power may have waned, but they won't give up so easily."
Callan's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. "We won't stop until we've eradicated every last one of them. We've seen their delusions. They will never accept a world without their Goddess."
But as Callan spoke, there was a lingering doubt within him. He had seen the eclipse—the way Kyran had absorbed the light—and the fear gnawed at him. What if this was more than just the last dying gasp of Lumiera's empire? What if the world had already crossed a point of no return?
The Last Light
Solenne, sensing his inner turmoil, placed a hand on his shoulder. "What are you thinking?"
Callan's eyes darkened. "I'm thinking that we've destroyed one false god only to find that another might take her place."
The words hung heavy in the air. No matter how many cultists they destroyed, how many battles they won, the reality of the situation couldn't be ignored. The world needed something—someone—to lead it, to fix the damage that had been done.
"We need to find the heart of the sun," Callan said finally, his voice low and determined. "There must be a way to restore the balance. Not through gods, but through the world itself."
Caedra, who had been silent until now, nodded solemnly. "If there's a way, we'll find it. But it won't be easy."
Ren, always the pragmatist, crossed his arms. "And what do you propose? We walk into the heart of the desert? Try to talk sense into the stars?"
Callan's eyes narrowed as he looked at his companions. "No. We need to seek out the Obsidian Flame."
The Obsidian Flame
The Obsidian Flame was a legendary artifact—said to be the only thing capable of altering the very fabric of the world's light and darkness. A relic of an ancient civilization long forgotten, it was said to be the key to both creation and destruction. Many believed it was a myth, but Callan knew better.
It had to be real.
For years, the Forsaken had fought against the Empire of Lumiera, against gods who demanded obedience and order. But now, in the ruins of their conquest, they would search for the one thing that could truly bring about change.
The Obsidian Flame was not a weapon to wield lightly. Legends told of its power to both heal and burn, to craft and destroy. Whoever controlled it could shape the world in their image—or unmake it entirely.
But it was lost, hidden deep within the Forgotten Lands—an area beyond the reach of even the most powerful sorcerers and scholars.
Solenne was the first to speak up. "How do we even begin to find it? The Forgotten Lands are vast, and no one has returned from there in centuries."
Callan's eyes flickered with the spark of resolve. "We have something they don't. Knowledge."
The Key to the Forgotten Lands
The journey would not be easy, but Callan had learned that the most difficult paths often led to the greatest rewards. The Forsaken began their preparations, gathering what little they could from the wreckage of the Citadel and the surrounding desert.
They would need maps, ancient tomes, and any scrap of information they could find about the Forgotten Lands. Callan had already dispatched messengers to the last remaining outposts of resistance, hoping to gather what they could.
But it was Solenne who uncovered the first clue.
In an old, weathered manuscript she had found in a nearby temple, she discovered a series of ancient runes. They were faint, almost erased by time, but the meaning was clear.
"To find the Flame, you must cross the Abyss of Stars and follow the path of the first dawn."
The message was cryptic, but it was the first tangible lead they had found.
"The Abyss of Stars," Callan muttered. "It's the desert beyond the Forgotten Lands. A place where the stars themselves seem to vanish, swallowed by the sands."
Ren looked up from his map, a frown on his face. "The Abyss... I've heard tales of it. It's a place where time doesn't work the same. Some say it's where the first gods died."
Solenne nodded grimly. "If we're to find the Obsidian Flame, we'll have to face the Abyss. And what lies within."
A World in Twilight
As the Forsaken gathered their supplies and began to make their way toward the Abyss, Callan couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into the heart of something far darker than they could imagine.
The land around them had become a place of shadows, the once-vibrant world now a pale imitation of itself. The air felt heavier with each passing day, the silence broken only by the occasional scream of a windstorm or the distant call of a dying creature.
It was as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to give.
Callan had never been one to believe in fate, but the events unfolding seemed too... orchestrated. The collapse of the sun. The rise of the Eclipse. The Obsidian Flame. Was this all part of a greater design, or were they merely pieces in a game they didn't understand?
But for Callan, there was no turning back. He had made a promise.
And now, it was time to keep it.