The wind over the canyon sang with new life.
It wasn't just air anymore. It was music—soft and subtle, woven through with magic that hadn't been heard in centuries. The Weave was no longer dormant. It breathed.
Aeren stood at the gate's edge, hands glowing faintly, eyes still tracing the lines of magic he'd seen within the final node.
The others approached in cautious silence.
"Is it done?" Lyra asked, brushing dust from her cloak.
"No," Aeren said, his voice distant. "It's just beginning."
They camped that night atop the cliffs, under a sky alive with shimmering auroras that hadn't been visible before. Even the stars seemed brighter.
Kiran sat sharpening his blade. "So, what now? We go home and tell the world, 'Surprise! Unity magic's back'?"
Bryn grinned. "I'd love to see the Council's face."
Kaelen frowned. "They won't believe it. Not without proof. Not without a war."
Zephren nodded grimly. "The Hollow Crown won't let this go. You just lit a torch in a field of dry grass."
Aeren stood slowly. "Then let them come. We're not hiding anymore."
Elira leaned on her staff. "We'll need allies. The fractured mage schools. The Nomadic Clans. Maybe even the Stormborn."
Bryn spat. "The Stormborn? They tried to kill us in the Ridge of Teeth!"
"Maybe," Lyra said, "but they hate the Hollow Crown more."
Suddenly, the air shimmered.
A ripple tore through space—and a messenger blinked into view. An old woman with a twisted walking stick and eyes like pools of ink.
"Seers of Myriad send warning," she croaked. "The Crown moves. Southlands burn. Cities fall. They seek the Heart of Hollow."
Aeren stepped forward. "What's the Heart of Hollow?"
The old woman grinned, revealing a mouth full of silver teeth. "The oldest node. Buried in time. Forbidden even to Weavers. If they reach it…"
Her eyes flashed. "The Weave dies again."
With a blink, she vanished.
Silence fell.
Kiran broke it first. "So. No pressure."
Aeren looked at his friends. His family.
"We stop them. Whatever it takes."
Elira looped her arm through his. "Just make sure you live long enough to kiss me properly first."
Bryn groaned. "I swear, if we die in a magical apocalypse because you two needed a moment…"
They all laughed—tired, nervous, but united.
As dawn broke, they gathered supplies. The journey to the Heart of Hollow would be long, through dead lands and forgotten roads. But they weren't just travelers now.
They were Weavers of the New Age.
And they had just declared war.
Far to the east, a fortress of obsidian rose from the earth. At its peak, cloaked figures gathered.
One stepped forward, his hand resting on a chained black crystal.
"Activate the Wyrm Gates," he commanded. "Let the void bleed."
The war for the Weave had begun.