The first thing Gareth felt was cold. Not the sharp bite of winter wind, but the damp, stone-chilled air of a place that had never known sunlight.
When he opened his eyes, the world swam. Iron bars loomed in front of him, and beyond them, the faint golden glow of torches revealed a long corridor — lined with cells, each occupied by silent, unmoving figures.
His wrists were bound in thin silver cuffs, etched with runes that shimmered faintly, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Every time he tried to move, a deep, bone-level fatigue rolled through him.
"You're awake."
The voice came from the shadows. A man stepped forward, his armor a gleaming blend of gold and white steel, the crest of a blazing sun engraved across his chestplate. His eyes… were like polished mirrors, reflecting Gareth's face back at him.
"Gareth of Aurensport," the man said flatly. "By order of the Sun Blades, you are to be transported to the Citadel of Radiance for judgment."
Gareth's throat was dry. "And if I refuse?"
The man's lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer. "We move faster than light, boy. You've already refused."
Somewhere far above, Gareth could hear the faint hum of airships, the sound like a heartbeat echoing through stone. Then exhaustion took a hold on him and soon the young man was fast asleep.
The first thing Gareth felt was the cold. Not the kind that seeped into skin, but the kind that sank deeper — into bone, into thought.
When his eyes opened, iron bars framed his view. Beyond them, a thin shaft of gold sunlight painted the dust in the air like drifting motes of ash.
The clang of a door broke the silence.
Three figures stepped inside. Their armor caught the light like fire off a blade — smooth, white-gold plates etched with sunburst sigils. The Sun Blades.
Captain Ryn Velcor's gaze was the first to meet Gareth's. Calm. Cold. Judging. The kind of look a man gives a storm on the horizon. "He's awake. Bind him."
The second guard, Ser Calen Draev, smirked as he tossed a length of glimmering chain onto the floor.
"Can't believe they left him breathing. Man casually appears and becomes a kingdom rank threat, and we're just… what? Marching him to trial? That's not a man — that's a calamity waiting to happen."
The third, Lyra Vance, didn't speak at first. She simply knelt, checking the chains, her eyes never leaving Gareth's face. When she finally did speak, her voice was like a clean cut through the air.
"If you so much as twitch wrong, you'll find out just how fast light moves."
They didn't bind him with ordinary metal. Each link shimmered faintly, humming like a heartbeat. Lightsteel. The kind forged only in Sunstead — said to restrain even magic itself.
Gareth said nothing as the cuffs closed around his wrists. His silence seemed to unnerve Calen more than any protest would have.
"Yeah. See that? Not a word. You know what they say about quiet storms? They hit hardest."
Captain Ryn's voice cut through the moment, sharp and final.
"He's not a storm, Calen. Storms pass. Calamities change the map."
The chains tightened. The cell door opened. And Gareth was led into the blinding Sunstead morning — the world outside buzzing with whispers about the boy who could end cities.
Chains bit into Gareth's wrists as the cell door groaned open. The torchlight spilled over polished silver armor — the Sun Blades. Their swords caught the light like mirrors, and even in the dim corridor they seemed to move too quickly for the eye to follow, as if the air bent around them.
"On your feet," one ordered, voice clipped, almost reverent — not toward Gareth, but toward the task of escorting him.
The jail's stone steps wound upward until daylight knifed through the gate ahead. As they emerged, Gareth blinked against the sudden blaze. Luminara stretched before him — a city of white-gold spires, each crowned with sun disks that turned slowly in the wind, scattering shards of light across the marble streets. Pilgrims knelt in the open squares, chanting hymns. Scribes with ink-stained fingers hurried between gilded libraries.
And yet, as the Sun Blades led him through the main thoroughfare, the chanting faltered. Heads turned.
"Luminara…" an old man whispered, just within Gareth's hearing. His tone was half awe, half dread — as though the name itself was a ward against him.
A mother pulled her child closer. "Don't look, he'll take the light from your eyes."
Another voice, sharp and certain: "The Sun's Pallbearer walks among us."
The words rippled outward, carried on murmurs, until the title clung to the air like smoke.
The great Church of the First Light loomed ahead, its façade carved with scenes of the Sun's birth — robed figures raising hands to a blazing orb, warriors kneeling before it. The massive golden doors were open, spilling a warm, almost oppressive light.
Gareth felt the weight of a hundred painted eyes staring down from the mosaics as the Sun Blades pushed him forward. Inside, the air was heavy with incense and the low hum of a thousand whispered prayers. At the far end, on a dais of pure white stone, the High Solar Priest waited — draped in cloth that seemed woven from sunlight itself.
"Bring forth the accused," the priest's voice rang, and even the echoes felt like judgment.
The Sun Blades halted before the dais, forcing Gareth to kneel. The marble was warm beneath him, as though it had been kissed by the sun moments ago.
The High Solar Priest rose slowly, each movement deliberate, as if time itself bowed to his will. The light from the great stained-glass window behind him painted his face in gold and crimson, giving him the look of a man half-saint, half-warrior.
"Gareth of no house," the priest began, voice carrying through the vaulted hall, "you stand in the heart of Luminara — the city of truth, faith, and the everlasting flame." His gaze swept over the gathered crowd, their eyes glinting with equal parts fear and fascination.
"You are named the Sun's Pallbearer," he continued, letting the words hang in the incense-thick air, "the one who carries darkness to the light's doorstep." His tone sharpened. "For crimes whispered in every corner of the realm, for omens that follow in your wake… you will answer before the Light itself."
But then — a pause. The priest's eyes narrowed, studying Gareth in a way that felt too long to be hatred alone.
"And yet," his voice softened just enough for only those nearest — including Gareth — to hear, "the Light has shown me… not all shadows bring ruin. Some carry the truth hidden in the blaze."
It was gone as quickly as it came. The priest straightened, his expression once again a mask of holy authority. "Begin the trial."
He did not speak immediately. Instead, he studied Gareth as if appraising a rare but dangerous artifact. The silence stretched long enough for the tension to thicken.
Finally, the High Priest's voice rang out, calm but heavy with authority.
"Sun Blades, hold him here. I will not pass judgment in haste — not on a man with such a name."
One of the captains stepped forward. "He was found outside Aurensport. There are… conflicting reports of what he is."
The High Priest's gaze didn't leave Gareth. "Conflicting reports require truth. He will remain in Church custody until the testimonies are gathered — from Aurensport, from Sunstead, and from any who claim knowledge of the Sun's Pallbearer."
From the shadows, a scribe began recording every word. The decision was deliberate — Luminara would not risk executing a man who might be a pawn, an enemy, or a weapon.
And Gareth, though silent, understood one thing: he was no longer simply a prisoner. He was a bargaining chip in the game between districts.
The chains bit into Gareth's wrists as the Sun Blades held their ground, but his mind was already moving faster than the council's words.
Information first, freedom later.
He tilted his head slightly, letting the sunlight from the stained-glass window fall across his face. "You speak of my name as if it is a curse," he said, voice calm, almost reverent. "But surely a city of scholars and scribes would seek the truth before condemning a man."
The High Priest's brow furrowed, not from anger, but curiosity. "You think yourself misunderstood?"
"I think," Gareth replied, "you've already heard tales. But none of you have asked me the most important question — why the mark burns brighter when the sun rises."
That made the scribe's quill hesitate mid-stroke. Several council members exchanged quick glances. The captain of the Sun Blades shifted uneasily.
"What do you know of the mark?" the High Priest asked slowly.
Gareth let a faint smile play on his lips. "Enough to know you wouldn't drag me through half of Aurensport's territory just to hang me. You want to know if it's prophecy… or plague. And you're hoping I'll answer without knowing who else hunts it."
The room grew still, except for the soft clicking of the scribe's pen. Gareth kept his gaze steady on the High Priest, reading the flickers in the man's expression — the restrained urgency, the calculation.
"I'll tell you what I know," Gareth said, "but I'll need to see the church's records. The ones you keep in the sealed vault beneath the Basilica."
"That vault," the High Priest replied, voice edged with warning, "is not for the eyes of the accused."
Gareth leaned forward, letting the chains clink just loud enough to echo in the chamber. "Then decide quickly, Priest. Because if I am the Sun's Pallbearer, your faith may depend on whether I'm here as a herald… or as a warning."
The High Priest did not answer at once. But the weight in the air told Gareth he had planted the hook.
The High Priest's eyes lingered on Gareth, as if weighing not just his words, but the shadows between them. Finally, he spoke, his tone less like a judge's verdict and more like a man probing an unknown depth.
"You speak with the tongue of one who has seen what others only fear in dreams," he said. "And yet… you are young. Too young to have stood where the ancients stood."
"Or perhaps too young to know when to be afraid," Gareth answered, letting just enough insolence show to seem fearless without tipping into disrespect.
That earned the faintest curl of the High Priest's lip — amusement, or interest, Gareth couldn't tell.
He gestured to one of the council members — a man robed in white and gold, with ink stains on his fingers and eyes sharp as a hawk's. "This is Scholar-Priest Calladus. He will see to it that your… claims are tested."
Calladus stepped forward, studying Gareth like a puzzle he'd been waiting his whole life to solve. "If you speak the truth," Calladus said, "then the vault may open for you. But know this — I will find the lie in your tongue if there is one."
Gareth met his gaze, holding it until the man blinked first. "Then I suggest you listen closely. The sun doesn't rise for everyone."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. The High Priest raised his hand, silencing them.
"Take him," the High Priest ordered, "but do not break him. Not yet."
The Sun Blades moved to escort Gareth out, their armor catching the light from the Basilica's windows. Through the echoing halls, pilgrims and scribes glanced at him — and some whispered, just loud enough for him to catch a single word on their lips:
"Luminara."
As they led him out of the Basilica's great hall, Gareth kept his head straight, his expression calm, almost bored. To the guards, he was unshaken. Inside, his pulse was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
That worked…
The High Priest had taken the bait, just as Gareth hoped. One wrong word, one slip, and they might have dragged him to some dark cell beneath the church — the kind you didn't come back from. But instead… they were giving him a chance.
A thin, sharp breath escaped through his nose. Don't get comfortable. Interest isn't trust. It just means they want more before they decide to kill you.
Relief washed over him in careful waves. He was still in chains, still surrounded by Sun Blades with swords that could cleave a man in two — but now he had something better than freedom. He had time.
Time to learn what this mark on his skin really meant.
Time to turn their questions into answers.
Time to make them underestimate him.
The pilgrims in the courtyard turned to watch as he passed. Their lips moved with hushed reverence, some whispering prayers, others repeating that word again — Luminara.
The city's white spires reached into the sunlight like spears of gold, the air thick with the scent of burning incense. Bells tolled somewhere far above, their sound rolling down the marble streets.
Beside him, Scholar-Priest Calladus walked with slow, measured steps, his eyes never leaving Gareth.
Good, Gareth thought. Watch me all you want. I'll give you something worth staring at.
The iron-bound doors of the jail swung open, spilling Gareth into the blinding gold of Luminara's morning. The air here was different—warmer, heavier—almost as if the city itself carried the weight of every prayer whispered within its walls.
The Sun Blades flanked him, their armor glinting like molten light, faces unreadable beneath crested helms. They moved in perfect unison, not a single step out of rhythm. These men don't just guard… they believe, Gareth thought, studying their posture, their stillness.
Bystanders lined the marble streets, murmuring as he passed. Some leaned forward, whispering to one another:
"That's him—the Sun's Pallbearer…"
"In Luminara? Saints preserve us…"
The name caught in his chest like a hook. So they know it here too… which means it's spread farther than I thought.
The cathedral loomed ahead, a white and gold monolith crowned with a sunburst of pure crystal. Light refracted through it, scattering rainbow beams across the plaza. Every pilgrim, every priest, every scribe who passed seemed drawn toward it like a moth to a flame.
He kept his head low, but his eyes worked. The symbols carved into the cathedral gates weren't just decorative—they were wards, layered in overlapping circles. And at their center… a mark. The same one from my arm.
Inside, incense curled like pale smoke, the smell of myrrh clinging to the vaulted air. Gareth's pulse ticked faster. The Sun Blades stopped before the altar, and a robed figure turned, the deep gold of his vestments brighter than firelight.
"You stand in the heart of Luminara," the man said, voice carrying through the echoing hall. "Before the eyes of the Sun God. Speak truth, or be burned by it."
Gareth let his breath steady. This was the moment.
Fear and relief, side by side, he thought. Fear because I'm standing in the one place that might strip my lies bare. Relief… because if I play this right, I'll learn exactly why that mark haunts me.
He bowed his head just enough to seem respectful. "Then let me speak," he said, voice low but steady. "But perhaps… you should tell me first what you see when you look at me."
The robed man's eyes narrowed—interest piqued.
The robed man studied Gareth in silence, as though weighing his very soul on an invisible scale.
"You carry the Mark of the Eclipser," he said at last, each word heavy enough to make the Sun Blades shift uneasily. "A curse older than our faith itself. When the moon devours the sun, it calls to the depths… and the depths answer."
The man's voice lowered, but the cathedral seemed to swallow his words and feed them into every ear.
"Beasts will rise in numbers beyond counting—hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions—drawn to you like flies to a corpse. The first eclipse in a century will fall not here, but upon the Gates of Sunstead. And when it does, the ground will drown in monsters."
Murmurs rippled among the onlookers. Gareth caught a flash of fear in their eyes—and something else. Reverence.
The priest stepped closer, his shadow spilling across Gareth's feet. "Yet the mark is no mere doom. The Beholder—he who survives its waves—can consume their essence, grow stronger without end, until he stands above men and gods alike."
Inside, Gareth's thoughts churned.
So that's why they fear me. Why they called me the Sun's Pallbearer. I'm a walking calamity… but also the key to something greater.
The robed man searched his face. "Tell me, prisoner—do you intend to fight the curse, or to claim its throne?"
Gareth's lips almost curled. If I'm careful, they'll keep feeding me answers without even knowing it.
He looked up, letting a flicker of doubt show in his eyes. "I didn't even know its name… until now."
The priest seemed satisfied, as if he had peeled away some hidden layer of Gareth's ignorance.
The jail's heavy doors groaned open, spilling Gareth into the blinding light of Luminara's central square.
Sunlight glinted off spires of gold and marble as the chants of robed priests rolled through the air. Pilgrims and scribes knelt along the cobblestone path, their faces half in awe, half in dread.
"Sun's Pallbearer…" a woman whispered near his ear as the guards pushed him forward. Others muttered the city's name—Luminara—like it was both a prayer and a warning.
The grand church loomed ahead, its stained-glass windows painting the crowd in hues of crimson and gold. Above its gates, an enormous sun motif burned with captured light, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for him.
Inside, a semicircle of priests awaited. The High Priestess, draped in flowing white, stepped forward.
"Gareth Valven," she began, voice carrying the weight of law and faith, "you bear the Mark—a curse that calls the abyss upon our lands. Yet some here believe you are not a calamity, but a chosen vessel."
Gareth bowed his head just enough to appear humble, but his eyes swept the chamber, reading their faces. He caught the flicker of fear in one, the spark of curiosity in another. Useful cracks to wedge open.
"My lords," he said slowly, voice calm, "perhaps your fear blinds you. The mark is dangerous—yes—but in the right hands, it is a weapon. In mine, it could serve your will."
A ripple went through the priests. Somewhere in the shadows, an old scribe murmured, "The first eclipse… it will fall at the Gates of Sunstead."
Gareth hid his smirk. So that's where it .
The heavy chains clattered against the marble floor as the Sun Blades' captain finally nodded to the guards.
"Release him," the High Priest commanded, his voice steady but carrying the weight of final authority.
Gareth's wrists tingled as the shimmering cuffs dissolved into faint sparks, freeing him for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
"You are no ordinary prisoner, Gareth of Aurensport," the High Priest said. "The mark on your skin is both a blessing and a burden. If you are to survive what's coming, you must learn to wield it."
The chamber doors swung open, revealing a vast training hall bathed in golden light. Warriors moved with precision, their blades flashing like rays of sun.
Captain Ryn Velcor stepped forward, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "Your training begins now. We will teach you to harness the mark's power, to control the darkness you carry."
Gareth stretched his arms, feeling the unfamiliar freedom, but also the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders.
"Train me," he said, voice calm and resolute. "Because if I'm the Sun's Pallbearer, I intend to be the one who decides what burns — and what survives."
After the grueling training session, Gareth finds a quiet moment alone, maybe atop the city walls or in a secluded garden beneath the sun-dappled leaves. He touches the glowing mark on his arm and lets the weight of everything — his fears, doubts, and the expectations crushing down on him — settle in.
He thinks about the people whispering his name as a curse, the priests eyeing him like a weapon, and the looming eclipse threatening to tear the world apart.
But instead of despair, a new fire ignites within him — not just the mark's power, but a deeper determination. He decides he won't be a pawn in their game. He'll learn, adapt, and forge his own path.
Gareth looks out over Luminara's golden spires, the sun warming his face. A faint smile plays on his lips.
"If I am the Sun's Pallbearer," he thinks, "then I will decide what light remains — and what darkness I burn away."
Days passed. Gareth's mark pulsed brighter with every lesson. But just as he began to feel control—an uneasy calm—a sharp horn shattered the peace.
From the city walls, a messenger sprinted through the courtyard, breathless.
"The eclipse... it's coming early. And something moves beyond Sunstead's gates. Monsters. Hundreds of them."Gareth's eyes narrowed, the mark flaring wildly across his skin.
The sun dipped behind the spires. Shadows lengthened.The true darkness was awakening.And Gareth's trial was only beginning.