Chapter 3: The First Thread
The plaza trembled under Kael's boots, dust rising like a shroud as the rift's violet glow pulsed ominously, a wound in the sky that seemed to throb with malevolence. Lirien clung to Toren's side, her small frame shivering despite the afternoon heat, the warmth of the sun a stark contrast to the chill of fear that gripped them all. The echo of the past—laughter, unbroken stone, a city alive—still lingered in Kael's mind, a cruel tease before reality snapped back to ruin. Whatever Mara called it, an unraveling, it wasn't just the village at stake now. Time itself was fraying, and with it, their very existence.
He gripped the shard tighter, its runes flickering weakly, as if sensing the impending danger. "Mara, what do you mean I stirred it?" His voice was edged with urgency, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
The elder hobbled forward, her cane sinking into the cracked earth with a determined thud. "The dreams you're pulling them from—they're not just trances. They're threads, tied to something old and angry. Every one you save wakes it more."
"Wakes what?" Toren demanded, his voice rough as he steadied Lirien, who looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "You're talking riddles, woman."
Mara's eyes narrowed, fixed on the rift, which pulsed with a sinister rhythm. "The Shattered Crown wasn't abandoned by chance. The Weavers left a guardian here—a shadow of their power. It's been sleeping, feeding on the silence, but now it knows we're fighting back."
Kael's chest tightened at her words. "The shadow Lirien saw under the city?"
She nodded, her expression grave. "The vault's heart. The Loom of Fate—or what's left of it. It's calling the dreams, and you're answering."
He glanced at Lirien, her pale face half-hidden in Toren's shadow, and felt a surge of protectiveness. "She's safe now, though. That's what matters."
"For now," Mara said, her tone grim, a warning laced within. "But the others—Jessa, Korrin, the rest—they're still trapped. And the rift's growing."
Another scream pierced the air, fainter this time, from the northern edge of the plaza. Kael's head snapped toward it—a woman's voice, familiar and haunting. Old Jessa, the knitter, slumped against the well, her needles still in her hands, her eyes wide and unseeing. Her lips moved, a whisper lost in the wind, a plea for help that sent a chill down Kael's spine.
"Jessa!" Toren started toward her, but Kael grabbed his arm, urgency coursing through him.
"Wait—I'll go in. You keep Lirien safe." He pulled the shard from his satchel, its light flaring as he approached Jessa. Her muttering grew clearer—"Threads… too tight… can't breathe…"
Mara's voice followed him, a distant echo of caution. "Be quick, Kael. The longer you're in, the stronger it gets."
He knelt beside Jessa, her frail hands trembling, the shard pulsing in sync with her shallow breaths. He pressed it to his chest, closed his eyes, and let the darkness take him.
The air turned cold, sharp with the scent of stone and incense. Kael stumbled onto a polished floor, his boots echoing in a vast chamber that felt both sacred and suffocating. Pillars of white marble stretched upward, their surfaces etched with golden runes that glowed faintly, casting an ethereal light. Above, a domed ceiling shimmered with stars, though no sky should exist here. It was a temple—a Celestial sanctum, pristine and oppressive, like the stories of the Luminous Expanse Mara used to tell, filled with both wonder and dread.
Jessa stood at the chamber's center, her gray hair loose, her knitting needles clutched like weapons, a fierce determination etched on her face. She faced an altar, its surface a mirror reflecting her terrified eyes. Around her, threads of light coiled, tightening with every breath, binding her arms and legs like a spider's web, a trap from which she could not escape.
"Jessa!" Kael called, sprinting toward her, heart racing. The floor trembled beneath him, and the threads snapped taut, lifting her off the ground. She gasped, her voice a choked sob, desperation lacing her words. "Too tight… too many…"
Before he could reach her, a figure rose from the altar's mirror—a knight in radiant armor, its helm a blank mask of gold, its sword a blazing arc of light that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. A Celestial guardian, like the one in Lirien's dream, but stronger, its presence a weight that pressed down on Kael's shoulders, threatening to crush him under its might.
"Intruder," it boomed, its voice a chorus of breaking bells, echoing through the chamber like a death knell. "This thread is claimed."
Kael skidded to a halt, the shard flaring in his hand, its power surging in response to the threat. "She's not yours!" He thrust it forward, a thread of violet light snapping toward the guardian's sword arm. It caught, jerking the blade aside, but the knight countered with a sweep of its free hand, unleashing a wave of searing light that washed over Kael like a tidal wave.
He dove behind a pillar, the blast shattering its base into a shower of marble fragments. Pain flared in his side where the heat grazed him, his cloak smoldering, the scent of burnt fabric filling the air. "Jessa, hold on!" he shouted, peering out from his cover. She dangled higher now, the threads cutting into her wrists, her face pale and stricken with fear.
The guardian advanced, its sword tracing a glowing arc through the air, a deadly dance of light and fury. Kael rolled out, dodging a strike that split the floor beneath him, sending shards flying. He spotted the altar's mirror—its surface rippling, runes glowing at its edges, a potential escape. Another Weaver lock, like Lirien's, but more complex, a puzzle he had to solve under pressure.
He darted left, feinting, then lunged right as the guardian swung again, the blade whistling through the air. The shard pulsed, and he willed another thread into existence, this one wrapping around the knight's legs. It stumbled, its balance faltering, and Kael seized the chance—racing to the altar and slamming the shard into the mirror's center.
The runes flared, but nothing happened. The guardian roared, breaking free of the thread, its sword slashing down with lethal intent. Kael ducked, the blade grazing his shoulder, blood welling hot and fast, a reminder of the stakes at play. He gritted his teeth, staring at the runes—spirals, lines, a pattern he half-remembered from Mara's scrolls. A sequence.
"Think, damn it," he muttered, dodging another strike that sent sparks flying. The guardian's light flared brighter, blinding, but he glimpsed Jessa's needles—still in her hands, glinting gold in the dim light. Threads and needles. He scrambled to her, grabbing one as the knight loomed behind him, its sword raised for a final strike.
"Stay still!" he yelled, jabbing the needle into the altar's mirror, tracing the first rune with trembling hands. A thread snapped loose from Jessa, then another as he carved the second and third runes, desperation fueling his movements. The guardian bellowed, its form flickering, the light dimming as Kael drove the shard into the final rune.
Light exploded, threads unraveling in a cascade of brilliance. The guardian froze, its sword raised, then shattered into motes of gold, scattering like fallen stars. Jessa fell, and Kael caught her, the chamber dissolving around them in a whirlwind of light and shadow.
He gasped awake beside the well, Jessa coughing in his arms, her eyes fluttering open, dazed but alive. "Kael…? The threads…" Her voice was weak, but the relief in her gaze was palpable.
"You're safe," he said, easing her to the ground, his heart racing with adrenaline. Toren rushed over, Lirien trailing behind, and helped Jessa sit up, the weight of their shared ordeal pressing down on them.
"Another one," Toren muttered, relief mixing with exhaustion. "How many more?"
Kael didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the rift. It pulsed faster now, its edges jagged, spilling faint shadows into the plaza, a dark omen of what was to come. The shard in his hand felt heavier, its runes dimmer, a reminder of the toll the battles were taking on him. He stood, wincing at the cut on his shoulder, and faced Mara as she approached, her expression grave.
"The vault's next, isn't it?" he asked, voice low, the weight of inevitability settling over him.
She nodded, her cane tapping a slow rhythm against the ground. "You're cutting its threads, Kael. It's fighting back."
"Fighting?" He glanced at Jessa, then the rift, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. "That guardian—it wasn't just a dream. It knew me."
Mara's face tightened, her eyes narrowing with concern. "The shadow's waking. It's not just feeding anymore—it's hunting."
A low rumble shook the ground, not an echo this time, but something deeper, rising from below, a primal force awakening. The rift flared, and a voice—soft, ancient, threaded with malice—whispered through the air, wrapping around Kael like a noose.
"Kael…"
He froze, the shard burning cold against his palm, a stark contrast to the heat of battle that still lingered in his veins. Toren cursed, pulling Lirien and Jessa back, instinctively shielding them from the encroaching darkness. Mara gripped his arm, her voice urgent, a lifeline in the chaos.
"The vault, now. Before it finds you first."