At last, the rain had stopped. The rising sun slowly emerges from the distant skyline, illuminating what is left of Aetheros after the Eclipse. The world, once drowned in the Eclipse’s shadowy rainfall, now stood in a fragile silence. The streets of Solstice City, capital of the New Federation, were damp, the air thick with the scent of lingering magical distortion. And grief. Loss. The echoes of those who had not survived the Eclipse of Remembrance.


    The aftermath of the Eclipse left the city in disarray. Families clung to each other, some in gratitude for surviving yet another cycle, others in despair as they gazed upon empty chairs at their dinner tables. Wealthy and influential mage families, those who had wielded magic freely in pursuit of power, bore heavy tolls, their estates standing silent, now filled only with the whispered prayers of the mourning. The names of the lost passed in whispers, their fates sealed by debts they could never repay.


    Across the city, mourning bells tolled. They rang in solemn succession, a dirge for the departed and the broken. The plaza before the grand building of the Continental Magic Association is covered in white carnations, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the dark, polished obsidian steps leading up to the building’s grand hall. The Association’s flag, bearing the insignia of a white tome with celestial patterns swirling within its pages on a navy background, flies solemnly in the wind. The usually bustling hall with merchants and scholars, now held a sea of black-cloaked figures, gathered for the national funeral.


    The air, thick with the scent of incense and the lingering echoes of the mournful chant, carried the weight of a nation’s grief. A hush falls over the crowd as the Great Mage, Elric Ardentis, surveys the sea of mourners. As the distant chime of ceremonial bells mark the weight of the occasion, the Great Mage speaks up, his voice resounding and powerful, carrying a sorrowful undertone.


    <blockquote>


    “Today, we grieve. We mourn the fathers and mothers, the sons and daughters, the friends and mentors who are no longer among us. Some fell to the Curse of Magical Debt, their humanity stripped away by forces beyond their control. Others gave everything in service of their craft, only to find that the Eclipse has no mercy, no exceptions, no delays. We had no choice but to contain and separate them from their loved ones in their last moments. To cease their terrible suffering as a result of bearing the Curse. Their sacrifices will not be forgotten.”


    </blockquote>


    He pauses, his gaze settling on the front rows – high-ranking mage families draped in mourning robes, their eyes hollow with loss. Among them, notable emblems on their attire glint in the light, a silent reminder of their power and authority, and of its helplessness against the mysterious forces of nature. Their names will be written in history once more – not for triumph, but for tragedy.


    A gust of wind sweeps across the building, lifting the banners of the Continental Magic Association. The sigils shimmer in the morning light – symbols of knowledge, resilience, and the unyielding pursuit of magical understanding.


    <blockquote>


    “We are mages, scholars, wielders of knowledge itself. We are sorcerers, born with the innate talent for magic. We do not cower before the unknown. We have lost much, but we will not falter. To those who have passed – may their names be etched in the halls of memory, and may their legacies guide us forward. The Eclipse has taken, but it has not won. We will persist. We will prevail.”


    </blockquote>


    As Elric Ardentis steps back, his cloak billowing in response, the silence lingers for a moment longer. Then, a quiet murmur ripples through the crowd – not cheers, nor applause, but a quiet, collective acceptance. The funeral continues, but something has shifted. The weight of loss remains, but so does the resolve to endure.


    In the heart of Solstice City, the Church of Longinus moved swiftly. White-robed healers, their headdresses bearing the insignia of the Church, shone in the sunlight as beacons of hope. Healers filled the infirmaries, tending to the cursed, the weak, and the broken. Their presence was both a blessing and a stark reminder of the cost of magic. Survivors showed signs of lingering afflictions – tremors, weakened limbs, and horrifying visions of the Eclipse’s horrors. For some, withdrawal from magic left them brittle, their bodies struggling to cope without the power they once wielded.


    As Elias struggles to wipe the residual tiredness of sleep away from him, he is greeted by Florence, an apprentice healer responding to the call of the Church to help those who were afflicted by the Curse of Magical Debt. Her silver-white hair shimmered in the morning light, making Elias flinch a little due to his photosensitivity after the events that had transpired. Looking at him with curious eyes, Florence breaks the silence:


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    “Hey there, I’m Florence, an apprentice healer with the Church of Longinus! The Eclipse must’ve taken a toll on you, considering your body is slightly changed… How are you feeling?”


    Elias groaned as he sat up against the bed, his body strongly protesting his every movement. His peripheral vision was greatly expanded, causing his photosensitivity. His eyes darted to the mirror beside his bed. In the mirror, a boy with long hair – hair that was longer than Elias usually had – looked back at him. His left eye glowed a faint yellow, barely discernible amid the rays of morning light. As he came to his senses, he replied to Florence’s question, his voice barely above a whisper.


    “I- I’m okay… sort of. How’s Lior…?”


    Florence’s head tilted to the side as she responded, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her youthful voice. “Lior...? I… don’t recall a patient with such a name… Can you elaborate on who they are?”


    The thought of explaining the events that have transpired briefly crosses Elias’ mind, his mouth involuntarily opening.


    “He was my-”


    “Your…?”


    Elias covered his mouth as he was about to reveal the truth behind his transformation. He knew that the act of redirecting one’s curse to another was the gravest of offenses in the New Federation. He shuddered at the thought, his mind filled with horrifying glimpses of the Association’s Enforcer Division.


    “W- wait... never mind. I misremembered.”


    “You hesitated. That name meant something to you.”


    “It’s.. nothing. Just a bad dream, maybe.”


    Florence narrowed her eyes, quick to notice the unease in Elias’ voice. “A dream? You just woke up from the aftermath of the Eclipse! Your body has changed; something has changed… and the first thing you can remember is a… dream?”


    “I said it’s nothing, alright?” Elias clenches the bedsheets, tension in his shoulders.


    Florence''s gaze flickered to his hands, watching how they trembled. A moment of hesitation – then, slowly, she reached forward, her fingers curling around his in a steadying grip. “I’m just trying to help,” she said gently. “The mind plays tricks on survivors. Some see things that aren’t there, while some... forget things they shouldn’t. If you remember something important, you can tell me. The Church does not judge the grieving.”


    Elias forced a smile, but his voice came out hoarse. “Thanks. But there is nothing to tell.”


    A flicker of doubt crossed Florence’s face. Her fingers lingered before she withdrew her hands, standing up. She gave him one last glance, brows furrowed, then turned on her heel and left to tend to the others. The infirmary buzzed with murmurs of the wounded, punctuated by occasional cries of pain as healers struggled to prolong fading lives. Elias exhales sharply, tension visibly bleeding from his frame. His mind raced about her questions. Had Florence noticed something? Did she believe him?


    A few weeks pass, and Elias is discharged from the infirmary. As he left the church to head back to his home in Fallowfield, his eyes could see magic flowing and dancing in the air, mesmerizing patterns blooming in a show of light and shadow. On his way home, shadows flickered at the edges of his vision. Figures in the crowd, their movements wrong – offbeat, like echoes out of sync with reality. Elias turned back, scanning the busy marketplace. Merchants scurried about; couriers weaved through the streets, bearing the latest news. No one seemed to notice anything unusual.


    ''A trick of the mind,'' he told himself.


    But something gnawed at him – an unfamiliar awareness of the world around him. He shook the thought away and kept walking.


    Yet, even amidst the city’s mourning and recovery, another matter took root. The Enforcer Division of the Association had begun its investigations. Whispers of a mage who had survived the Eclipse’s grasp, of a transformation unseen before, spread through their ranks. Elias. His name, once lost in the annals of the Academy, now carried a weight of dread.


    His survival had not gone unnoticed. Nor had the untimely death of his friend.


    The Enforcers moved through the streets with purpose, their golden-etched uniforms a stark contrast to the mourning black of the nation’s black funerary flags. Their mission was clear. Elias had to be found. His transformation had to be understood. And, if necessary, he had to be contained.


    After returning to his family, Elias lived in quiet solitude, evading the Enforcers’ investigations. He stopped showing up to the Academy’s regular classes and rarely stepped outside his home. From behind closed doors, he could faintly hear his former classmates speaking in hushed tones – mentioning interrogations, Lior’s passing, and the Enforcers. His mind raced with chilling possibilities, each whisper feeding his paranoia. Memories of Lior’s final moments played on an endless loop in his mind. The grotesque image of his death. The overwhelming guilt clawed at his conscience, making every day feel like an eternity. He had survived the Eclipse – but the world would not let him rest. One day, footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets of Fallowfield.


    The door to his home swung wide open. A man stood in the doorway, clad in white robes with golden trims. In his hand was rolled-up parchment. A notice for arrest. Two others flanked the officer, cutting off all possible escape routes.


    The Enforcers had come.


    And with them, the weight of judgment.