[Bard]

Claude strolled along the marbled path, its polished surface gleaming beneath the soft morning light. Behind him, Evelyn followed like a curious kitten, her vivid eyes darting about, engraving the scenery into her eyes.

The town unfolded before them, a picturesque scene lifted straight from an artist's brush. Rows of brick and timber-framed houses lined the street, their facades adorned with creeping ivy and blooming flower boxes.

Cobblestone alleys wound between them, leading to hidden courtyards where wrought-iron lanterns still flickered with the last remnants of candlelight. Some homes sat with thatched roofs and latticed windows, others flaunted large glass panes and gas-lit lamps mounted on sleek, blackened iron posts.

The heart of the town was the bustling market square, where voices rose in a lively symphony. Merchants peddled their wares beneath brightly colored awnings, hawking everything from exotic spices to bolts of fine silk.

Steam curled into the cool morning air from a street-side vendor's kettle, the rich aroma of roasted coffee mingling with the scent of fresh apples and cured meats. And looming over the square was a towering clock, its intricate brass gears visible through a glass panel.

Claude took in the scene before him, yet a question tugged at his mind, one he had previously been unable to dwell on.

"Why did you go sneaking out like that? And in the rain, no less!"

Evelyn's voice echoed in his thoughts. He now understood that the previous Claude—his original host—had ventured out into the rain, met his demise, and left this body to be claimed by him.

But one detail gnawed at him, standing out like a black sheep among a flock.

He had no memory of such an event.

Despite inheriting most of the original Claude's memories, there was nothing about sneaking out into the rain—no reason, no impulse, nothing. It was a void, an absence in an otherwise complete recollection. And for someone who had lived reclusively, barely engaging with the town's residents, it made even less sense.

"Far too many questions surround this new identity of mine..." With a mirthful shake of the head, Claude turned his gaze forward and found himself before a shop. Its weathered signboard swayed gently in the breeze, the words Hawthorne & Sons—Purveyors of Fine Instruments engraved onto its surface.

"Evelyn, just wait for me outside," Claude said, upon which Evelyn gave a soft nod of acknowledgement.

A brass bell above the door jingled as Claude stepped inside. The scent of parchment and polished wood, mingled with the faintest trace of ink and varnish, greeted him.

Glass-fronted cabinets lined the walls, displaying sextants, compasses, and finely crafted lenses, while shelves sagged beneath the weight of various charts, treatises on navigation, and atlases of the known world.

A long oak counter stretched across the back of the shop, behind which stood a rather genial-looking clerk—an older gentleman with silver-threaded hair, dressed in a modest waistcoat.

The man looked up from an open ledger and smiled. "A fine afternoon to you, young sir. And what might bring you to this humble establishment?"

Claude glanced around at the neatly arranged instruments before settling his gaze upon a collection of star charts, their detailed constellations mapped in fine ink upon thick, yellowed parchment. Before he could speak, the clerk chuckled.

"Ah, star-gazing—a noble pursuit," he mused, tapping a finger against the counter. "A curious hobby for a young man such as yourself, yet I daresay there are few better pastimes. The heavens, after all, remains an ever-enigmatic mistress."

"Indeed," Claude said, offering a polite nod. "I would like to purchase one of these charts. As accurate as possible please."

Hearing his words, the clerk hobbled into action, his hand gliding across the glass cabinets before settling on one. He removed the parchment from within and carefully rolled it up before tying it with a silk ribbon.

"This is one of our finest. It is said to have been hand-made by a witch doctor over in Northumber," he said, handing it over with a smile. "That will be fifteen shillings."

Claude reached into his waistcoat pocket, drawing out a small pouch of coin. 'Despite being an unfavoured child, thankfully, I still have access to some wealth...' 

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Having both left the store and accomplished his goal for the day, Claude found himself wandering the bustling streets.

Despite the bright sun hanging overhead, Claude could only feel an ever-growing sense of weakness consuming him. Despite the awakening of his Vitalis, there had been little progress since then. 

Thus, his body, which was still not adjusted to the load of his Mental Energy, was constantly deteriorating. While he may not die immediately, he could not fathom how much longer he could last.

Months? Weeks? Perhaps even less?

'I need to find a way to increase my Vitalis...' Claude pressed his lips together. 'I cannot simply leave this world without exploring this new power.'

"Master! Master!" Evelyn's eager voice cut through his thoughts. "Have you heard about it? The Day of the Black Sun is coming up in a few weeks!" She hopped beside him, her hands clutching the star map swinging up in the air in excitement.

Claude's eyes momentarily twitched at her careless behaviour but bit back his words after consideration, instead focusing on her words.

"The Day of the Black Sun...?" Claude echoed.

"Yes!" Evelyn nodded enthusiastically. "They say on that day, the sun will turn black, plunging the world into momentary darkness!"

'A solar eclipse.' Claude thought, realising that was most likely what they were calling the Black Sun.

Nevertheless, the words stirred something deep in him, yanking his mind back to that other world he had visited. A world of endless darkness, forsaken by the sun. A world that left him with far too many unanswered questions.

What exactly was Limbo? What had become of it after his departure?

Who—no, what—was A'gourth?

And that golden silhouette he glimpsed before leaving… what was it?

He exhaled softly, the thought creeping from his lips before he could stop it. "If possible, I should travel back there once more."

"What did you say, Master Claude?" Evelyn perked up, her keen ears catching his murmur.

"Never mind." He dismissed it with a shake of his head and turned his gaze toward the large open plaza ahead.

At its centre stood a grand marble fountain. The water, clear as crystal, cascaded from the mouth of a masterfully sculpted lion, the droplets catching the morning sun like scattered diamonds.

Small bronze cherubs lined the base, their outstretched hands guiding the flow into a broad basin where the coins of wishful passersby glimmered beneath the surface.

Before the fountain, a lone figure sat—a bard, if his attire and bearing were any indication. His feathered cap tilted at a roguish angle, and a well-worn cloak draped over his shoulders.

Fingers danced across the strings of a lute resting in his lap, plucking out a gentle melody that wove effortlessly into the market's lively rhythm.

Thrum!

The sound of a lute rang through the market square. It held a bright yet fleeting note but was swiftly swallowed by the clamour of daily life.

"Oh! Ladies and gentlemen of Hawden!" The bard called. A charming smile painted his face, and he swept his arms in a grand flourish. "Would you lovely folks be interested in a tale from the Great William?"

His grin wavered as the crowd continued to drift past him, offering only fleeting glances before returning to their business. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, but he quickly righted himself, clearing his throat.

"A tale? What is it about?"

A clear and inquisitive voice cut through the growing disappointment curling at the edges of William's smile. He looked up to find an unusual pair standing before him.

The first was a young woman, dressed plainly in a servant's garb, her expression one of mild curiosity. Beside her stood a young man afflicted with a sickly flush.

Still, despite his youth and his obvious frailty, there was something about his gaze—keen, dissecting—that made William feel as though he were being weighed on an unseen set of scales. 

"Ah! Good day, noble sir!" William exclaimed, raising his hand in a flamboyant, if somewhat messy, salute. "The tale I speak of has to do with the upcoming Black Sun."

"Just that? How presumptuous of you to call yourself 'Great.'" The girl whispered the remark under her breath, though not quietly enough.

William's ears twitched, and a chuckle escaped him. "Oh, fair lady, I would never limit myself to a single tale! I, the Great William, have travelled from the heart of Wessex, the lands of wild men and warriors, to the frigid depths of Northumber." He cast a dramatic glance toward the sky before leaning in conspiratorially. "But this tale, dear listeners, is no ordinary fable. It is a legend. One that speaks of the Black Sun not as mere celestial fancy, but as an omen."

His voice dipped lower, drawing them in.

"An omen of what is to come. A prelude, if you will. Foretelling the birth of The Heaven Bleed."

Twang!

His fingers danced across the lute's strings, plucking out a solemn melody that threaded through the market's din like a lover's whisper. Then, with the ease of a seasoned performer, he began to sing:

"Oh, hear ye now, a tale of woe, Of skies once bright, now drowned below. Where heaven's light was torn in twain, darkness spilling forth like cursed rain."

"The Heaven Bleed, the sky did rend, A wound so deep, it would not mend. Through jagged scars, the nightmares came, And none were left to speak their name."

"Avalon stood, a realm so grand, Made with the divine's own guiding hand. With banners held high, their faith held strong, Yet faith alone could not hold back the wrong."

"The priests cried out, their prayers were lost, The Emperor fell to winter's frost. The walls of stone turned into graves, The winds still whisper through the mighty waves."

"The Heaven Bleed, the sky did rend, A wound so deep, it would not mend. Through jagged scars, the nightmares came, And none were left to speak their name."

"The stars wept blood, the sun grew pale, The moon did hide behind a distant veil. And from the rift, the horrors crept, Where Avalon once stood, the skies soon wept."

"Now only death remained, marking the land, A shattered throne, a withered hand. The children ask of days gone by, But only silence answers from the sky."

"The Heaven Bleed, the sky did rend, A wound so deep, it would not mend. Through jagged scars, the nightmares came, And none were left to speak their name."

"So drink, my friends, and heed this song, The past is dead, but not for long. For when the sky does crack, run and run, do not look back…"