All Chapters of Eclipse of the Dead: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The air was thick with tension as Ethan and I made our way toward the abandoned district where the materials for my research were stored. It should have been a routine mission—gather the supplies, return to camp, and keep pushing forward in the fight against the virus. But the closer we got to the heart of the infected zone, the more I felt the weight of our situation pressing down on me. The virus was evolving at a terrifying rate, and every failed experiment brought me one step closer to the crippling fear that we might be too late. The mission seemed simple enough—retrieve the supplies I needed for my research, and then head back. But that was always the plan. Nothing ever went according to plan. We moved cautiously through the empty streets, our steps muffled by the overgrown debris. The buildings around us stood as eerie reminders of the world that had once been. Now, they were nothing more than tombs, filled with the shuffling, grotesque bodies of the infected. We had no idea

The days following Ethan’s injury were filled with nothing but quiet dread. The wound had closed under my hands, the blood had stopped flowing, but the weight of what had happened lingered. It wasn’t just the physical toll of Ethan’s injuries that I could feel—it was the exhaustion of constant vigilance. His powers were still erratic, unstable, and I was the one who had to heal him, calm him, every night. And each time, it drained me further. Every touch, every time I reached out to help him control his raging abilities, it was like a piece of me was slipping away. Ethan tried to keep his strength, his usual stoic resolve. But I could see it in his eyes—the same exhaustion that mirrored mine. He was wearing himself down with every mission, with every fight. And every time I healed him, I could feel the strain on my own body. It was like my energy was being siphoned away, and there was nothing left to give. It was late one evening when we finally returned to camp after another gruel

I could feel the distance between us growing like an invisible chasm, one that neither of us was willing to acknowledge, yet we couldn’t seem to avoid. It was the kind of gap that grew silently between two people, an emotional rift, small at first, but widening with every unspoken word and every unacknowledged hurt. The more we pushed forward, the more I felt it pulling us apart. Ethan had been avoiding me after the argument. We were both stubborn, too proud to back down, and neither of us wanted to admit that we were both so tired. He had become more distant, more focused on his duties as a commander, and I... well, I had thrown myself deeper into my research. The world had always seemed like an urgent puzzle that needed to be solved—so I buried myself in it, working day and night, thinking that if I just found the right answer, everything would be okay. But in doing so, I had pushed Ethan away, and I hadn’t even realized how far apart we’d gotten until it became too painful to ign

The world had always felt heavy, but lately, it was unbearable. Every day, the weight of everything we were fighting for pressed down on my shoulders, leaving me more exhausted, more drained than I had ever been. The virus was evolving faster than I could keep up with, and with every passing day, the pressure to find a cure grew more urgent. But it wasn’t just the research that was taking a toll on me—it was Ethan. His powers, once so strong and controlled, were becoming increasingly unstable. Every night, I used my healing abilities to try and calm the raging storm inside him, to keep his powers from spiraling out of control. But each time, I felt the cost of it—physically, emotionally. My energy would drain, my hands would tremble, and for a moment, I would wonder if I could do this forever. I had to, though. I had no choice. I couldn’t let him suffer like that. Not when I had the ability to help. Not when he needed me. The strain of it all was starting to show in little ways. We

The argument had left its mark. It wasn’t the first time we’d clashed, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last, but something about it felt different. Ethan and I had been through a lot together, more than most people could imagine, and yet, the toll of it all seemed to weigh heavier with each passing day. The pressure of the virus, the mission, the constant danger—it had been too much. We were both drowning in it, and in the heat of our argument, I had said things I didn’t mean, and he had done the same. Words were said that we would both regret, but they were also words that needed to be said. The tension had been building for weeks, and finally, it had spilled over. We had yelled, we had blamed, we had blamed ourselves. In the end, neither of us was satisfied, but there was something else beneath the anger—a quiet fear, the kind that had been gnawing at us both for too long. I could still hear the echo of our heated words in my mind, the frustration we had both been bottling up. But