The forest no longer felt like home.
It felt like something older. Wilder. As Elara stepped across the moss-covered stones, following the silver-eyed stranger deeper into the woods, she could sense the air thickening with something unseen—an invisible current that pressed against her skin and thrummed in her bones. The world was shifting beneath her feet. She felt it in every step, like gravity pulling her not just downward, but inward.
They came upon a glade ringed with white-blossomed trees whose branches reached skyward like arms in prayer. In the center stood a shallow pool, still as glass, reflecting the moon with a clarity that defied nature. Mist hovered above its surface, glowing faintly, and strange symbols shimmered beneath the water—like runes carved into the very fabric of reality.
The stranger stopped at the water's edge.
"This is where the teaching begins," he said, removing his cloak and folding it with a reverence that struck her as sacred. "This pool is known as Ithrial. In the old tongue, it means 'mirror of the threads.' Here, the tapestry of fate reveals itself, strand by strand."
Elara looked from the water to him. "Are you a god?"
The question hung in the air like a drawn breath. He tilted his head, considering.
"I am not one of the High Twelve," he said at last. "But I walk among them. I was born of starlight and shadow, sworn to serve the Balance. You may call me Caelum."
Caelum. The name thrummed in her chest like a drumbeat. There was weight in it. Memory. Pain.
"And you think I'm meant to fix something the gods themselves cannot?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I still don't understand why me."
Caelum motioned to the pool. "Then look."
She hesitated, then knelt beside the water. It didn't smell like any water she'd known—no earth, no decay, just cold wind and something like crushed petals. As her reflection rippled beneath her gaze, the surface shimmered and parted.
She gasped.
Within the pool, she saw herself—not as she was now, but older, robed in starlight, her hair flowing like ink in the wind. She stood atop a cliff overlooking two warring armies: one of fire, one of ice. She raised her hand, and the sky split with lightning.
Then the image changed.
Now she stood in a throne room made of crystal, her hand entwined with Caelum's. Around them stood beings of impossible beauty—some with wings like glass, others cloaked in flame or mist. All bowed. But her eyes—Elara's own eyes—held sorrow. As though she'd made a choice no one else could understand.
The pool rippled again, and the images vanished.
Elara leaned back, breath caught in her throat. "What… what was that?"
"Truths. Or perhaps warnings," Caelum said gently. "The pool shows potential futures. Threads not yet woven. Some may come to pass. Others may not."
Elara stared into the water, her hands trembling. "I looked… different. Stronger. But I didn't look happy."
Caelum sat beside her, his voice quieter now. "To carry divine blood is not to be spared suffering. It is to feel it more deeply. You must walk a path few can understand."
A long silence stretched between them.
"Do you regret it?" she asked finally. "Serving the Balance? Walking among gods?"
His gaze flicked to the stars above. "I regret only what I've lost along the way. We all lose something, Elara. Even gods."
That admission stirred something in her chest. A shared loneliness, perhaps, or the aching sense that this path would be one of sacrifice. She wanted to ask him what he had lost, but before she could speak, the wind shifted, and a sharp note rang out—like a bell tolling across the void.
Caelum stood at once, every muscle alert.
"They've found us," he said.
"Who?" she asked, rising to her feet.
"Those who feed on broken threads. The Scorned."
Before she could ask more, the air fractured with a sound like cracking glass. The mist above the pool writhed violently, and from the tree line emerged three figures cloaked in darkness, their faces shrouded beneath veils of smoke. Their limbs were long, wrong—bending too sharply, moving too fluidly. Wherever they stepped, the grass withered.
Elara's heart leapt into her throat.
"What do I do?" she asked, panic rising.
Caelum stepped in front of her, summoning a blade of shimmering silver from the air. "You watch. And remember."
The creatures hissed, the sound twisting the air like a gale. Then they lunged.
Caelum moved like liquid fire. His blade cut through shadow, leaving streaks of light in its wake. Each stroke dispelled a hiss, each movement a perfect dance of precision and grace. Yet the Scorned were relentless, reforming as quickly as they were struck down, their smoke-like bodies swirling with hunger.
One broke past him, lunging at Elara.
She screamed, stumbling back. Instinct drove her hands up—and suddenly, light burst from her palms, a radiant pulse that sent the creature reeling, shrieking as it dissolved into ash.
Elara stared at her hands, now glowing faintly gold. "What did I—?"
Caelum dispatched the last of the Scorned and turned to her, eyes wide with something like awe. "You channeled the spark," he said. "Your divine blood has awakened."
"I didn't mean to," she whispered.
"But you did. That means it's time."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small orb, glowing with threads of energy.
"This is a seed from the Loom," he said. "The Weave of all fate. You must carry it. Protect it."
She accepted it with trembling fingers. As soon as she touched it, visions swirled behind her eyes—worlds collapsing, reborn, kings dying in battle, lovers embracing beneath dying stars. Her knees buckled, and Caelum caught her before she fell.
"You'll learn to hold it," he said gently. "In time."
As the visions faded, Elara's mind cleared, and with it came a terrible certainty. "The Scorned… they're going to come again."
He nodded grimly. "They seek to sever the Loom, to remake existence in chaos. You are the thread they fear most."
Elara stood, the seed cradled to her chest. "Then I can't hide anymore."
"No," he agreed. "But you won't be alone."
His voice held something deeper than comfort—something like a promise. She looked into his eyes, and for the first time, truly saw the man behind the light. The loneliness. The quiet hope. The fierce loyalty burning like a star too long forgotten.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked softly.
Caelum hesitated, then stepped closer. "Because long ago, I made an oath to protect the last daughter of Mortara. And because…"
His voice trailed off, but the air between them was thick with something unspoken.
Elara looked away, her heart pounding with questions she wasn't ready to voice. Not yet.
Above them, the moon had moved, casting its light through the canopy in new patterns. The pool shimmered, and the flowers glowed brighter. Somewhere deep in the forest, the howl of a creature echoed across the trees.
Elara clutched the Loom-seed tighter. She had left the world she knew behind. Ahead lay danger, awakening, perhaps war—and something else.
Something like love.
Not a love born in whispers and gardens, but one forged in fire and woven through fate. A love that might save the world… or break it.
And as she looked once more at Caelum, standing tall and solemn beneath the ancient trees, she knew that whatever came next, the gods were not so far above them after all.
They were here.
They were watching.
And one of them was already falling for her.
— End of Chapter 2