When The Sun Bleeds

The Night of the Eclipse

The air smelled of blood, incense, and rain.

A violent storm roared beyond the walls of the Imperial Palace of Velmoria, its winds rattling the stained-glass windows. Firelight flickered, casting long, restless shadows over the towering marble columns of the Great Throne Hall.

At the center of the vast chamber, beneath the sacred Imperial Flames, stood

Emperor Vaelric Velmoria

a man carved from steel and fire, now haunted by silence.

The throne behind him stood empty. The Empress was gone.

Her body had barely gone cold, yet the whispers had already begun.

A blood-red eclipse burned through the stormy skies above the palace a celestial omen unlike any seen before. The Gods were watching. And the child born beneath that cursed sky was their message.

The doors creaked open, their echoes stretching into the hollow hall.

A hunched figure stepped inside the Imperial Oracle, their black robes trailing across the polished stone. The Emperor did not turn. His broad shoulders, clad in battle-worn armor, remained still.

"Your Majesty," the Oracle rasped, voice like dried leaves in the wind.

He already knew what they would say.

"The prophecy has been fulfilled."

The Emperor's jaw tightened. His hand curled into a fist, the leather of his gloves groaning under the pressure. Still, he did not turn.

"Say it."

The Oracle took a step forward, shadows shifting beneath their hood.

"The boy born beneath the Blood Eclipse… will bring ruin to Velmoria."

Thunder crashed outside, shaking the glass. The sacred flames around the throne flared violently, as if reacting to those cursed words.

A deep, slow breath left the Emperor's lips. His chest felt tight not with rage, but something worse.

Something he could not afford to feel.

Grief.

"What else?" he demanded.

The Oracle hesitated. A moment too long.

The Emperor finally turned.

His golden eyes, once blazing with power, now held something colder. Something unreadable.

The Oracle lowered their gaze.

"The people will fear him. The nobles will despise him. Even if you love him, fate will not change."

Even if you love him.

The words struck deeper than any blade.

He had not yet looked upon his son. He could not. The moment he did, he feared he would see her.

His Empress. His beloved Elira.

And if he did if he saw her in that boy's eyes he would break.

The Emperor inhaled sharply. When he spoke, his voice was steel.

"Remove the child from my sight."

The Oracle bowed.

"And where shall he be kept, Your Majesty?"

The Emperor turned away, facing the storm outside once more.

"The Eastern Wing. He is not to set foot in this hall again."

The words left his lips like a final sentence. A rejection. A declaration.

The Oracle hesitated for only a breath before bowing deeply.

"As you command, Your Majesty."

Their footsteps faded into the distance.

The Emperor remained motionless, staring into the stormy abyss beyond the palace.

It was better this way.

If he never looked at the boy, he would never see her.

If he never spoke to the boy, he would never hear her voice again.

And most of all if he never loved him, fate would have nothing to take away.

The corridor outside the throne room stretched into endless shadows, lined with tall, glass windows that trembled beneath the storm's fury.

At the very end of that dark hallway, a door had just been closed.

Inside, the Imperial Midwife knelt beside a crib, her trembling hands clutching the silken sheets. Her breath came fast uneven. She had delivered royal children before. But never one cursed by the heavens.

The child inside the crib was small, his skin pale, untouched by the warmth of the world. A newborn should cry.

But this boy… this child of the Blood Eclipse… had barely made a sound.

Except now.

A single, fragile wail broke through the silence. A sound of weakness. A sound of life.

And yet… no one came to comfort him.

The midwife flinched as the chamber doors opened. A figure in dark robes stepped inside the Oracle.

"Take him," the Oracle said quietly. "The Emperor has spoken."

The midwife swallowed.

"Will he... ?" she hesitated. "Will he ever see him?"

The Oracle's response was quiet.

"No."

The midwife's throat tightened, but she said nothing more. With careful, trembling hands, she gathered the child in her arms.

Thunder rumbled outside. The flames in the lanterns flickered.

And as the child was carried away, the winds beyond the palace roared louder as if the heavens themselves mourned for him.