The sea of stars trembled, folding inward until they became rivers of light that twisted in infinite patterns around Nora. Each thread glowed with a different hue, some bright and pure, others veined with darkness. They wove themselves into a living map that pulsed like a breathing organism.
Nora turned slowly, awe prickling through her skin. The threads hummed, vibrating with secrets. When she reached toward one, her fingers brushed the current and a vision leapt into her mind—
She staggered back, breath ragged.
The faceless being stood across from her, galaxies still turning within its frame. “Do not cling to a single thread. One glimpse cannot define the whole. Each strand is part of the Weave.”
The Weave shimmered, reshaping itself. Threads knotted, tangled, snapped. Each broken filament echoed like a scream, reverberating through her chest.
Suddenly, the light dimmed. From the corners of the cosmic expanse, a new force pressed inward—darkness alive, thick as oil, devouring threads one by one. Wherever it touched, stars blinked out, leaving hollow silence behind.
The being’s voice lowered, urgent now: “The Unmakers move. They have always moved. But their hunger grows. They know the fracture-point has stepped into the realm of truth.”
Nora’s sword pulsed again, brighter than before. The threads bent toward it, as if drawn to its light. She lifted it higher and saw how the weapon itself connected to the Weave, how its glow flowed into countless strands. It was not a blade at all. It was a channel.
Her chest tightened. If the sword was a key—then it meant doors could open. Or close.
The darkness surged closer, threads snapping in its wake. The stars whispered louder, urgent, desperate: Nora… choose… choose…
Her knees buckled. The immensity of it pressed down on her until her breath caught in her throat. She was too small. Too fragile. Yet here she was, standing at the heart of all things, with the power to tilt the balance.
The being stepped closer, its form flickering as though strained by the nearness of the Unmakers.
“Do not mistake this realm for sanctuary. This is only the loom. What you weave here will bleed into every world.”
The sea of threads pulsed violently, like a living thing in pain. The darkness crept nearer. And in the center of it all, the sword blazed in her grip—waiting.