Eclipsed Horizon — Chapter 1: Before the Eclipsed Sky
Darkness folded over the sea.
Waves shimmered like glass, reflecting twin suns hanging low above the horizon. The light was fractured—two halves struggling to become one.
A figure stood on the shore, hair silver in the false dawn. Another figure, a girl, reached toward him through the shimmer. Her voice, barely a whisper, carried across the endless tide.
> "Don't forget me when the sky closes."
Then the sea cracked like a mirror—and everything fell away.
---
Cael Drayen woke to the hum of fluorescent lights and the antiseptic sting of Zephyr Academy's infirmary. The ceiling was a grid of pale panels, perfectly square, perfectly silent. For a moment he lay there, disoriented, waiting for the dream to dissolve.
But the voice lingered.
He blinked, trying to focus. His uniform jacket hung neatly on a chair beside the bed, folded with mechanical precision. His Pulseblade rested in its case, dormant but pulsing faintly, matching his heartbeat.
The door hissed open.
Mireen Solis stepped inside, arms crossed, her expression equal parts calm and exhaustion. The light caught the silver clasp of her instructor's badge.
"Still breathing," she said. "That's good. I was starting to think the floor panels liked you more than I do."
Cael tried to sit up. "Status?"
"You passed out during a duel. Pulse feedback looped through your neural sync," she said, tapping the chart on her tablet. "If I hadn't cut the power, you'd have cooked your synapses."
He met her gaze, unflinching. "I should have maintained focus."
"You should have stopped when you were bleeding," she corrected, her tone softening. "You're not a machine, Cael."
He said nothing. Mireen sighed and glanced at the window. Outside, the academy floated above the cloudline, the world below hidden by storm haze. Twin shafts of light pierced the mist before fading—remnants of a sun that hadn't truly shown itself in over a decade.
"The others are preparing for the field exam," she said. "You'll be cleared by noon. Don't make me regret signing your release."
He nodded once. "Understood."
When she left, the silence returned.
He stared at his reflection in the window—a faint outline of his own face over the churning clouds. Somewhere beyond the fog, the horizon glowed faintly gold.
He whispered, almost to himself, "Don't forget me…"
The words tasted foreign, like something from another lifetime.
---
The corridors of Zephyr Academy were alive with motion by the time Cael was discharged. Cadets hurried between halls of metal and glass, the hum of engines beneath their feet. Above, translucent displays floated with mission data and holographic emblems—Zephyr's insignia: a sun eclipsed by a crescent.
Jax Torren was waiting near the lift, arms crossed, a grin already plastered across his face. "Hey, soldier boy! Back from the dead, huh?"
Cael gave a short nod. "You're loud as usual."
"Gotta make up for you not saying anything!" Jax jabbed him lightly in the shoulder. "You missed the pre-brief. Sena's already betting you'll ace the trial blindfolded. Don't make her lose money."
"I don't bet."
"That's why she's betting for you," Jax chuckled. "Come on, hero. Let's go pretend this academy saves the world."
They entered the lift. Transparent walls revealed the floating spires of Zephyr stretching across the clouds, their undersides threaded with Aether conduits glowing faint blue. Far below, the storm churned endlessly, horizon fading into smoke.
Jax leaned against the railing. "Ever wonder what's under all that? What's left of the old cities?"
"No."
"Figures." He smirked. "Guess it's better not knowing."
Cael's gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
A flicker of light passed through the clouds—like something moving beneath the surface of the sky. A pulse. A heartbeat.
---
The lift opened onto the upper concourse. Cadets crowded around briefing terminals, checking weapon diagnostics. Sena Korr zipped past, dragging a crate of energy cells, her hair tied in a messy loop. "Don't step on my stuff!" she yelled, then noticed Cael. "Oh, you're alive! Yay! I told Jax you'd survive anything short of a reactor explosion!"
Jax grinned. "You also said he might be a ghost."
Sena shrugged. "Still possible!"
Cael allowed a faint exhale. It wasn't quite a sigh, not quite amusement. "Focus on the equipment."
"Yes, sir!" she chirped, saluting dramatically before darting off.
The hall echoed with familiar noise—arguments, laughter, mechanical hums. Yet Cael felt detached, as if watching through glass. Everything functioned perfectly, predictably.
Still, something in him itched—the echo of that voice from his dream.
> Don't forget me when the sky closes.
He pressed a hand against the side of his head. For a second, the world wavered.
The corridor's light dimmed, replaced by the shimmer of a different place—a white beach under twin suns.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
"Drayen?" Mireen's voice pulled him back. She approached, eyes sharp with concern. "You all right?"
He straightened. "Fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I'll manage."
She studied him a moment longer, then relented. "Meet at Dome Three for the evaluation. And try not to collapse this time."
"Understood."
As she walked away, Cael exhaled slowly.
He didn't notice the commotion near the security checkpoint until he heard raised voices.
---
At the far end of the hall, two guards were arguing with a girl—tall, dark hair streaked with silver, her outfit an unregistered mix of academy harness and civilian tech gear. She stood her ground easily, her Aether Bracelets flickering faint gold.
"I told you, I'm here to see your commander!" she said. "You can scan me all you want, but I'm not leaving."
"Unauthorized access to Zephyr grounds," one guard replied, firm but wary. "Step away from the gate."
Cael paused without meaning to. Something about her tone, the cadence of her voice—it scraped at the edge of memory.
She turned, eyes catching his for the briefest instant.
For a second, the noise of the hall disappeared.
The world bent.
He saw flashes—light breaking over water, a hand reaching through flame.
Then it was gone, leaving only the hum of engines and his racing pulse.
The girl frowned, as if sensing the same thing.
Then she smiled faintly—defiant, unafraid—and let herself be escorted toward the administrative wing.
Lyra Vance.
He didn't know her name yet, but the moment would burn into him like a scar.
---
Later, as dusk rolled across the clouds, Cael stood on the academy's outer balcony. The sky above was a whirl of amber and steel—the light of the twin suns muted by the shroud that had covered the world since the Aether Collapse. Somewhere beyond that veil, the real stars waited, unseen.
He rested his hands on the railing. The hum of Zephyr's engines vibrated through his gloves, steady and unchanging. Everything was order, rhythm, precision. And yet—
> "Don't forget me when the sky closes."
He shut his eyes.
For a heartbeat, the clouds parted. A thin ray of sunlight broke through, warm against his face.
Then it vanished.
Behind him, the academy's speakers crackled to life:
> "Cadet Cael Drayen. Report to Simulation Dome Three. Field Evaluation commencing."
He turned, expression unreadable, and walked back inside.
Far across the sky, beyond sight, a faint ring of light pulsed once—like the beginning of an eclipse.