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The prophecy was carved into the obsidian gates of the Temple of Sol: "When the Shadow Blade is drawn, the Eye of Day shall close forever."
For a thousand years, the sword had remained in its stone sheath, right in the center of the Sun Plaza. It was an ugly thing, made of a metal so black it seemed to drink the light around it. Pilgrims spat on it. Children threw rocks at it. It was the ultimate taboo, the physical manifestation of the End Times.
Kaelen didn't care about prophecies. He cared about the horde of Void-Walkers currently tearing down the city walls. They were creatures of smoke and teeth, immune to steel, immune to fire. The Sun Priests were chanting their prayers, but prayers didn't stop claws.
Kaelen, captain of the City Watch, wiped blood from his eyes. His own sword lay shattered a few yards away. Around him, his men were dying. The sky was filled with the shrieks of the Void-Walkers and the smell of burning flesh.
He retreated toward the Plaza. There was nowhere else to go. The civilians were huddled in the temple, screaming. A massive Void-Beast, a quadruped the size of a house, smashed through the outer colonnade. It roared, a sound like grinding tectonic plates.
Kaelen stumbled back, tripping over the raised dais of the cursed sword. He scrambled up, his hand brushing the cold, rough hilt.
The High Priest, watching from the temple steps, screamed, "Do not touch it! You will doom us all!"
Kaelen looked at the priest, then at the beast charging toward him. "We are already doomed, old man," he muttered.
He grabbed the hilt with both hands. It didn't feel like metal. It felt like ice. It felt like the silence between stars. With a grunt of effort, he pulled.
He expected resistance. He expected it to be stuck fast, held by the weight of a thousand years of fear. But the blade slid out as easily as a knife from butter. It was weightless.
And then the sky went black.
It wasn't a gradual darkening. It was instant. One moment, the noon sun was blazing; the next, it was gone. Total, absolute darkness. The screams of the battle silenced in shock.
Then, Kaelen saw. He could still see. But he didn't see the city he knew. The world had turned into a negative of itself. The buildings were white outlines against a black void. The Void-Walkers, previously terrifying shadows, were now glowing, brilliant beacons of white light.
The sword in his hand hummed. It wasn't a weapon of this world. It was a key to the shadow realm.
The Void-Beast lunged. In the dark, Kaelen moved faster than thought. He swung the blade. It passed through the beast’s glowing neck without resistance. The creature didn't bleed; it unraveled. Its light shattered into a thousand sparks and vanished.
Power surged through Kaelen. He ran forward, a shadow in the darkness. He was a whirlwind of death. He cut through the horde, each swing extinguishing a life. To the priests and civilians huddled in the dark, they heard only the wind and the strange, wet sound of light being snuffed out.
Within minutes, the plaza was clear. The Void-Walkers outside the walls, sensing the predator in their midst, fled back into the rifts from which they came.
Kaelen stood alone in the silent city, breathing hard. The sword pulsed in his hand, hungry for more.
"Sheathe it!" the High Priest's voice trembled from the darkness. "Give us back the sun!"
Kaelen looked up. There were no stars. No moon. Just an endless, suffocating ceiling of black.
He looked at the sword. He knew, with a sudden, terrible clarity, that the prophecy was literal. The Eye of Day shall close forever. The sun wasn't just hidden; it was gone. He had traded the day for survival.
He walked back to the stone sheath. He tried to push the blade back in. It struck the stone with a clang of finality. It would not go back. The pact was sealed.
Kaelen laughed, a dry, hopeless sound. He had saved the city, yes. But he had saved them to live in eternal night.
He raised the sword, its black edge invisible in the dark. "Light the torches," he called out to the terrified city. "And keep them lit. The sun is dead. But we are still here."
From that day on, the City of Sol became the City of Lanterns. They survived, growing mushrooms in the dark, hunting the bioluminescent beasts of the deep woods. And Kaelen ruled them, the King of Shadows, sitting on a throne of obsidian, the sword always at his side. He was their savior. He was their curse. And he never slept, for in a world without a sun, the nightmares never had to hide.