The eclipse chronicles: I have two SSS+ rank skills from the start

Austin woke up with a blood-curdling shriek.

"Ava! No! F-Father!"

His eyes snapped open, wide and wild, scanning the perimeter for fire, for the huge hammer, for the charred remains of his home.

But the scene was entirely different. His head swam, throbbing with a monstrous, dull ache where the hammer had connected.

He tried to raise his hands to clutch his stinging face, only to find his wrists bound tightly by rough rope, pulled taut against a solid, wooden pillar behind him.

He was inside a structure—a rough, temporary tent, its walls made of thick, stitched canvas stretched over wooden supports. The interior was spartan and dim, illuminated by the scant light filtering through the canvas and a small opening near the entrance.

There were no furnishings, no tools, nothing but a layer of sprawled, dry hay covering the dirt floor beneath his bare feet.

He tested the ropes, pulling frantically, but they only bit harder into his skin. His breath hitched, the raw fear from the dream—or the memory—still clinging to him.

"Our weeping baby finally woke up, it seems."

Austin's head snapped up. A voice, coarse and laced with mockery, cut through the quiet.

Standing a few feet in front of him, leaning casually on a long spear, was a man in rough, leather armor. He wore a simple, dented metal helmet that obscured his hair, and his face, weathered and scarred, held a look of supreme boredom.

"My ears were almost about to bleed from all his nonsense blabbering," the guard scoffed, pushing off the spear and adjusting his stance. He didn't seem particularly threatening, just annoyed.

The guard then turned his head slightly and called out toward the tent flap. "Tell the chieftain our guest has woken up."

A muffled acknowledgment came from outside. The guard near the flap—unseen by Austin—nodded and immediately rustled away from the tent, rushing presumably toward the chieftain's own camp.

The guard now facing Austin settled back, resting his chin on the pommel of his spear, his gaze bored and heavy.

****

Inside the largest tent in the encampment—a sturdy, hides-and-wood structure—the air was thick with the scent of pipe smoke and damp earth. A low-burning central fire cast dancing shadows across the faces of the assembled figures.

Chieftain Varek, a broad, imposing man whose face was etched with the grim lines of long winters, sat on a carved stool.

Around him, the handful of elders and trusted warriors who formed his council were gathered. The immediate discussion was dire, focused on survival.

"The hunting parties returned with meager hauls again," a weathered woman named Lima stated, her voice grave.

"The beasts know winter is coming. They are moving faster and smarter. Our stored venison will not see the children through the deepest snows."

"We must discuss which clans we will approach for trade, and how much iron we are willing to part with for grain," Varek rumbled, running a hand across his grizzled beard. "The Southlands are growing thin. We must cope."

The council was deep in the complex, grim logistics of survival—debating rationing, training the younger warriors for colder hunts, and securing borders—when the tent flap was violently thrown open.

The guard who had been observing Austin stumbled in, breathless and slightly disheveled. He dropped to one knee, ignoring the glares of the council members.

"Chieftain Varek, forgiveness for the intrusion, but the boy… the one we picked up," the guard panted. "The scout team's find. He's awake, Chieftain. Screaming, but awake."

Varek's eyes, keen and sharp, narrowed slightly. They had found the young male amidst the utter devastation of a burned-out settlement just two days ago, barely alive and unconscious with a nasty head wound.

"Good," Varek said, his voice instantly shifting from the tired drone of logistics to the sharp command of a leader.

He waved a dismissive hand toward the scattered maps and tally sticks on the ground. "The council can wait. We need to know who this boy is, and what happened to his people. Bring him to me. Now."

The guard scrambled back up and rushed out.

*****

The guard returned quickly, hauling Austin by the arm. The young man's legs were wobbly, his head still throbbing, but he was forced to march across the camp and into the large Council tent.

The silence inside was immediate and heavy. The air, though warm, felt cold under the intense, collective scrutiny of the gathered tribal members.

Austin was positioned roughly in the center of the tent, the vast, imposing figure of Chieftain Varek directly in front of him.

Around the perimeter, the council members and warriors regarded him with expressions ranging from guarded curiosity to mild pity.

Varek's gaze was penetrating. He let the silence stretch for a moment, letting the power of his presence settle, before speaking in a low, authoritative rumble.

"Boy. Look at me. We pulled you from the ash, unconscious and broken. We are the Clan of the Ironwood. We are not your enemy." He gestured to the surrounding devastation outside the tent flap.

"Tell us your name, the name of your village, and how the gods saw fit to visit such a terrible inferno upon you."

Austin swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat immense. He stood straighter, despite the pain. "My name is Austin," he managed, his voice shaky but clear. "I... my village was Ashworth. It was peaceful. Until…"

His eyes glazed over as the memory flooded back—the sudden, blinding light, the catastrophic noise. His voice rose, verging on a wail as he described the horror.

"It wasn't a fire, not like a forest fire! It was a huge meteor-like ball of fire! It slammed into the north end of the village. The shockwave and the heat… everything ignited at once. I saw the flash, and then I woke up in the ruins…" Tears welled up instantly, blurring his vision of the Chieftain.

He rushed the next question, desperation overriding all politeness. "Did you find anyone else? My mother, my father, my little sister, Ava? Please, tell me you found them!"

Varek's expression softened momentarily, a flash of deep sorrow crossing his rugged face. He shook his head slowly.

"Young Austin," the Chieftain said gently, the pity in his voice like a physical weight. "Our scouts searched the area thoroughly. You were the only one. The only one we could recover alive."

A cold dread seized Austin. He shook his head vehemently, refusing to believe it. "No! You didn't search enough! They must be out there! They must have run! Please, I need to go. My family may be injured, they need me to find them. You have to release me! I need to search."

Varek sighed, a sound heavy with the weariness of a man who has seen too much loss. "Look around you, boy. Look at the ash you described. Accept the reality. Clinging to that hope will only give you a sharper pain when you finally see it for what it is."

The Chieftain's words were the final blow. Austin's legs gave out, and he crumpled onto the hay-strewn floor, landing hard on his knees. He began to sob, great, heart-wrenching, uncontrolled sounds of grief that echoed off the tent walls.

He bawled his eyes out, clutching at the hay, the realization of utter, crushing solitude settling over him.

The Chieftain and the council members watched in silence, their hardened faces reflecting genuine pity for the boy's suffering.

After a long, agonizing minute, Austin's sobs finally slowed to ragged, hitching breaths.

Varek leaned forward slightly. "Austin. You have nowhere to go now. The world you knew is gone. You are safe here, for now. Stay with us. We will give you time to mourn, time to think. Our clan... we do not turn away those without family. If you choose to stay, you will be one of us, without hesitation. Rest now."

Austin remained on the ground, his body still shaking, his face wet with tears and dirt. He kept his silence, not a single word escaping his lips, the weight of his loss too immense for speech.

Varek watched him for a moment longer, then gave a heavy sigh. He nodded to the two nearest warriors. "Take him back to the tent. See that he has water and is secure."

The warriors moved swiftly, hoisting Austin up by his arms and escorting his silent, broken figure out of the Council tent.

Once Austin was dragged away, a heavy silence settled back over the Council tent.

Chieftain Varek waited until the flap had dropped shut before turning his attention back to his advisors. His brow was furrowed, and the pity he had shown Austin was replaced by a grim, calculating fear.

"A 'meteor-like ball of fire,'" Varek repeated, leaning forward and resting his elbows heavily on his knees.

"Did you hear the boy? We all saw the destruction. That kind of instant, total annihilation... that is not a natural fire. Not in this dry season, and certainly not from a meteor."

Lima, the elder who had spoken of supplies earlier, nodded gravely. "I agree, Chieftain. If it were a rock from the sky, the impact crater would be immense. Our scouts reported only a localized epicenter of burn—a flashpoint. That suggests power focused on the village, not a random act of the heavens."

A fierce warrior named Bor, his face scarred and serious, slammed his fist lightly on the ground.

"It has to be the Eclipse Beasts," Bor declared, his voice tight with conviction.

"They are becoming bolder. Only those corrupted abominations possess the foul magic capable of turning wood and earth to ash so utterly. They seek to cleanse the lands of all human settlements before the deep winter."

"Or perhaps it is the work of internal sabotage," another council member, an older man known for his cautious skepticism, countered.

"The boy said 'fire.' There are rumors among the unified races of the Southlands that some clans are dabbling in forbidden arts—powerful, sudden incineration magics, perhaps in a bid to seize the scant resources of their neighbors. This could be a warning. Or a test."

Varek held up a massive hand, demanding silence. "Whether it is the Eclipse Beasts or some traitorous faction within our own unified kin, the effect is the same: we are exposed."

A murmur of serious concern rippled through the gathered members. If a peaceful, well-hidden village could be wiped out in a flash, what protection did the Ironwood Clan truly have?

"Our location is remote, but it is known," Lima pointed out.

"If such power can be wielded, it means we can be targeted too. We must assume we are next on their list, whatever 'they' may be."

Varek's gaze swept over the council, his tone hardening to one of resolve.

"All patrols are to be doubled, effective immediately. Focus on the mountain passes and the deep southern woods."

"Every weapon must be sharpened, every shield ready. We shift our priorities from hunting game to preparing for war."

"Send riders to the Mountain Clans at first light. Tell them what we found and ask if they have observed any strange lights, travelers, or movement from the corrupted lands."

The council members solemnly agreed to the new mandates, their faces reflecting the sudden gravity of their new threat.

With firm nods, they stood one by one, gathering their weapons and scrolls, and exiting the Chieftain's tent, their discussion about food supplies utterly forgotten.

Varek was left alone. The tent was quiet save for the crackling of the embers in the fire pit. He remained seated, his powerful frame slumped slightly, the hard lines of worry deepening on his face.

His fingers tapped a slow, rhythmic beat on his thigh. He was a Chieftain accustomed to facing wolves, rival clans, and harsh winters, but the thought of an invisible, world-breaking power that reduced villages to ash with a single strike left him in deep, troubled contemplation.

The destruction of Ashworth was not just a tragedy; it was a terrifying omen. He looked down at the spot where the young boy, Austin, had knelt and wept, and the worry on Varek's face twisted into a profound sense of foreboding.