The rift widened.
High above the world Kael had rebuilt—beyond the twin suns, beyond even the Celestial Core itself—space began to bend in unnatural arcs. The stars around the breach blinked out one by one, not because they died… but because something was watching through them.
Tyrnex stood beside Kael atop the peak of Solari's Spire, his new form now a tapestry of cosmic armor laced with runes that pulsed like slow heartbeats. His voice, while no longer monstrous, carried an echo of ancient dread.
"They felt the alteration," he said. "The Weavers. The ones who first spun the Loom of Realities."
Lyra narrowed her eyes, the wind tossing strands of fire-colored hair around her face.
"You mean there's something above the gods? Above the First Flame?"
Kael answered before Tyrnex could. His expression was grim.
"The First Flame was the spark. But the Weavers were the hands. They don't rule. They enforce. Their purpose is to keep the pattern… unbroken."
Valen shifted uncomfortably. "And we just ripped out the original design."
The sky cracked.
A single strand of light unraveled across the heavens, descending slowly like a needle threading itself through space. At the tip of it stood a being—humanoid in shape, but woven entirely from glowing strands of existence. No eyes, no face. Only presence.
One of the Weavers had arrived.
Kael stepped forward.
The being didn't speak in words, but every thread around it vibrated—resonating within every living thing's bones, a soundless command that echoed through thought and instinct.
> "Correction Required."
Kael raised his voice, steady but firm. "I invoked the Thread of Origin under a lawful premise. Tyrnex was a flaw. He is now a function."
The Weaver hovered, unblinking.
Then, another thread descended. And another. And another.
Three more Weavers appeared, floating like judgment incarnate. Together, they encircled the planet, shimmering like a divine loom poised to pull the world apart.
Tyrnex stepped beside Kael. "You changed me. But to them, that doesn't matter. You touched their design. And now, they must test it."
The first Weaver extended a hand.
Reality around Kael folded inward—his surroundings vanished. He was transported to a place of white, infinite light where cause and effect had no meaning.
A voice echoed through his mind:
> "Prove. Your. Thread."
Kael breathed in—and felt the Core ignite inside him.
He held up his hand and summoned his own thread—woven with pieces of mortality, godhood, sacrifice, love, and rebellion. It shimmered in gold, scarred and imperfect, but alive.
He spoke clearly, to the unseen force all around him.
"I didn't rewrite reality to gain power. I did it to protect it. You built the Loom, but you forgot what it's for. Life is not a perfect pattern—it's a storm of mistakes, and that's what makes it worth saving."
Silence.
Then a soft tremble.
Outside, in the skies above Solari, the Weavers began to move—not in attack, but in debate. Threads shifted. Light warped.
They were not immune to reason.
But one Weaver did not hesitate. It raised its hand, drawing a needle of obliteration—a weapon designed to erase concepts, not just matter.
Kael burst back into realspace, panting, just in time to see it point the needle toward the world.
Tyrnex moved before Kael could.
With one massive hand, he caught the needle.
The Weavers froze.
Kael stared.
"You..." he began.
Tyrnex turned to him, voice quiet but absolute.
"I was made to destroy. But you gave me a new purpose. Let me defend it."
The needle shattered in his grip.
For the first time, the Weavers recoiled.
Kael stepped forward again, eyes blazing.
"I don't seek war. But I won't let you erase a world reborn by choice. This realm doesn't belong to perfection—it belongs to the imperfect who dare to love, fight, and change."
The Weavers hovered in silence.
And then… they withdrew.
One by one, the threads ascended, the rift closed, and the stars blinked back into place.
They had been heard.
Tyrnex sank to one knee, exhausted. "You gave me a place in the pattern… and now, it holds."
Kael placed a hand on his shoulder.
"This world won't be unwoven."
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