On the morning of the solar eclipse, the academy rings the old bells.
Not for an assembly.
Not for alarm.
But for remembrance.
Except… no one remembers what they're supposed to remember.
Only Haera and Cairos walk the halls with the weight of knowing.
---
> "Today is the crossing," Cairos says.
Haera frowns. "Crossing?"
> "The moment where memory and fate align. Where what was meets what could be."
> "Like an eclipse?"
He nods. "Not just the sun and moon. Us. Them. The versions of us we used to be. The ones we never got to become."
---
They stand in the school courtyard as the sky turns to ink.
Students gather, some marveling, some shivering.
But Haera isn't looking at the sun.
She's staring at the girl in the crowd wearing the same face as hers.
---
And for a moment, reality splits.
The other Haera turns and looks back.
She is softer. Sadder. Wearing a 19th-century gown.
Her eyes shimmer with recognition.
She mouths something across time:
> "Don't forget me."
---
Cairos grabs her hand. "You saw her?"
"I think she's the first me. The one who waited at the train station and never boarded."
---
Just then, the moon swallows the sun.
A total eclipse.
Darkness sweeps over Asterley like a tide.
And suddenly — everyone freezes.
No birds. No wind. No blinking.
Time… holds its breath.
---
From the middle of the crowd, the Archivist appears.
No longer a projection. No longer words in a dream.
He is real.
Robed in black, skin pale as candlewax, eyes the color of ravens' wings.
He looks at Haera and Cairos with sorrow. Not malice.
> "You broke the ledger," he says. "You changed the law."
Cairos steps forward. "We didn't break it. We unwrote it."
The Archivist sighs. "And so the burden of truth now falls to you."
---
He raises one hand and the space around them becomes stars.
Celestial scrolls spin midair, each glowing with a life unlived.
> "Choose one," he says to Haera. "One life you wish to revisit."
Haera steps forward. Her fingers brush over scrolls showing war, silence, music, fire, childbirth, betrayal, and once — a quiet life with Cairos by a river in a village untouched by magic.
---
She picks it.
The quiet one.
---
Instantly, the eclipse flashes white.
They're gone.
---
They now sit beneath a fig tree. Married. Older. Cairos is reading a book. Haera is weaving a garland.
No voices. Just peace.
> "This could've been us," she says.
> "Maybe it still can be," he replies.
---
Then the sky rips.
The scroll snaps.
And they're back in the courtyard.
---
The Archivist bows.
> "It is done. The eclipse is ending. The cycle — yours to keep or release."
---
As light returns, Haera clutches the image of that peaceful life in her chest.
Not as a fantasy.
But a blueprint.
---
The students around them blink. Breathe. Resume their chatter.
They don't remember anything.
Only Haera and Cairos remember everything.
---
The sky brightens.
And one line appears in the new ledger:
> "The heart remembers what time erases. Love is the constant."