The deeper we ventured into the Spire, the more the world seemed to unravel. The walls weren’t just made of stone anymore—they flickered and pulsed like living things, shifting between solid and translucent. The air itself felt wrong, thick and electric, filled with the faint sound of whispers that I couldn’t quite place.

  The shard pulsed faintly in my hand, its glow casting long shadows against the walls. Each pulse sent a shiver through me, the whispers growing clearer and more insistent.

  “It’s guiding us,” I said quietly.

  “Or leading us into a trap,” Aeryn replied, her shadows coiling tighter around her as we walked.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Lyra said with a smirk, flipping a dagger in her hand. She stayed close, her eyes sharp and watchful, though her casual tone didn’t quite hide her unease.

  The hallway opened into a vast chamber, the floor cracked and uneven. In the center stood an enormous loom-like structure, its threads glowing faintly as they wove themselves into an ever-shifting pattern.

  “That’s…,” Aeryn said, stopping abruptly. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed on the loom. “That’s one of the Looms of Fate. The cult uses them to analyze the Threads”.

  The shard in my hand pulsed brighter, its whispers almost deafening. I took a step closer, my breath catching as I felt the power radiating from the loom. Each thread seemed alive, humming with energy, vibrating with an unseen force.

  “We’re not alone,” Lyra said, her voice sharp.

  From the shadows behind the loom, a figure stepped forward. It was tall and lean, draped in a cloak of shifting black fabric that seemed to ripple like liquid. Its face was obscured by a mask etched with glowing runes, and its voice was a low, melodic drawl.

  “Sion Vale,” it said, each word dripping with amusement. “We finally meet.”

  I froze, my grip tightening on the shard. “Who are you?”

  The figure chuckled softly. “A friend. Or an enemy, depending on how clever you are.”

  Aeryn stepped forward, her blade forming in her hand. “You’re a Weaver,” she said, her voice cold.

  The figure inclined its head, as if in acknowledgment. “And you, Aeryn Lune. Always the loyal shadow, clinging to broken promises.”

  Aeryn’s expression hardened, her shadows flaring briefly before settling.

  Lyra leaned closer to me, whispering, “Do we fight it, or run?”

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  “Neither,” the Weaver said, its voice echoing unnaturally. “If I wanted you dead, you would already be.”

  “Comforting,” Lyra muttered.

  “What do you want?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady.

  The Weaver gestured toward the loom, its hand moving with an almost lazy elegance. “You’ve already met with the Keeper, I’m curious as to what your choice will be.”

  “What choice?”

  “To sever or to bind,” it said simply. “To cut away what you fear—or to tie it all together, for better or worse.”

  The shard pulsed again, the whispers rising in a deafening chorus. Sever. Bind. Fracture. Create.

  “Don’t listen to it,” Aeryn said sharply, stepping closer to me. “Weavers twist the Threads for their own ends. Nothing they offer is free.”

  The Weaver tilted its head, the runes on its mask glowing faintly. “The Weavers are torn on the matter, some yearn for the Rift, others wish to see it stitched closed.”

  Aeryn’s grip on her blade tightened, her jaw clenching.

  “Enough riddles,” I snapped. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

  The Weaver chuckled again, its tone almost mocking. “Very well. Shall I show you what you’ve already done?”

  Before I could respond, it raised its hand, and the room shifted. The air around the loom rippled like water, and images began to take shape in the glowing threads.

  The threads unraveled, revealing flashes of memories—scenes from a life I couldn’t fully remember.

  I saw myself standing before the Spire. Aeryn was beside me, her shadows swirling as she fought off attackers. The Spire itself glowed with an unnatural light, the threads around it fraying and snapping as I drove my hand into its core.

  “What is this?” I asked, my voice trembling.

  “The moment you broke the Thread,” the Weaver said, its voice soft. “The moment you chose to sever.”

  The vision shifted, showing the aftermath—the Rift spreading, swallowing me whole. The Wraith peering through the whole, still unable to escape.

  “This is your legacy, Sion Vale,” the Weaver said. “The chaos you unleashed. The balance you destroyed.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not… I didn’t…”

  “You did,” Aeryn said quietly, her voice filled with a strange mix of anger and sadness. “That’s why I’ve been trying to help you. To fix what you broke.”

  The weight of her words hit me like a blow. “You knew?” I asked, turning to her.

  “Yes,” she said, her violet eyes meeting mine. “I didn’t tell you because I needed you to focus on repairing the damage, not dwelling on your mistakes.”

  “Mistakes?” Lyra cut in, her voice sharp. “He tore reality apart, and you’re still acting like he’s some kind of savior?”

  “Enough,” Aeryn snapped, her shadows flaring. “This isn’t the time for blame.”

  Lyra scoffed, turning away. “Convenient.”

  The tension between them was palpable, and I felt like I was standing on the edge of a breaking thread.

  “You want to fix this?” the Weaver said, drawing my attention back. “Then choose. Sever the Thread completely and let the Rift consume what remains—or bind it back together and become a part of the weave yourself.”

  The shard in my hand pulsed violently, the whispers now a deafening roar. I stared at the loom, the glowing threads shifting and writhing like living things.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said, my voice barely audible.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Aeryn said, her voice steady despite the tension.

  “Better figure it out fast,” Lyra added, her tone biting.

  The Weaver stepped back, fading into the shadows. “The choice is yours, Sion Vale. But choose wisely—the Threads have little patience left, you’d best make haste to the core”

  The room fell silent, the visions fading into darkness. The shard’s glow dimmed, but its weight in my hand felt heavier than ever.

  “We need to move,” Aeryn said finally, her tone leaving no room for argument.

  I nodded, slipping the shard back into my pocket. My mind raced with questions, but one thought burned brighter than the rest:

  The end was closer than any of us realized.