Fifty years ago, the world was irrevocably altered. A phenomenon known as the Eclipses shattered the boundaries of understanding, appearing like jagged tears in the fabric of reality. These rifts, unexplainable and otherworldly, opened portals to a realm beyond comprehension. From them poured forth creatures of strange and often terrifying design, their presence an enigma to humanity. But while these invaders posed great danger, the materials they carried, the traces of their existence, sparked an age of unparalleled progress.
Eclipses defied the natural laws of the world, yet humanity, resilient and curious, adapted. The most profound invention of this era was the Magnifier. These devices, sleek and brimming with advanced technology, allowed people to measure the power of an Eclipse. Each rift was assigned a "Series" based on its magnitude and the danger of the creatures within, ranging from Series 0—relatively harmless—to the catastrophic Series 7, the stuff of nightmares.
But that wasn't all.
When the Eclipses arrived, so too did abilities. Ordinary humans began awakening to extraordinary powers, a gift—or curse—that could not be explained. These powers manifested in distinct forms, and over time, the phenomenon of Classes emerged. Everyone was categorized, their abilities aligning with one of five foundational roles:
Swordsman – The vanguard of any team, skilled in close-quarters combat and raw physical strength.
Tank – The shield of their companions, enduring the heaviest blows and holding the line.
Healer – Wielders of restorative magic, capable of mending both wounds and spirits.Scout – Agile and perceptive, excelling in reconnaissance and precision strikes.
Mage – Commanders of elemental forces, whose devastating spells could turn the tide of any battle.
Each class played an essential role in a Party, the groups formed to explore and conquer the rifts. The rifts brought chaos, but also opportunity. Entire cities evolved around the management of Eclipses, with training facilities for gifted individuals, research centers for materials, and vast marketplaces dealing in goods extracted from another realm.
Fifty years later, humanity thrived, but the mystery of the Eclipses remained unsolved. Why had these rifts appeared? Where did they lead? What triggered the gifts that reshaped society? These questions lingered, unanswered but ever-present.
The hurried sound of footsteps echoed through the hospital hallway as Dr. Haruto Takeda rushed toward the emergency room. His white coat billowed behind him, and his heart pounded in his chest—not from the sprint, but from the urgency of the situation.
"Move!" Haruto called as the nurses pushed a bloodied stretcher through the swinging double doors.
The patient on the table—a young adventurer no older than twenty—was thrashing weakly, his face pale and drenched in sweat. A jagged blade was lodged deep near his heart, surrounded by blackened flesh that pulsed with an unnatural energy. Blood seeped out in a steady flow, pooling on the floor.
"We've tried basic healing magic, but it's not working!" one of the nurses said, panic in her voice.
Haruto stepped forward, his jaw tightening. "Stand back," he said, his tone steady despite the chaos.
He placed his hands over the wound, golden light beginning to flicker between his fingers. Healing magic came naturally to him—it was why he'd become a doctor in the first place. But as the light poured into the adventurer's body, Haruto's heart sank. The wound resisted the magic, the black ichor burning through it like fire through paper.
The boy let out a sharp cry of pain, his body arching on the table.
"Damn it!" Haruto hissed, clenching his fists. "Bring me a scalpel! Now!"
One of the nurses quickly handed him the tool, her hands shaking. Haruto grabbed it without hesitation, his focus razor-sharp.
"Hold him steady," he ordered.
With precise movements, he made an incision around the blackened flesh, ignoring the nauseating smell of burnt tissue. Every cut had to be exact—there was no room for error.
"Clamp the artery," he said. A nurse moved swiftly to follow his command, working in sync with him.
The blade was finally removed, its twisted, ichor-coated surface glinting under the harsh lights. Haruto wasted no time, his hands moving swiftly as he sutured the ruptured blood vessels and cleaned the remaining tissue.
The room grew still as the boy's breathing steadied, his body relaxing on the table.
"He's stable," Haruto said, stepping back and pulling off his gloves. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his body aching from the tension. "Monitor him closely for the next twelve hours. Let me know immediately if anything changes."
The nurses nodded, their relief evident as they began cleaning up. Haruto turned and walked out, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
The adventurer's family was waiting just outside, their faces pale with worry. As soon as Haruto appeared, the boy's mother rushed up to him, her hands clutching his sleeve.
"Doctor, is he… is he going to be okay?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Haruto gave her a small, tired smile. "Your son will be fine. The wound was bad, but we were able to stabilize him. He's strong—he'll recover."
The mother let out a shaky sob of relief, burying her face in her husband's chest. Haruto placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You can see him soon," he said gently before walking away.
The hallway was quiet now, the adrenaline fading from Haruto's body. Each step felt heavier than the last, and a wave of dizziness hit him as he reached the far end of the corridor.
He stopped, leaning against the wall, his breaths coming faster. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest, making him wince.
"What…?" he muttered, gripping his coat as his vision blurred.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the cold, sterile floor. He tried to push himself up, but his body refused to move. The pain grew worse, and his breathing slowed.
The last thing Haruto saw was the fluorescent lights overhead, their hum blending with the distant sounds of the hospital. His final thought was simple and bittersweet: At least the boy made it.
A faint beeping pulled him awake. Harsh lights overhead made him squint, and the smell of disinfectant told him he was in a hospital.
He sat up slowly, his body aching all over. Looking around, he realized the room was empty. No nurses, no doctors—just him and the quiet hum of machines.
Confused, he swung his legs off the bed. Something felt... off. He stumbled toward a mirror on the far wall, needing to see for himself.
When he looked, he froze.
The person staring back wasn't him.
The man in the mirror had messy black hair, glowing red eyes, and a lean, muscular frame. His bare chest rose and fell as panic started to creep in.
"What?!?" he shouted, stumbling back from the mirror.
His reflection did the same, those red eyes wide with shock.
He clutched his head, his heart racing. "This... can't be real," he whispered.
To be continued…