The red eclipse hung low, bleeding across the sky like a celestial wound that refused to close.
The once-glorious golden domes of Temple Nera no longer shimmered with the light of the sun—they drank only the color of suffering now.
Even the sacred wind-chimes, once believed to carry divine whispers, stood silent.
The temple courtyard was filled with pilgrims from distant lands—hundreds of them trapped behind the sealed gates of Terra Neralis.
They had traveled across deserts, through ruins and oceans, some even barefoot, believing their sins would be cleansed in the holy sanctum of Nera.
But instead of absolution, they found chains.
Instead of light, they found blood-colored skies.
Instead of God… silence.
The Brawns—keepers of the sacred law—moved slowly between them, draped in rustling red and golden robes.
Some were performing rituals. Others were still cleaning the sacred altar, lighting incense whose scent barely overpowered the stench of dread.
Still others sat among the pilgrims, serving food or offering brief, dry prayers.
One of the elder Brawns, his skin wrinkled like an ancient parchment, looked to the sky.
"Looks like the Gods are cruel to us once again," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"No," came the reply from a younger Brawn beside him. "He is not cruel. He is justice. And this eclipse is not a curse… it is a verdict."
Their voices were soft, but carried weight. Near them, seated on cracked stone and worn rugs, the pilgrims listened, some in silence, others in trembling faith.
"This world is full of wickedness," the younger Brawn continued. "Kings who trade peoples' lives like coin. Cruel Rulers who spill innocent blood for land. The rich who feed on the bones of the poor. This eclipse… it is not the end. It is reckoning."
From behind, a tall figure stepped into the discussion. His presence quieted both Brawns. It was Yama, the elder of the Brawns who had stood silent since the seal was discovered unthreaded.
He spoke like thunder held in chains.
"It is written in the Scroll of Dawn," Yama said, eyes on the black moon, "'When the land forgets its mercy, and the sky forgets its light, the God shall tear the world from its seams and forge it anew. The fifth mark will be the last.'"
The crowd stiffened.
"The fifth…" one whispered. "So this is it?"
Yama nodded gravely. "The Fifth Eclipse. The blood bell toll of annihilation."
A silence followed.
And then he added, "But not all shall fall. To those who hold true faith, to those whose hearts are not tainted by cruelty, salvation may still be given."
"Then what should we do?" a trembling pilgrim asked.
"Pray," Yama said. "Pray that your soul is not among the ones God intends to destroy."
He raised his hand—and the priests, pilgrims, and even the youngest acolytes stood. A single word echoed through the courtyard as the Prayer of Rebirth began.
"Oh Nera…"
– – –
Elsewhere, deep in the underbelly of the world, the sky could no longer be seen.
But the presence of the eclipse pressed down even here—beneath the soil, beneath the roots of the sacred tree that suffocated the cave.
Layra sat slumped, bound tightly to the gnarled trunk. Her wrists, though healed, ached from the unyielding bark that coiled like a snake around her.
The dim red glow from the cave's ceiling had begun to fade into a deeper, crueler crimson, like coagulating blood in a dying man's lungs.
"That bastard…" Layra hissed under her breath. "That cloaked freak… I'm going to kill him if I ever get out of here."
She pulled against her bindings, teeth gritted. Her arms shook. Her breath quickened.
But she couldn't move.
The ropes didn't budge.
And her strength—though mended—was fading again. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Thirst cracked her lips. Her breathing became erratic, weaker with every second.
"I don't want to die like this…" she whispered, her voice trembling not with anger—but fear.
The cave answered only with its silence.
And then—
The black butterfly fluttered near, circling her like a haunting echo. It hovered just above her face, casting a shadow over her half-lidded eyes.
"J-just stop it already!" she cried out, swatting at the air. "You're driving me insane!"
The butterfly merely continued its dance—spinning, dipping, landing lightly on her shoulder.
"I swear I'll crush you when I get free," she muttered, weakly.
But her threats had lost their venom.
Her head dropped again, eyes glazed over.
Then, through her panting, she looked upward. The ceiling of the cave was glowing faintly red from the outside light above.
"Hello!" she screamed. "Is there anyone*p up there?! Please—please help me! I've been kidnapped! Trapped in this place by some lunatic!"
The silence that answered her was thick. Absolute.
She sobbed—tears now escaping without restraint.
"Please…" she whispered. "I just… I just wanted a life of my own. I just wanted to choose what I wear, where I go, who I am. I just wanted to live… not survive."
She closed her eyes.
But then—
A voice.
Soft. Feminine. Echoing like wind chimes in a forgotten dream.
"No, Layra…"
Layra's eyes snapped open. She looked up. Then around. "W-who's there?!"
"I'm in front of you."
She blinked—and then realized.
The butterfly. It was facing her directly now, wings still.
"You…?"
"Yes," the butterfly said. Its voice was smooth, quiet, but heavy with age. "I've been here the whole time."
"W-wait! You talk?! You can hear me?!"
"I can hear everything," the butterfly replied. "Even the parts you didn't say out loud."
Layra's face flushed in panic. "W-wait—when I… I didn't mean to insult you! I was just—"
"I know," the butterfly said gently. "You're afraid. But don't worry. You're under our protection now."
"Y-your protection?! Who even are you two?! You and that… that freak in the black robe! Do you know the sky's bleeding outside?! The whole world's going mad!"
The butterfly fluttered closer, wings moving like silk.
"Yes. We know. That's why he came."
"Who?! Who is he?!"
The butterfly hovered above her head again, pausing before answering.
"The world has many names for him. Some call him a ghost. Others call him a traitor. Some… call him a god-killer. But most… fear him as 'The Black Hermit.'"
A chill spread across Layra's spine.
Her lips trembled.
"…Thatname…"
She had heard it before. In whispers, in rumors, in the forbidden scrolls beneath the shrine. A name never spoken aloud. A name the Brawns feared.
"You've heard it," the butterfly said, almost amused.
"W-what is he? A man? A ghost?"
The butterfly didn't answer immediately. Its wings glowed faintly.
"He is what remains… when hope is crushed, when faith is broken, when lies becomes louder than truth."
Layra stared at it—tears still on her cheeks, but something else stirring behind her eyes now.
A spark.
"But why me? Why did he take me?"
"Because you carry the same wound he does," the butterfly replied. "You dream of freedom in a world that chains the innocent. And those who dream… are dangerous."
The Fifth Eclipse begins its true toll. Aren—The Black Hermit—walks into the heart of Terra Neralis for the first time in the eternities.