Chapter 5: The Mirror's Truth
The southern edge of the Shattered Crown was quiet under the bruised sky, where twilight draped the land like a heavy veil. The sky itself seemed to mourn the fallen world, casting an unnatural hush over the ruined land. Above them, the distant violet glow of the rift pulsed faintly—a reminder of the unrelenting shadow that hadn't ceased its hunger. It waited. Like a predator stalking its prey. Like fate itself, patient and unyielding.
Kael moved forward, leading his companions through the broken village. In his palm, the shard hummed gently, its faint light flickering against the ruins. What had once been a vibrant village—filled with laughter, festivals, and firelight—was now nothing but remnants: charred wood, shattered pottery, overgrown paths reclaiming the land as nature slowly erased the past.
Toren followed behind him, the weight of his massive hammer a silent testament to his readiness for battle. His steps were heavy, but there was a promise in their rhythm—quiet, unwavering. Lirien, her hand tightly clutching Toren's, walked alongside him. Her eyes darted nervously across the landscape, her gaze restless as if she could feel the ghosts that lingered in the crumbling remnants of the village.
Mara was the last to walk, her cane tapping against the cracked cobblestones in a steady rhythm that contrasted with the tense silence. She said nothing, but her very silence spoke volumes—a tension, a hidden sorrow, a stillness pregnant with unspoken words.
At last, they reached the heart of the ruins, where the broken statue of the Weaver stood—a once-majestic figure now half-collapsed. One outstretched arm still pointed to the heavens, as though attempting to spin invisible threads, while the other had shattered, scattered among the moss-covered stones. The robes, once carved with intricate details, had long since weathered away, and the face of the statue, serene in its former glory, was now cracked and blind, its hollow eyes staring into nothingness.
But it was the base that drew Kael's gaze. A great fracture ran through the foundation, a jagged scar that revealed a set of stairs spiraling down into pitch blackness. It was a maw, yawning to swallow them whole.
Kael halted, the shard's light flickering as it seemed to hesitate—uncertain whether to guide them into the abyss or warn them away. His heart raced in his chest, a cocktail of dread and resolve mixing within him. His breath caught in his throat as he stood at the threshold, staring into the darkness below.
"Looks like a tomb," Toren muttered, stepping up beside him. His voice was gravelly, low, filled with wariness. "You sure about this, lad?"
Kael swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his decisions. "No," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "But we have no choice. The shadow's not stopping. We either move forward… or we lose everything."
Mara joined them, her eyes drifting to the crumbling face of the statue. There was a strange mixture of reverence and sorrow in her gaze, as though she were mourning something long lost. "It's been sealed since the Sundering—or so I believed. The shard can unweave the lock, but…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked at each of them in turn. "Once we cross that threshold, the path only leads down. There will be no turning back."
Kael nodded, the weight of her words sinking deep into his chest. He looked at Lirien—her face pale, but her resolve stronger than he'd ever seen—and then at Toren, whose jaw was set in grim determination. Curse or no, they were with him. They believed in him. And he couldn't fail them.
Just as Kael lifted the shard toward the entrance, the air around them rippled. It wasn't the earth, nor the wind—it was the very fabric of space itself, bending and shifting. The distant hum of the rift surged, growing louder, almost like a pulse. And then, a voice whispered into Kael's ear—soft, insidious, as though it had been waiting for this moment.
"Kael… see…"
His vision twisted. Reality bent, like water disturbed by a falling stone.
The ruins disappeared.
In their place, a vast plaza of polished stone stretched before them, each tile gleaming like a mirror. The sky above was black velvet, studded with countless stars, a perfect reflection of the cosmos above. The statue stood whole here—magnificent, aglow with golden threads that shimmered above it, weaving a tapestry of vibrant life.
The village—alive.
Jessa sat beside a pristine fountain, knitting with nimble fingers. Korrin hauled warm loaves from a nearby oven, the aroma of freshly baked bread mingling with laughter. Lirien ran past him, a kite soaring behind her, her giggles echoing like bells in the air.
Kael stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. Overwhelmed by the vision, he could barely whisper, "What… is this?"
His voice felt distant, swallowed by the vastness of the dream-like scene.
A figure stepped beside him—a younger Mara. Her hair was long and dark, wild like it had been in her youth, and she wore priestess robes etched with glowing Weaver runes that pulsed with starlight.
"A thread that could have been," she said softly, her voice a clear, melodic tone that carried a deep, unspoken sorrow. "The Shattered Crown, before the shadow rooted itself in our fates."
Kael turned to her, his breath quickening. The shard pulsed in his hand, almost like it was drawing him into the vision. "A dream?"
"No," Mara replied, her gaze unfocused, as though her thoughts were far away. "This is the Mirror Plaza. The Weavers built it to see the possibilities of fate—what was, what might have been. It shows truths we've lost, and truths we may yet shape."
The scene shifted before Kael's eyes, like a stone sinking into water, creating ripples that tore through the vision.
The laughter stopped.
The villagers screamed.
Rifts opened across the plaza, black and jagged, spewing beasts of shadow and flame. The kite caught fire. Jessa's knitting vanished in a flash of smoke. The statue cracked down the center, golden threads snapping one by one. Above them, something vast and dark began to emerge—a writhing silhouette with burning eyes. It reached for Kael.
"Kael…"
He stumbled back, nearly dropping the shard as it flared with protective light. "The shadow—it's here too?"
Mara's youthful form aged in an instant, her robes dimming, her hair turning silver, and her face etched with years of sorrow. She was the woman Kael knew now—the weight of time and loss bearing down on her. "It's always been here. In every thread. Feeding. Watching. Waiting. This… this is what it wants. A world unmade. A Loom of fate it can shape as its own."
The vision shifted again.
The plaza stood still, quiet.
The village—damaged but not destroyed. Jessa and Korrin still alive. Toren working the forge under the sunlight. Lirien drawing flowers on the stone. Peace.
A fragile, flickering dream.
Kael's chest tightened. "This… could this be real?"
"If you choose it," Mara said, her voice almost a whisper now. "The Loom beneath us can spin it—or it can destroy it. The shadow guards it now, and it knows you."
The plaza trembled. The stars winked out one by one.
"Closer…"
Kael raised the shard high, its light cutting through the encroaching dark. A thread of light shot toward the statue's base, and the runes flared—spirals and arcs forming an urgent puzzle. A desperate call in code.
"Show me," Kael muttered.
He traced the first rune with the shard. It glowed, stabilizing the dream. The second rune brightened. Then the third. Each mark was a promise. A path forward. A ward against the encroaching dark.
The voice whispered again—louder now, filled with fear and anticipation.
But Mara's vial—the one that hung around his neck—burned warm against his skin. A tether, anchoring him.
He carved the final arc.
The vision shattered.
The Mirror Plaza was gone.
Kael stood once more at the foot of the real statue, sweat beading on his brow, his knees trembling beneath him. The shard's light dimmed in his hand, exhausted from the effort.
Toren placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "You alright, lad? You went still—like stone."
Kael blinked, shaking off the remnants of the vision. "The Mirror Plaza," he whispered. "It showed me what could've been. What the shadow wants. The Loom… it's down there. And it's real."
Mara approached them, her cane tapping softly against the stone. "The Loom of Fate," she confirmed, her voice somber. "An artifact of the Weavers. It binds this city's destiny together. And the shadow is trying to feed from it. Twist it. That's what you felt. That's what's calling you."
Lirien stepped closer, her voice trembling. "I saw it too… in my dream. It was huge. And… angry."
Toren scowled, his hand tightening around his hammer. "Then we smash it to pieces."
"No." Mara's tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "You don't understand. The Loom isn't a weapon—it's a forge. If it breaks, everything unravels. Time. Memory. The city's soul. Only Kael can reach it. Only the shard can guide the thread."
Kael looked at her, his gaze hard. "And you? What's your part in this? You used to serve it—the shadow."
Her eyes flared with guilt. "I was a priestess of the Weavers once. I guarded this vault. The Tyrant slept here—a fragment of an Aetherial being, sealed beneath the city after the Sundering. I thought it was dead. I was wrong."
Toren stiffened. "The Sleeping Tyrant. That's what's been whispering to him?"
Mara nodded gravely. "A piece of something that once stood beside the First Weaver… now corrupted. It wants the Loom to weave its own dominion."
Kael gritted his teeth, the shard humming faintly in response. The whispers in his skull grew louder—a cacophony of secrets, temptations, and fear. But he held onto the vial, the tether that anchored him. "Then we reach it first."
He stepped to the base of the statue, tracing the runes carved into the cracked foundation. They mirrored those of the Mirror Plaza. With slow precision, Kael pressed the shard into the central groove.
A jolt of energy coursed through him.
The runes ignited.
Stone parted.
The ground groaned, and the base of the statue shifted, revealing the stairs fully—glowing faintly with an inner light. Cold air rushed up from the vault, heavy with the scent of forgotten dust and something darker still.
Toren clapped him on the back. "Well done. Let's end this."
Lirien slipped her hand into Kael's. Her grip was firmer than before, steady. She didn't speak, but her presence was more than enough.
Mara stepped beside them, her cane no longer tapping, her past trailing behind her like a shadow of its own.
Behind them, the rift pulsed once more.
"Kael…"
The voice followed them.
Hungry.
Together, they descended into the vault's embrace, vanishing into the darkness below.