Outside of time and space, where fate is spun, cut, and occasionally corrupted, there is an outer-dimensional dreamscape called the Loom Beyond Silence. Some call it the Weaving Womb while others know it as the Thread's End and Beginning. Whatever name you choose to call this realm all know that it is the divine domain of Eriselyne, the Laughing Loom Goddess.
The Loom Beyond Silence is a realm untouched by the gods, devils, or systems of any unknown universe. It is neither Heaven, Hell, nor Void—it is the place where stories are written in thread and unwritten by whim.
This is where Eriselyne weaves the tapestry of potential, pulling strands of forgotten lives, doomed timeliness, and unchosen paths into bizarre, beautiful, terrifying patterns.
No one visits this place by choice. Even the gods fear it and it's ruler.
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Eriselyne, the Laughing Loom-Goddess, danced the threads of fate. Her movements across her web were acts of cosmic consequences. Each step she took sended tremors across the weave, changing lives, redirected timeliness, and snipping paths that should have never have been.
She listened to the voices of severed souls. Their screams and begging were like a melancholy ballet. Sad yet beautiful.
She was in the middle of a low dip when she heard it.
One thread pulsed with a different sound. Unlike all the others, this one did not beg or scream but it was weak and at peace.
"Fascinating. It refuses to unravel."
The thread was so thin it should've snapped. The soul was shattered but was holding itself together out of spite.
Eriselyne smiled. She wanted a proper look at this little song note.
So she gently gripped the thread and she pulled.
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In the heart of the Loom Beyond Silence was a towering obsidian needle, piercing a cocoon of shifting silk and bone. This was Eriselyne's true seat. The sky was a swirling aurora of threads—some vibrant, some frayed, some bleeding.
The "ground" was a floating quilt of reflective glass, with each pane showed a different world, a different choice, or a dying soul. Suspended throughout the air were spinning wheels, loom frames, and scissors the size of cathedrals, slowly rotating around an invisible axis.
A young woman—no older than eighteen or nineteen—floated weightlessly in the the center the realm. Blinking slowly, she opened her eyes, groggy and confused as she looked around.
'What the hell…'
Her last memory was the cold concrete, the red splatter, and the silence that followed. She should've been gone. But something kept her tethered.
Where is this? And why aren't I sleeping for all eternity? Didn't those church people Mom always dragged me to see on Sundays say that after death comes eternal bliss or something? Where is my eternal bliss?! I want the rest I was promised, damn it!
"Oh goodie! You're awake. I was beginning to think your soul would never develop consciousness." A feminine voice like silk unraveling, soft and mocking distracted her from her questionings.
The speaker's appearance confused the girl. It was always shifting. One moment it was a little girl with blood-red ribbons, another a grandmother sewing stars into a black cloth, and moments later it was a blindfolded dancer of thread and bone.
She smiled with too many teeth and too little mercy.
"Fascinating! A soul that does not beg, that refuses mercy, and yet has no hatred left to offer. Just emptiness with edges sharp enough to cut fate. Oh, you'll do nicely."
The girl stared at her coldly. "...Is this Hell?"
The goddess mockingly gasps. Even putting her hand over her mouth in fake astonishment. "How rude. This is the Loom Beyond Silence, thank you. I made it myself." She pirouetted gracefully, her ribbons trailing like blood in water. "You died, by the way. Just enough for me to snatch you up."
"I didn't ask for this. Whatever this is—put me back. Or let me sleep," the girl says.
"Oh no, no no." Eriselyne clucked her tongue, stepping closer, her heels never touching the thread. "I adore watching dark things do good, innocents fall, and weapons learn to love. You, girl, are my favorite kind of thread. A soul unanchored to any law, capable of evolving into a being that could rewrite the weave itself. You'll do nicely for my next project!"
"Project... what the heck are you talking about?" The girl was so confused. She just wanted to sleep, damnit!
Unfortunately for the poor soul, the goddess ignored her and just continued on her mumbling.
It got worse when Eriselyne started unraveling a divine thread—a discarded soul once destined to become a world's savior. This soul refused its role, choosing suicide over servitude.
Most would have let it rot.
Eriselyne plucked it from the garbage heap of destiny, a thing shattered by choice, not failure. She pressed it into a knot—a condensed, pulsing core of unresolved potential and divine resentment.
This knot became the seed of something that would be a Heartshard.
Eriselyne drew her own blood, the ichor of what came before stories began. Dripping it over the soul-knot, she spun it into a crystalline cocoon, turning the dead thread into a dimensional core.
Her blood bound it not to any world—but to the paths between.
The Ruby soon began to beat.
"Perfect~."
The Heartshard Ruby in its finished form was a palm-sized crystalline gem, dark ruby red in color with veins of black and gold pulsing faintly through it like lightning trapped in glass. It felt warm to the touch, and when held by its bonded user, it would beat faintly—like a heart responding to the soul.
It was neither angelic nor demonic, and even the System cannot fully catalog it.
To activate the Heartshard, Eriselyne needed one final ingredient: a soul with no wish to return, no desire for power, and no belief in redemption.
And since this girl's soul, at the moment of death, had rejected Heaven and Hell all for peace. She was the perfect vessel for the Heartshard.
Eriselyne shoved the Heartshard into the mortal's chest with a touch softer than mercy. All while ignoring the soul's startled cries.
"There, all done. Let's see what kind of chaos you'll make on your new path, hmm? I'm sure it'll be fascinating~!"
The girl didn't know what the heck was going on. She wanted to ask questions but her eyes were feeling heavy. Her mind felt like lead. Before she lost consciousness she heard the crazy goddess mumlbe one last time.
"You'll visit worlds that weren't made for you, child. And some will beg you to stay. Some will try to break you to fit. But remember: you're not their thread. You're mine. Do enjoy yourself, hmm?"