**Prologue: Eclipse**
—
It seemed that something had occurred Outside.
In a white, decrepit hospital, isolated in a private room far from others, Mirelle-Noir sensed it in her very being.
A single small window facing the courtyard allowed a sliver of light to seep into the sparsely furnished room. Mirelle’s hospital room felt like a space where time had come to a standstill. Though it was separated from the other rooms, the silence was deafening, and there were moments when the weight of solitude threatened to drive her mad.
For a girl like her, any change, no matter how small, was welcome.
For a long time, only the bare minimum of doctors and nurses had visited Mirelle’s room, but their numbers had dwindled. The quality of the meals served twice a day had declined, the frequency of assistance had lessened, and the dark circles under her eyes had deepened, eventually becoming tinged with the scent of blood.
The doctors said nothing. Mirelle, too, remained silent. Her room was completely cut off from the Outside world. No information came in, and Mirelle had no desire to seek it out.
Those who came to Mirelle’s room were merely doing their jobs. Perhaps it was not a good thing for either the doctors or for Mirelle herself that her homeland, a developed nation, had the means to avoid abandoning a hopeless patient. Or perhaps there was some reason they could not forsake Mirelle, but that was beyond her knowledge.
There were times when she had tried to speak. However, upon meeting the doctor’s gaze, which stiffened visibly, she found herself at a loss for words.
Change was occurring slowly but surely. Mirelle was curious about what had happened, but she could not confirm it. Of course, there was also the question of what good it would do to confirm it.
Mirelle was dying. Whether it was a year later, two years later, or three years later, she could not tell, but it was certain.
Something terrible had happened in the Outside world. The rare visits from her family had ceased. The Mage and priest who had come to see her once every six months no longer appeared. The absence of Mages and priests had always been an ominous sign throughout history.
If a half-dead person were to inquire about such matters, the doctors would surely feel uncomfortable.
Days passed without incident, and the evening sun streamed through the small window.
There was no clock in Mirelle’s room. The movement of the sun was her only means of knowing time.
Dinner time was approaching. She felt no hunger; that function had long since faded from her. However, if she did not eat, her physical body would perish. Death was inevitable, but she lacked the courage to take her own life.
Lying on the hospital floor for two full years, Mirelle’s body had deteriorated to the point where she could no longer live without assistance. She could still manage to sit up, but soon enough, even that would become impossible, leaving her as nothing more than a husk of a person.
No one came to encourage Mirelle.
No—Mirelle’s illness was incurable. That had been made clear from the very beginning. Since she was still able to walk, she had been confined to this isolated hospital room. The doctors, nurses, and the almost nonexistent healers had all given up hope for her recovery, as if they were waiting for her to die.
An illness that would never heal. A fate of inescapable despair that forced even a girl just past her tenth year to confront reality.
Those who served the gods had no comforting words for such a person—this was called a curse.
Mirelle could hardly believe her circumstances. Next, she cursed her own existence. But now, she had come to accept it.
Night fell. No light was provided, and even if it were, there was nothing she could do. The sun had completely set. However, perhaps it was a Full Moon tonight, for the strong moonlight illuminated the room, allowing her to see.
Dinner had not arrived. She was not sleepy. She propped herself up and looked out the window. Was it possible that they had lost the ability to even bring her a meal? If that were the case, then so be it.
Feeling a dull pain within her, Mirelle sighed. The vague pain, whose origin was unknown, was gradually intensifying. Surely, it was the sound of Death approaching.
Something was happening. If only a war would break out and wipe everything away.
As she pondered such thoughts, footsteps echoed from outside her room. They were slower than usual—could it be dinner? Yet, there was no sound of a cart carrying food.
The key turned in the lock, and the door creaked open. Moving her heavy body was a chore, but she struggled to look in that direction.
Entering was a weary-looking doctor and—
“Mirelle, we have a guest.”
“…!?”
He was the most well-dressed young man Mirelle had ever encountered.
Dressed in a cloak as dark as a raven’s wing, with polished leather shoes that gleamed. His hair was pure white, reflecting the moonlight beautifully. A sword hung at his waist—though she had never seen one like it, surely this was how nobles presented themselves.
While Mirelle stared in astonishment, the doctor turned to the young man with shining eyes and spoke. His pupils were wide, glimmering like a beast’s. Mirelle had never been looked at in such a way, not even when she was still healthy, nor when the doctor had been unaware of her condition.
“Mirelle, I bring you good news after a long time. You are—today, being discharged.”
“Eh…? What are you saying—who is he?”
There was no way she could be discharged. Mirelle was afflicted with an incurable disease. The mortality rate was one hundred percent. The doctors, Mages, and priests had all given up before even attempting treatment.
Besides, even if by some miracle she were to be discharged, why would it happen on a night like this?
The doctor nodded as if he understood Mirelle’s reaction, continuing with a serious tone.
“Ah, I apologize for the late introduction. This gentleman is—your doctor. He has come all the way from afar, specifically for you.”
It was far too unusual. In the darkness, without even turning on a light, the doctor introduced the guest. Within those eyes lay an extraordinary brilliance. Mirelle found herself asking again.
“What kind of doctor, exactly?”
The doctor, who had been taking care of her since she was confined to this room, blinked in surprise. His brow furrowed in instant suspicion, but he quickly returned to his previous demeanor.
“That is… a trivial matter.”
“N/A… What is your name?”
“That is… a trivial matter. What’s important is that this man will save you.”
It was clearly an unsettling conversation, yet there was a resonant certainty in his voice.
Not a healer…
The doctor’s expression turned sour, as if he felt slighted. The young man standing beside him did not change his expression, even as he listened to their exchange.
He appeared to be a few years older than Mirelle, too young to be called a skilled doctor, but what shocked Mirelle was not his fine attire or his age.
Why was it that Mirelle understood at a glance? Why did the doctor not realize? Why had this man come to her room on a night like this, without even turning on a light?
The young man before her was—clearly dead. The aura of death that surrounded him was of the same kind that Mirelle felt within herself, yet it was far denser, incomparable.
Not human.
“You… are… death, aren’t you?”
It was what Mirelle both feared and longed for. His appearance was exactly as she had envisioned—an Eclipse.
It was not an intentional question. Her voice, hoarse and trembling, drew the doctor’s wide-eyed gaze.
“??? What foolishness are you—”
“Indeed. Ah, you may leave now. Your guidance was appreciated.”
The young man acknowledged it nonchalantly, urging the doctor to exit. The man’s eyes twisted in suspicion, but he soon nodded as if to convince himself and left the room.
Silence returned to the hospital room. Mirelle found herself at a loss for words. The young man approached, but her body had long since lost the ability to move properly.
An ancient existence, of unknown cause. A disease that rarely afflicted anyone, where the soul was drawn towards death.
—By the “Death Soul Disease.”
The young man’s movements were surprisingly gentle, contrasting sharply with the overwhelming aura of death surrounding him. Her mind struggled to comprehend; she had never expected something like this to happen.
The young man scrutinized Mirelle as if appraising her. Her heart raced, as if rebelling against her. Amidst the chaos of her thoughts, she managed to voice a question.
“Why… are you still moving?”
The “Eclipse” widened his eyes, and the terrifying image of death dissipated, replaced by an expression devoid of malice.
“…Because I want to move?”