The sky had turned to blood.

Elias Varkas rode in silence, his cloak heavy with dust, his sword strapped tightly to his back. The road beneath him cracked with dryness, the earth parched and broken as if the land itself recoiled from the coming darkness. The sun, once golden and unchallenged, was now little more than a fading ember, its light swallowed by the massive black sphere that had risen to consume it.

People had whispered of this moment for years—priests in their temples, kings in their courts, scholars hunched over their scrolls. Some called it a curse, others a test from the gods. To Elias, it was neither. It was war.

The village ahead lay in eerie silence. No sounds of merchants, no children playing, no fires burning. He slowed his horse, scanning the empty streets. Doors stood ajar, windows shattered, but there were no bodies, no signs of a struggle. Just absence.

He dismounted, boots crunching against the dirt as he stepped forward, hand resting on his sword. The air was thick, charged with something unseen, something unnatural. Then he heard it—a faint whisper, drifting through the stillness like a breath against his ear.

He turned sharply, but there was nothing.

Then the whisper came again, this time from everywhere at once.

And in the center of the village, the shadows began to move.

Elias drew his sword, the steel whispering as it left the scabbard. His pulse quickened. The shadows in the village square writhed, twisting unnaturally as if something beneath them struggled to break free.

Then came the sound—low, guttural, like a dozen voices speaking at once. The temperature dropped. His breath misted in the air.

A figure emerged from the darkness. At first, it looked human—tall, draped in tattered black robes—but its face was wrong. It shifted like smoke, never settling into a single form. Eyes flickered across its features, appearing and vanishing, as if trying to decide which face to wear.

Elias took a step back, sword raised. "Who are you?"

The thing cocked its head. When it spoke, its voice was layered, echoing. "You are not meant to be here, knight."

Elias gritted his teeth. "And yet, here I am."

The creature extended a hand, long fingers stretching impossibly far, reaching toward him. Elias felt something press against his mind—a force, cold and relentless, like fingers clawing through his skull. He staggered, gripping the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

"You feel it, don't you?" the thing murmured. "The Black Sun has awakened more than just the sky. It has awakened what was buried."

Elias's vision blurred. The world around him twisted, the village fading into darkness. For a moment, he saw something else—ruins swallowed by sand, bodies frozen in agony, an ancient city lost to time. And above it all, the Black Sun hung, watching.

He gasped, wrenching himself free from the vision. The creature took a step closer.

"You cannot run from it, knight. The old world is ending."

Elias tightened his grip on his sword. "Then I'll cut down whatever comes next."

The thing smiled—too wide, too sharp. "We shall see."

Then it vanished, dissolving into the shadows. The village was silent once more.

Elias exhaled, his heartbeat steadying. He did not know what that thing was, but he knew one thing for certain.

The Black Sun had risen, and the world would never be the same again.

The Mage's Warning

The Black Sun did more than steal the sky's light—it stirred the very essence of magic itself.

Lirien Caelthar felt it the moment the eclipse began. It was subtle at first, like a whisper brushing against the edges of her mind. But as the darkness deepened, the power within her twisted, shifting like a restless beast.

She stood on the balcony of the ruined tower, overlooking the city of Valdris below. The capital was uneasy—fires burned in the streets, people huddled indoors, and the once-proud banners of the Empire hung limp in the still air. Even the wind had abandoned this place.

Her fingers tingled with raw energy. The wards she had placed around herself faltered, magic slipping through the cracks like sand through clenched fists. It had never done that before.

Behind her, a voice broke the silence.

"You feel it too, don't you?"

Lirien turned sharply. An old man leaned against the doorway, his robes once rich but now frayed with age. Master Orwyn, the last true scholar of magic in the Empire, studied her with knowing eyes.

She nodded. "Something is wrong. The Black Sun… it's not just an omen. It's changing the Veil."

Orwyn sighed, stepping onto the balcony beside her. Below, distant screams echoed between the buildings. The city was already unraveling. "Magic is not what it was yesterday," he murmured. "And tomorrow, it will be something else entirely."

Lirien shivered. "You knew this would happen."

"I suspected," Orwyn admitted. "The old texts warned of it. When the Black Sun rises, the walls between worlds thin. The old things—things that were buried, locked away—they begin to stir."

Lirien exhaled slowly. "The creature I saw last night… it wasn't just a shadow."

"No." Orwyn's voice was grave. "It was a remnant of something ancient. And it will not be the last."

She clenched her fists. This was worse than she had feared. Magic was her gift, her weapon—but if even she could barely control it now, what would happen when the untrained, the reckless, or the cruel learned of this change?

Orwyn placed a hand on her shoulder. "There may still be time."

"For what?"

"To stop what's coming."

Lirien stared at him. "You don't even know what's coming."

He gave her a sad smile. "That's what terrifies me most."

---

The Empire Crumbles

Prince Kaelen Veynor stood in the grand hall of the Imperial Palace, but there was nothing grand about it now. The marble pillars were cracked, the golden chandeliers unlit, and the courtiers who once filled this space with empty words were gone.

Outside, the city burned.

He turned to his father, Emperor Varos Veynor, whose frail body lay on the throne. The old man's breath was shallow, his once-imposing figure now sunken into the massive gilded chair. His eyes, once sharp enough to cut steel, flickered with recognition as Kaelen approached.

"My son," the Emperor rasped. "It has begun."

Kaelen clenched his jaw. "The people are afraid. They say the gods have forsaken us."

The Emperor gave a bitter chuckle. "The gods did not forsake us, Kaelen. We abandoned them long ago."

A shadow flickered across the throne room. Kaelen stiffened, hand moving to his sword. A robed figure emerged from the darkness—a High Priest of the Solarian Order, his crimson robes pooling around him like blood.

"Your Majesty," the priest intoned, his voice like dry parchment. "The Black Sun is not an ending, but a beginning. It is the trial that will forge the worthy."

Kaelen's grip on his sword tightened. "And what of the unworthy?"

The priest smiled. "They will burn."

The Emperor coughed, struggling to sit up. "Enough. What is it you seek, priest?"

"The truth, Your Majesty." The priest's eyes gleamed. "The prophecy has begun. The world is being rewritten, and only those who embrace the darkness will survive."

Kaelen stepped forward. "And what do you suggest? That we kneel before it?"

The priest bowed his head. "Not kneel. Control it."

A silence stretched between them.

Then the Emperor spoke, voice barely more than a whisper. "You will leave us."

The priest hesitated. "But, Your Majesty—"

"I said leave."

Kaelen watched as the priest bowed and vanished into the corridors. When they were alone, he turned back to his father.

"Do you believe him?" Kaelen asked.

The Emperor closed his eyes. "I believe the Black Sun is a test."

Kaelen frowned. "For whom?"

His father's breathing grew weaker. "For you."

A cold weight settled in Kaelen's chest. He did not know what trial awaited him, but he knew one thing—the world he had been raised to rule was already dead.

And whatever came next… would not be won with politics or crowns.

It would be won with blood.

---

The Three Paths Converge

As the Black Sun loomed over the world, three fates began to intertwine.

A disgraced knight rode toward an uncertain future, haunted by shadows that spoke in forgotten tongues.

A rogue mage stood at the edge of power she could not control, knowing the time for hiding was over.

And a reluctant prince faced the burden of an empire in ruins, where survival would demand unthinkable choices.

None of them knew what awaited beyond the Black Sun.

But soon, they would.