The Twilight of the Three Suns
Chapter 1: The City of Mirrors
The three suns of Vëldanor hung in the sky like celestial sentinels, casting layered shadows upon the endless dunes. The Crimson Sun bled warmth into the sands, the Golden Sun bathed the land in a soft glow, and the Shadow Sun wove streaks of darkness into the fabric of the world. In the heart of this ever-shifting desert stood the City of Mirrors, a fortress of glass and obsidian, reflecting the fractured light in mesmerizing patterns.
Kael Draymor pulled his hood lower as he approached the city’s gates. The exile had grown used to hiding his face, though the weight of his tarnished name still clung to him like an unshakable curse. He was no longer the prince of Arvalis, but a man hunted by both enemies and former allies. The letter he had received bore no signature, only an emblem he had not seen in years—a sun eclipsed by shadow. Whoever had sent it knew his past. And they had called him here.
Guards clad in silver armor blocked his entrance, their visors reflecting his cloaked figure. “State your purpose.”
Kael reached into his belt, producing a small metal insignia with the same symbol as the letter. The guards exchanged glances before stepping aside without another word. He had expected resistance. Instead, he was met with eerie compliance. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword as he stepped into the city.
The marketplace of the City of Mirrors was a labyrinth of polished stone and shifting light. Merchants hawked their wares in hushed tones, their voices swallowed by the gleaming walls that amplified every whisper. The entire city was a maze of reflections, illusions cast by the thousands of mirrored surfaces that lined its streets. Even the buildings seemed to shift depending on where one stood, making it easy for the unwary to become lost.
At the far end of the square, past the shimmering arcades, a lone figure sat by a dry fountain. Her crimson hair cascaded down her back, and the flickering runes on her arms marked her as a wielder of fire.
Lytha Vaelis exhaled, watching a small wisp of blue flame dance between her fingers before snuffing it out. She had been waiting for hours, her patience wearing thin. Whoever had summoned her here was either playing a dangerous game or underestimating her wrath. Either way, she would find her answers soon.
A merchant nearby, wrapped in deep blue robes, studied her cautiously before speaking. “Magic like that is not welcome here.”
Lytha smirked. “Then perhaps this city is not worthy of it.”
The merchant paled and turned away. Lytha had no interest in pointless confrontations, but she could feel the weight of eyes on her. The City of Mirrors was full of secrets, and she had no intention of becoming one of them.
“Lytha Vaelis,” a voice spoke from behind her.
She turned swiftly, a pulse of heat crackling at her fingertips. But the man before her did not reach for his weapon. He was cloaked, tall, and bore the sharp gaze of someone who had seen war and lived to tell of it.
“Who asks?” she demanded.
Kael lowered his hood. “I believe we are here for the same reason.”
Lytha studied him for a moment before allowing the magic in her palm to dim. “You’re the exile.”
“And you’re the sorceress they fear.”
A tense silence settled between them, broken only when a third presence emerged from the shadows. The man wore a dark mantle, his silver hair catching the shifting light of the mirrored streets. His eyes, an unnatural gray, reflected more than just the world around him.
“Orin,” he introduced himself, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kael’s hand drifted toward his sword, but Orin did not move. Lytha, on the other hand, narrowed her gaze. “You were watching us.”
“Not by choice,” Orin murmured. “The reflections show what they will. And they led me here.”
Kael studied him warily. “You’re a seer?”
Orin’s gaze flickered toward the great glass towers that loomed above them. “I see glimpses. And I saw both of you long before you arrived. The suns are shifting. And the gate to the Devastated Realm is weakening.”
Lytha folded her arms. “So, we’re pieces on a board none of us can see. Who brought us here?”
A new voice, low and laden with intent, answered from the shadows. “I did.”
From the arched corridor beyond the fountain, a cloaked figure stepped forward. The insignia of the eclipsed sun gleamed on their chestplate. Beneath the hood, golden eyes flickered with the glow of the coming storm.
“The alignment is near,” the stranger said. “And whether you wish it or not, you three are bound to it.”
Kael exchanged glances with Lytha and Orin. For the first time in years, his exile felt like something more than punishment. It felt like a beginning.
The air in the City of Mirrors carried a weight that none of them could ignore. As the stranger led them through the labyrinthine streets, Kael couldn’t help but feel as though they were walking deeper into a trap. Every reflective surface seemed to carry whispers—faint, unintelligible, but undeniably present.
“Who are you?” Kael demanded.
The stranger did not stop walking. “You will know soon enough.”
They arrived at a massive hall, its walls entirely made of obsidian glass. Within, dozens of robed figures waited, each bearing the insignia of the eclipsed sun.
Lytha frowned. “A cult. Of course.”
“Not a cult,” the stranger corrected. “A council. And you three are the key to everything.”
Orin’s gaze drifted to the mirrored ceiling. “The suns are shifting faster than they should be. The prophecy is accelerating.”
Kael crossed his arms. “Then we don’t have much time.”
The golden-eyed stranger stepped forward. “No, we don’t. And if we fail, there will be no dawn. Only darkness.”
Chapter 2: The Fractured Prophecy
The chamber of obsidian glass hummed with a quiet energy, as if the very air held its breath. Kael, Lytha, and Orin stood at the heart of the council hall, surrounded by the robed figures of the Order of the Eclipsed Sun. The stranger with golden eyes, who had led them here, stepped forward.
“You three stand at the crossroads of fate,” the stranger declared. “The prophecy was never clear on who would play what role. Only that three would rise at the twilight of the Three Suns, and one would determine the course of the world.”
Kael’s hand twitched near the hilt of his sword. “And if we refuse?”
The golden-eyed figure regarded him with something between amusement and resignation. “Then the darkness will devour all, and your refusal will mean nothing.”
A ripple passed through the mirrors surrounding them, their reflections warping, shifting, distorting into something grotesque. Orin’s gaze sharpened. “Something is watching us.”
Lytha’s hand instinctively ignited with blue fire. “Something, or someone?”
One of the council members, an elderly woman with silver tattoos on her face, stepped forward. “The gate to the Devastated Realm is weakening. The mirror you see before you is no longer just a reflection—it is a window. And something on the other side is looking back.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. He had spent years fighting human wars, but this… this was something else entirely. “Then let’s stop it before it comes through.”
The old woman shook her head. “It is not that simple. The suns have begun their alignment ahead of schedule. We believe a force is accelerating the process. And we do not have the power to halt it.”
Lytha scoffed. “Then why bring us here?”
“Because,” the golden-eyed stranger said, “you are the only ones who can.”
The Council led them through corridors of shifting glass, where shadows moved of their own accord. The deeper they went, the more unstable the reflections became—showing glimpses of things that were not there. Orin kept his gaze averted, unwilling to see too much. He knew the cost of looking too closely.
“Where are we going?” Kael asked.
“To the Heart of the Mirrors,” the golden-eyed stranger replied. “It is the only place where the threads of the prophecy can be fully revealed.”
Lytha snorted. “Great. Another riddle.”
At last, they reached a grand door, its surface smooth and liquid-like, as though it were both solid and endlessly shifting at once. The old woman placed her palm against it, and the surface rippled outward. Slowly, the doorway parted, revealing a vast chamber beyond.
It was unlike anything they had ever seen.
The walls of the chamber were neither stone nor glass, but something in between, like frozen light. At the center, a massive circular mirror floated above an altar of dark obsidian. The reflections within it moved, independent of the world around them, displaying visions of past, present, and futures yet to come.
Orin took a hesitant step forward. The mirror pulsed, reacting to his presence. A whisper curled through the air.
You are late.
Kael unsheathed his sword. “What was that?”
The golden-eyed stranger did not flinch. “The Mirror of Threads. It does not speak as we do. It merely reveals what is already known.”
Orin’s fingers twitched. “Known by whom?”
The mirror rippled. By what watches.
Lytha’s breath hitched. “Enough riddles! Just tell us what we need to do!”
The mirror did not answer. Instead, the reflections within it changed—shifting to show three figures, each illuminated by a different light.
Kael, standing beneath the Crimson Sun. Lytha, wrapped in the fire of the Golden Sun. Orin, consumed by the Shadow Sun.
The council gasped. The golden-eyed stranger took a sharp breath. “The Suns have already chosen.”
Kael scowled. “What does that mean?”
The golden-eyed figure turned to them, and for the first time, there was uncertainty in their voice. “It means one of you will break the world.”
The room fell into stunned silence. Kael clenched his fists, his mind racing. He had been hunted, betrayed, and exiled. And now they were telling him he had the power to destroy everything?
Lytha was the first to recover. “That’s ridiculous. The prophecy said three would rise. It never said one would bring ruin.”
The old woman shook her head. “The prophecy was never whole. It was shattered—fragments lost to time. What remains is what you see now. And it suggests that only two will stand when the alignment is complete. The third…”
She trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
Orin’s expression darkened. “Will be lost.”
The mirror pulsed again. Or found.
Kael exhaled slowly. “So, what now? Do we just sit and wait for fate to decide which one of us vanishes?”
“No,” the golden-eyed stranger said. “You must find the lost fragments of the prophecy. Only then will you understand the choice before you.”
Lytha crossed her arms. “And where exactly are these fragments?”
The stranger hesitated before answering. “Scattered. Some within this realm, some… beyond.”
Kael tensed. “Beyond? You mean the Devastated Realm.”
The council members shifted uneasily. The old woman sighed. “Yes. And time is running out. The mirror has already shown the fracture forming. If it breaks entirely, the Devourer of Light will wake. And then, prophecy or not, there will be no choice left to make.”
The next hours passed in tense preparation. The council provided what little they could—maps, weapons, supplies—but none of it felt like enough. The journey ahead was one no one had ever returned from.
Standing in the city’s outer courtyard, Kael adjusted his sword belt, looking to Lytha and Orin. “If either of you want to turn back, now’s the time.”
Lytha scoffed. “And miss out on the chance to rewrite fate? Not a chance.”
Orin simply nodded. “The choice was made long before we came here.”
The air shimmered as the city’s great mirror-gate activated, revealing a swirling portal of fractured light. The path to the Devastated Realm lay open.
Kael took one last breath and stepped through.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
Chapter 3: The Devastated Realm
Darkness clung to them like a living thing. The moment Kael, Lytha, and Orin stepped through the portal, the air changed—thick, heavy, charged with something ancient and hungry. The Devastated Realm was no mere wasteland; it was a wound in existence, a place where time fractured and reality bent under unseen pressure. The sky above was a swirling mass of shadow, where the three suns of Vëldanor shone faintly through the veil, their light barely piercing the gloom.
Kael exhaled, his breath curling like smoke. “Well. We’re definitely not in the City of Mirrors anymore.”
Lytha ignited a small flame in her palm, the blue light flickering weakly. “Magic feels… wrong here.”
Orin barely spoke. He had known this place was waiting for him, though he had never stepped foot in it before. The whispers in his mind grew louder, insistent. This way.
The land before them stretched in broken formations—shattered stone, crumbling ruins, and strange crystalline growths pulsing with an eerie glow. The Devourer of Light had once feasted here, consuming everything until only echoes remained. The prophecy’s lost fragments were hidden within these ruins, and the clock was already ticking.
They moved cautiously through the desolate terrain, each step watched by unseen eyes. The land whispered—wind howling through empty structures, dust shifting like something breathing beneath it. In the distance, an ancient citadel loomed, half-buried in the ash-covered earth.
“That’s where we need to go,” Orin murmured, pointing towards the looming structure.
Kael frowned. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Lytha exchanged a glance with Kael, but neither argued. At this point, Orin’s connection to the Devastated Realm was their best guide.
As they approached, the citadel revealed itself to be more than a ruin. The closer they got, the more the air crackled with energy. Symbols lined the stone, shifting and glowing as if responding to their presence.
Lytha reached out, tracing a sigil with her fingers. “This magic… it’s ancient. Pre-dating even the astral mages.”
Orin’s vision blurred. The sigils pulsed in his mind, revealing glimpses of something buried deep within the fortress. A door. A key. A choice.
Before he could speak, the ground trembled.
From the ruins, shadows detached and moved. Figures rose, their forms twisted echoes of those who had once lived. They bore weapons of solidified darkness, eyes burning with hollow light. The remnants of those devoured by the darkness—echoes trapped in time.
Kael drew his sword. “Not friendly.”
Lytha unleashed a blast of fire, but the blue flames barely licked the creatures before flickering out. “Damn it, magic is too unstable here!”
Orin gritted his teeth. “Then we fight the old way.”
The creatures lunged.
Kael met them head-on, blade clashing against shadow-forged steel. The force behind their strikes was inhuman, sending shocks through his arms. Lytha ducked a swing, drawing a dagger and striking where the darkness was thinnest. Orin moved through the battlefield like a ghost, anticipating attacks before they came, his dagger flashing in the gloom.
For every creature they felled, more emerged. The fortress did not want them here.
“We need to get inside!” Lytha shouted.
Orin spotted an entrance—a massive door sealed with layered glyphs. He reached out, instinct guiding him. The symbols shifted at his touch, responding to something within him.
The door opened.
Kael and Lytha dashed inside as Orin followed, the doors sealing behind them just as the creatures lunged—only to be swallowed by the collapsing shadows.
Silence.
The chamber inside was vast, lined with murals depicting a history long forgotten. The prophecy’s final words were inscribed upon the walls, illuminated by an unseen light.
Lytha read aloud, her voice barely a whisper. “Three stand before the end. One chooses the path. One will remain. One will be lost.”
Kael clenched his jaw. “We’ve heard this before. What does it mean?”
Orin’s gaze drifted to the center of the room, where a pedestal held a fractured mirror—the last piece of the prophecy. He stepped forward, drawn to it. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, reality shattered.
Visions flooded his mind.
Kael, standing in the light, but alone. Lytha, her fire extinguished, reaching for something that was no longer there. Orin himself, vanishing into the void, consumed by the darkness he had always carried.
The choice was already made.
“Orin!” Lytha’s voice snapped him back.
He staggered, the mirror in his hands now whole—but the knowledge it carried had changed him.
Kael stepped forward. “What did you see?”
Orin swallowed hard. “The truth. One of us won’t leave this place.”
Lytha shook her head. “No. We make our own fate.”
But the ground trembled, the fortress awakening. The final trial was upon them.
The murals on the walls glowed, shifting. From the depths of the fortress, it stirred.
The Devourer of Light.
It had waited. It had watched. And now, the final moment had arrived.
A massive shadow unfolded, its form stretching beyond the boundaries of reality. Eyes like dying stars focused on the three interlopers. It did not speak, but its presence alone crushed the air around them.
Kael raised his sword. Lytha’s fire burned fiercely, ignoring the instability of the realm. Orin stood between them and the entity, his hand still gripping the prophecy’s final fragment.
The choice had to be made.
A single voice echoed in his mind, soft and relentless.
Choose.
