The bells of the temple chimed faintly in the distance, blending with the whispers of wind that swirled through the ancient pillars. Shadows streched long over the cobblestone path, where Layra moved with calculated silence, her feet swift and bare.
Layra's breath came quick and swallow as her bare feet padded silently across the polished temple floor. The sacred chants echoed in the distance, muffled by stone and incense-laced air. With every step she took, her heart pounded louder. This was blasphemy. This was madness. But she didn't stop.
She slipped past a group of Brawns arranging offerings and turned into the shadow of a grand statue of Nera.
Some were occupied– entertaining the Richha envoys and managing the recent arrival of the legendary swords. The chaos outside was her veil.
There, concealed beneath old prayer rugs, was the narrow hallway she had once glimpsed as a child when a door creaked open by mistake. Now, she returned with purpose.
She reached the heavy oak door that was always locked. A forgotten wing of the temple– a place seal for decades.
But not today.
"Forgive me, Nera,"
Her breath quickened. She crouched beside a decayed door, pulled out a rusted pin from her braid, and jammed it into the lock.
Click.
The mechanism gave way with a groan. Layra slipped inside.
Inside, cobwebs danced in the breeze she stirred. She closed the door behind her and dropped to the ground, feeling with grooves in the stone floor with her fingers. Her hand scraped over a circular latch. She hooked it with trembling fingers and pulled.
A slab stone lifted with a groan, revealing a black stairwell vanishing into the earth. Layra took a breath, snatched a candle from the wall, lit it, and descended.
The hatch sealed above her.
She got to the basement room which was sealed from so long that the people even forgot that it even existed.
The room was damp, ancient, carved from the bones of the temple itself. A foul silence lingered, almost sentinent.
The walls were etched with murals– some chipped, some glowing faintly from aged pigment. And on every surface: symbols, riddles, prophecies.
She turned slowly, eyes wide. The writing was forbidden to all the Brawns, passed from master to disciple.
But she could read it.
The Red Eclipse was born...
...and with it, three kings rose from the ashes of the fourth apocalypse.
Layra's lips moved silently as she read:
"In the era of the Fourth Apocalypse, when the world was scorched of its oceans and clocked beneath ash, there rose three beings, born not of womb, but of war and curse.
The day they arrived, the sky bled red– The Red Eclipse, the most cursed omen in all of celestial lore."
"Scar, The Scorpion King – forged from fury and pain, his body a war machine, his heart void of mercy. A deity who walked the earth not for conquest, but for the love of battle. He bore the weigh of endless scars– each a memory of kingdoms crushed beneath his sting."
"Rattle, The Snake King – born of greed, draped in jewels, cloaked in desire. Six serpent heads grew from his spine, whispering temptation and decay. His tongue could sway empires. His blade, the rattle sword, dissolved the living into dust. But mirrors– mirrors reflected him, imprisoned him in his own gaze."
"Widow, The Spider King – a shadow among shadows. He could wear the mask of a man, yet behind his pale eyes stirred the hunger of a god. He weaved webs of dominion, drowned enemies in sand, paralyzed armies with unseen threads. His grip never loosened, and his bite brought silence."
Layra stepped forward, trembling, her candlelight casting monstrous shadows behind the murals.
"Together they were The Brothers of Destruction. They united not to rule, but to erase. The Fourth Apocalypse was theirs. And none could stop them– not the kings of men, nor the saints of Nera."
"Until betrayal forged a cage."
The murals now showed a council of faceless figures, joining hands around the three beasts. Words circled them like chains:
'What cannot be killed, must be sealed.'
'What cannnot unmade, must be buried.'
Layra followed the next wall, where three great swords were depicted, each piercing its respective king:
The Obsidian Scar, riddled with red cracks.
The Jeweled Rattle, cuverd and golden.
The Fanged Widow, bound in a web grip.
Their eyes burned from the wall, following her. The prophecy below them read:
"When the Five Commandments of Nera are broken by fire, blood, and gold, the swords shall stir. When the Red Eclipse returns to the sky, and the faithful lose their faith, the seals shall crumble."
"Only one who bears the weight of all castes, suffers the pain of the oppressed, and survives the judgement of the gods... may reconceal the deities of the swords."
She gasped.
Then she found it– a scroll.
Tucked inside a stone altar, wrapped in dust and time. She opened it.
The parchment was fragile, but the ink still bled black.
'The Scroll of the Red Eclipse.'
"When the moon drinks the sun in crimson hue, the cursed children of the world shall stir. Their eyes shall burn from blade to sky, and their voices shall whisper through the screams of the dying. Beware their thirst."
"Only through Five Commandments can their rage be quelled, their curse turned to chain once more. But should the commandments be broken... they shall awaken anew, with no prayer strong enough to hold them."
Layra stepped back, heart racing.
"What... is this really true? Why do the Brawns hide this all from us?"
A voice echoed from behind the wall.
"Because some truths are too dangerous to be told."
Layra froze, the candle flickering wildly. She spun– but no one was there.
The chamber darkened. Whispers slithered through the cracks of the stone.
Eyes watched her from the murals. She gripped the scroll tightly and ran.
As she climbed the secret stairwell, she heared them:
A thousand voices whispering from beneath the ground.
"Free us... free us..."
She slammed the hatch shut behind her, chest heaving.
"I must find someone who'll listen," she whispered, clutching the scroll.
She didn't know it yet– but the Red Eclipse had already begun its rise.
A thin halo of crimson began to creep along the edge of the sun.
The countdown had began.