Aki didn't sleep that night.
Even after he and Hoshikiri left the edge of the Veil, the voice of the Weaver echoed in the depths of his thoughts—its words curling like smoke around his mind, subtle and inescapable.
"The gods hide more than they reveal."
By morning, the sky over Tokyo had taken on an unnatural stillness. The wind did not stir. The usual hum of the city was muffled, as if the world itself held its breath.
In class, Aki sat staring blankly at the chalkboard. Ren nudged him with a pen.
"You good?" Ren whispered. "You look like you saw a ghost."
"I might have," Aki muttered, not quite joking.
After school, he wandered to the quietest corner of the library, pulling dusty books from the shelves. Ancient myths, records of celestial cults, forbidden histories—all things he'd once thought to be fantasy. But now, everything felt like a fragment of a bigger truth.
He flipped open a volume bound in cracked leather. An illustration caught his eye: a great loom spanning the sky, with threads of light and shadow weaving a vast pattern. At the center stood a faceless figure cloaked in black.
The caption read: The Forgotten Weaver: One who spun even the fates of gods.
Aki's hand trembled.
"Do you believe it?" Hoshikiri asked from behind him, surprising him.
He looked up. "I don't know. But I can't ignore it."
She sat across from him, folding her hands. "There are layers to the celestial order even I was never taught. If the Weaver truly exists, it means the gods are… not at the top."
Aki shut the book slowly. "Which means the rules I've been told to follow—might not be rules at all."
Silence hung between them.
Then, from the window, a sudden flare of light exploded across the sky.
A star—bright, white, and falling fast.
"No," Hoshikiri whispered, standing. "Not now."
The star slammed into the horizon with a silent shockwave. A ripple of divine energy rolled through the city. Even normal people, unaware of the celestial world, paused and looked up, their instincts stirred.
Aki clutched his pendant.
"We have to go," Hoshikiri said. "Something—someone—is arriving."
Aki nodded, already moving.
As they ran toward the epicenter of the falling star, the clouds above began to twist. And in a place beyond sight, beyond time, Tsukihikari-no-Kami rose from his throne.
"He is walking the path of the Weaver," the god murmured.
And Amaterasu, her light dimmer than usual, whispered, "Then the Age of Stars may not end with fire—but with choice."
—To be continued—