Sanctuary, in the Whispering Reeds, was a fragile thing woven from sighs and starlight. Anya, the Reed Keeper, moved with the silent certainty of one who knew every hidden channel, every whispering root. She brought clean water, pungent marsh-salves that eased Grandma's lingering aches, and flatbread made from reed-flour, tasting of earth and wind. Her presence was a steady anchor, her bright, kingfisher eyes missing nothing, especially the faint emerald glow that seemed to cling to Nian like mist.
"The Mother's Cradle holds you," Anya said, her voice the rustle of dry stalks as she replenished the small fire in the stone basin. "But the shadow on the loom grows long." She nodded towards the southeast, beyond the sighing reed walls. "The Weaver's work is never done, Singer. Mending one thread draws tension elsewhere."
Nian sat beside Grandma, the Starfall fragment a warm weight in her lap, its light softly illuminating Anya's weathered face. "The Weaver… you know of it? Of the Drowned City?"
Anya's gaze grew distant, reflecting the luminous moss. "The Marsh remembers the rivers that fed it. The rivers remember the mountains. The mountains remember the stars that fell." She traced a pattern in the air – a spiral within a circle, the Listener's mark. "The Weaver tends the Tapestry. Its threads are life, Qi, fate. When a thread snaps…" She gestured towards Nian's hands. "...or frays, the pattern distorts. The Weaver mends. But the tension… it must go somewhere."
Grandma Xiu stirred, her voice stronger now. "The flaw… when it was mended. The energy released… the Weaver absorbed it, wove it back. But the *potential* for chaos…"
"...shifted," Anya finished grimly. "Like water finding a new path. The mending of your sky-shard, Singer, was a great act of harmony. But it sent ripples through the Tapestry. Shadows that slumbered… stir. Wards that held… weaken. The balance trembles." She looked directly at Nian. "Your hunters feel it. Not just the shard's light, but the *echo* of the mending. It calls to power. To hunger."
The fragment pulsed against Nian's palms, projecting sensations: the cold, grinding persistence of Rockbreaker scouts probing the marsh's northern fringes like earthworms; the sharper, more numerous sting of Imperial Qi – Zhao's main force, encamped perhaps a day's journey downriver, a hive of disciplined malice; and a new, chilling vibration – that same cold, fractured moonlight sensation she'd felt before, now closer, moving *through* the marsh from the southwest with unnatural, silent speed. *The other hunter.* Its Qi felt sharp, alien, and utterly focused.
"The Imperials gather like crows," Mei Lin stated, sharpening her knife by the firelight. "The Rockbreakers dig. And something else… colder. What is it, Anya?"
The Reed Keeper's face tightened. "A blade honed by fractured stars. A Shadow-Silk. Agents of the Shattered Moon Sect." She spat the name like poison. "Vultures who feast on celestial wounds. They seek unbound power, chaos to harvest. The mending… it drew them like sharks to blood. They feel the shard's wholeness as a… challenge. A prize."
The fragment vibrated, not with fear, but with a focused intensity. It projected an image into Nian's mind: the intricate pattern of the Weaver's Loom, shimmering with harmonious threads. Then, a dark, jagged tear appeared at its edge, radiating discord. The Shadow-Silk's cold signature pulsed at the tear's heart. *Threat to the Pattern.*
Nian understood. The Shattered Moon Sect wasn't just hunting the shard; they sought to exploit the *instability* its mending had caused in the cosmic Tapestry. They were drawn to the fragility lingering in the Weaver's wake.
"We cannot stay," Grandma said, her voice firm despite her weakness. "Sanctuary becomes a snare if the hunters surround it. The Cradle protects, but it cannot withstand siege."
Anya nodded, her expression resolute. "The Mother offers paths, woven in whispers." She reached into her reed cloak and pulled out three slender, dried stalks, each different: one dark and straight as an arrow, one twisted like a river's bend, one feathered with soft down. "Three currents flow from this stillness. Choose with the sky's wisdom, Singer."
She cast the stalks onto the worn planks before the Whispering Mother statue. They fell in a specific pattern:
1. **The Dark Arrow:** Pointing northeast, towards the higher, drier ground away from the river, towards the Rockbreaker-infested hills.
2. **The Twisted Reed:** Curving southeast, deeper into the labyrinthine heart of the marsh, towards the cold signature of the Shadow-Silk.
3. **The Feathered Down:** Drifting southwest, following the main river downstream, towards the massed Imperial camp.
"The Arrow offers high ground, escape from water, but into the earth-shaker's grasp," Anya murmured. "The Reed offers deepest hiding, but leads towards the void-cold blade. The Feather follows the strongest current, towards the many blades." She looked at Nian. "None are safe. All are paths of peril. The sky-shard must choose its current."
Nian closed her eyes, her hands covering the fragment. She didn't just think; she *listened*. She opened her Whisper to the shard's profound consciousness, feeling its resonance with the marsh, its awareness of the hunters, its connection to the greater Tapestry the Weaver tended. She sought not the safest path, but the path that served the harmony they had fought so hard to mend.
The fragment responded, its warmth flowing into her. Images flooded her:
* Following the Dark Arrow: A swift, brutal clash amidst crumbling hills. The shard's power flaring defensively, shattering stone, drawing more attention. Harmony broken by violence. Grandma vulnerable.
* Following the Twisted Reed: A silent, deadly dance in the black-water channels. The Shadow-Silk's cold blade seeking the shard's core, not to possess, but to *sunder*, to harvest the released chaos. The flaw's ghost screaming.
* Following the Feathered Down: The river's flow, crowded waters. Hiding among fisherfolk, traders. The shard's resonance dampened within the throng. Zhao's net closing, but slowly. A chance to bend, not break. To carry the harmony *into* the storm, not away from it.
The shard's focus settled on the Feathered Down. It projected the sensation of reeds bending in a strong current, not snapping. An image of the mended silver vein glowing softly, hidden beneath humble cloth, its song a subtle thread woven into the river's bustling symphony. *Preserve the harmony. Move with the stream.*
Nian opened her eyes. "The river," she said, her voice clear. "We follow the Feather. We become part of the current."
Anya's eyes gleamed with approval. "The Singer chooses the path of the stream. Wise. The reeds bend; they do not break." She gathered the stalks. "I will guide you to the Ghost Current – a hidden flow that bypasses the Imperial snare, rejoining the river leagues downstream. Move at moondark."
As dusk deepened into true night, the fragment pulsed a sudden, urgent warning. Cold. Sharp. Close. *Southwest. Moving fast. Shadow-Silk.*
Mei Lin hissed, peering into the dark channel. "They're here. Hunting *now*."
Anya moved swiftly. She scooped dark mud from the lagoon's edge, mixed it with crushed luminous moss, and gestured for Nian and Mei Lin to smear it on their faces and clothes. "Mask your light. Mask your scent." She then took three dried reeds, whispered over them, and snapped them, scattering the fragments into the water around the shrine. The sighing reeds surrounding the lagoon instantly intensified, their whispers rising to a mournful drone that seemed to vibrate the very air, masking softer sounds.
"Go," Anya urged, pointing to their punt. "Follow the blue fireflies. They know the Ghost Current's mouth. I will sing the marsh to sleep behind you." She picked up a small, reed-flute hanging from the statue.
Nian and Mei Lin helped Grandma into the punt. As they pushed off, Nian saw Anya raise the flute to her lips. No sound audible to human ears came out, but Nian *felt* it – a deep, resonant pulse that flowed into the sighing reeds, into the dark water, into the very roots of the marsh. The luminous moss on the shrine flared briefly, then dimmed. The lagoon's surface, reflecting the fragment's muted light, seemed to shimmer and blur, as if seen through heat haze.
A dark shape, low and sleek as a blade, glided into the lagoon's entrance channel. It was a narrow, black craft, seemingly made of solidified shadow, propelled by no visible oar or pole. A single figure stood upon it, cloaked in darkness that drank the moss-light. Their face was obscured, but two points of cold, fractured moonlight glowed where eyes should be, scanning the shrine, the water, the reeds. The Shadow-Silk.
Anya's silent flute-song intensified. The sighing reeds around the Shadow-Silk's craft suddenly thrashed violently, not touching it, but churning the water into a froth of mud and disturbed sediment. The water itself seemed to thicken, swirling with deceptive currents. The Shadow-Silk's craft hesitated, its prow turning as if confused, the cold eyes scanning the suddenly chaotic, obscured lagoon.
Mei Lin poled with silent strength, following a cluster of large, softly glowing blue fireflies that had appeared, darting down a narrow side channel Anya had indicated. Nian crouched low, one hand on Grandma, the other pressed over the fragment's pouch, pouring her will into maintaining its deep, dampened resonance, making it indistinguishable from the marsh's own sleeping breath. She glanced back once.
The Reed Mother's shrine was already swallowed by the sighing gloom and the Shadow-Silk's confusion. Anya stood tall before the statue, a silhouette against the dim moss-light, her silent flute-song weaving a protective veil of whispers and shadows. She wasn't hiding them; she was hiding the *sanctuary* itself.
They vanished into the black-water maze, guided by fireflies, the fragment a warm, watchful presence against Nian's side. The Shadow-Silk's cold signature receded, thwarted for now by the Reed Keeper's song and the marsh's awakened spirit. But the Weaver's shadow stretched long. The river beckoned, promising not escape, but the next perilous bend in the current. The mended star's journey flowed onward, carrying its light deeper into the loom of fate, where Imperial steel and Shattered Moon blades waited amidst the reeds of empire.