The starlit staircase shimmered beneath Mei-Ling's feet, each step carved from light that pulsed like a living thing. The Lantern of Eternal Regret floated ahead, its indigo flame casting fleeting shadows on the clouds that swirled around the Peaks of Eternal Dawn. The air was thin, sharp with the scent of frost and something ancient—ozone, like the breath of a storm god. Mei-Ling's fingers clutched her mother's jade pendant, its dragon sigil warm against her skin, while the bamboo flute in her sleeve felt heavier, as if it carried the weight of the melody that had tamed Fei-Long.
Above, the figure in silver-threaded robes waited, their staff's spinning orb glowing in rhythm with the lantern. As Mei-Ling climbed the final steps, the clouds parted, revealing a plateau ringed by jagged peaks. At its center stood a gate of black jade, its surface etched with constellations that seemed to shift and writhe. The figure turned, and Mei-Ling saw their face: a woman, her features sharp as a blade, with eyes like polished obsidian and a crown of braided silver hair. She was neither young nor old, her presence timeless, like a statue come to life.
"You're bolder than your mother," the woman said, her voice a melody that echoed in the bones. "I am Yue-Xin, Keeper of the Loom's Gate. The Temple of Unseen Threads lies beyond, but only those who pass the Weaver's Trial may enter."
Mei-Ling's breath caught. "Another trial? Fei-Long demanded a thread of my soul. What do you want?"
Yue-Xin's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Fei-Long guards the path. I guard the truth. The Celestial Loom weaves the fates of all, but its threads are fragile. To enter, you must prove your heart is steady—unswayed by regret or fear."
Mei-Ling glanced at the lantern, its light pulsing faster, as if impatient. "I'm not here for games. My mother died for this pendant. Tell me what it unlocks."
Yue-Xin raised her staff, and the orb spun faster, casting threads of light that wove a shimmering veil across the gate. "The pendant is a key, but the Loom is no mere artifact. It binds the heavens and earth, and your mother's theft frayed its balance. The trial will show if you're worthy to mend it—or doomed to break it further."
Before Mei-Ling could protest, Yue-Xin struck the ground with her staff. The plateau trembled, and the veil of light parted, revealing a mirror-like pool at the gate's base. Its surface rippled, showing not Mei-Ling's reflection but her mother's—Su-Lan, her face pale, her hands clutching the pendant as she fled through a storm of falling stars. The image shifted, showing a younger Mei-Ling, crying alone in their village home, the flute silent on the table.
"What is this?" Mei-Ling whispered, her voice breaking.
"The Weaver's Trial," Yue-Xin said. "Face your regrets, or they will bind you. Step into the pool, and see what your heart hides."
Mei-Ling hesitated, the lantern's glow warm on her face. She didn't want to relive her mother's death, the nights of grief, or the questions she'd buried. But the pendant pulsed, urging her forward, and the flute seemed to hum faintly in her sleeve. She stepped into the pool, the water cold as winter's breath. The world dissolved into light, and she was no longer on the plateau but in a memory—her mother's last night.
Su-Lan knelt beside Mei-Ling's bed, her face drawn, the pendant glowing in her hands. "Keep this safe," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The Loom's threads are breaking, and the gods will come for us. Play the flute, Mei-Ling. It will guide you when I cannot."
The memory shifted, and Mei-Ling saw her mother standing before a vast loom, its threads stretching into the stars. A shadowy figure—the Masked Scribe?—watched as Su-Lan pulled a single thread, glowing gold, and wove it into the pendant. The Loom shuddered, and a crack like thunder split the sky. Su-Lan fled, pursued by figures in silver robes, their voices chanting of betrayal.
Mei-Ling's chest tightened, tears stinging her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered to the vision. But the memory dissolved, replaced by a new scene: Mei-Ling, alone, playing the flute by the river, her heart heavy with guilt for not saving her mother. The regret was a weight, pulling at her like a thread she couldn't cut.
"Enough!" Mei-Ling shouted, her voice echoing in the void. She raised the flute and played, the notes sharp and defiant, cutting through the visions. The pool rippled, and the images shattered, leaving only the lantern's light. Mei-Ling stumbled back onto the plateau, gasping, the flute still in her hands.
Yue-Xin's eyes softened, though her voice remained firm. "You faced your regret and did not break. The gate is yours."
The black jade gate creaked open, revealing a staircase descending into a cavern of starlight, where threads of light pulsed like veins. The lantern floated toward it, its flame steady now. But as Mei-Ling stepped forward, a shadow moved behind her—a figure in black-scaled armor, Lin-Xi, her jian sword gleaming.
"You're predictable, Wu girl," Lin-Xi said, her voice cold. "The Court of the Azure Star thanks you for opening the gate. Now, hand over the pendant, or I'll take it from your corpse."
Mei-Ling gripped the flute, the lantern's light flaring at her side. The Night of Shattered Veils was here, and the Temple of Unseen Threads waited below—but so did Lin-Xi's blade.