I have lived a hundred human lifetimes, perhaps more. I stopped counting after the first time I meddled in mortal affairs.
We turtles measure tides, not years. And the tide that matters most is coming faster than anyone expects.
The Lunar Convergence
Every twelve years, the ghost-paths of the eaten moons align with the survivor, and magic grows wild as storm-tossed seas. Most years, conjurers prepare with their usual charms and wards. But this year was different—just as the last Convergence: the Sundering Eclipse.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The sky then cracked like glass above Wolfpit and the rest of Nareen. Shadows poured through. Spirits twisted by hunger followed. And from the crack, came my brother’s claw—reaching, grasping, nearly free before the Veil was sealed again.
Oh, the fools who call themselves the Voidcallers of the Last Feast! They see opportunity in the alignment. They speak of resurrection as if it were a recipe, never grasping that some hungers, once woken, devour everything.
They do not know I watch them still. They do not know the Veil they tear has fangs. They do not know the true danger grows not from my brother’s prison, but from their own meddling hands.
Soon, the Council of Cloaks will gather in their chamber, fussing over politics and pride. They will not yet see that death has already entered their circle. They will not see how deep the Voidcallers’ roots have spread. And they will not see how little time remains.
So I will tell you this tale as only I can—Keeper of Knowledge, sister of "hunger", witness to folly. A tale of what happens when mortals court powers they cannot contain.
But this time, I confess to a desperate hope: that a hesitant boy, a scarred hero weary of crowns, and friends bound by loyalty rather than oaths, might succeed where Councils have always failed.
The tide is turning. The dance begins.
And this time… there’s no calling it back.
From the Records of the Sundering:
