The incense was lighter now.
Only the low hum of the temple wind lingered, trailing through the open golden archways that led into the deeper sanctum. I walked quietly, the silk of my ceremonial robes whispering against the thread-woven floors.
At my side, Perephone kept a hand on her lance—not out of habit, but ceremony.
And just ahead, at the carved door of the old sunroom, stood my mother.
Lady Gadriel waited patiently, her eyes closed but her posture poised, as if she had seen us the moment I stepped from the altar.
"Is that you, my star?" she asked, head tilting gently toward my footsteps.
"It's me, mother."
She stepped forward, hands stretched just enough to feel me through the air.
"Come. Let me touch your face."
I leaned into her hands. They were warm, soft, and faintly scented with the sacred oils she taught me to prepare as a child.
"Seventeen now," she whispered, running her fingers over my cheeks. "The threads have shifted. You feel… brighter. But heavier."
"She's shining alright," Perephone added from behind, smirking. "Shining and dangerous."
"And still human," I murmured.
Lady Gadriel gave a soft smile and turned toward the sound of Perephone's voice.
"Thank you, Master Perephone. You shaped her with fire."
"She shaped herself with pain," Perephone replied, leaning against the wall. "I just lit the path and kicked her down it."
That made my mother chuckle, soft and elegant.
"Then I'm thankful you did."
We stood there, the three of us—teacher, mother, daughter. No formality. No divine titles. Just a shared stillness under moon-threaded light.
"Mother," I finally said. "Did you… ever feel trapped by the prophecy?"
She paused, turning her blind eyes to me as if they could still see the stars.
"I did. Once. But then I had you."
A silence passed, soft as silk.
"You are not the prophecy, Luna. You are the answer it didn't expect."
Two weeks had passed since the Temple of Threads named me a Weaver.
The woven ribbon still hung from my wrist—faded slightly, but warm with light when I touched it.
Today, I bled again.My shoulder ached. My palms were calloused. My breathing sharp.And I still couldn't land a clean strike on Perephone.
We sparred in the upper garden arena, where the temple's wind-cut flags danced with each clash of our weapons. I moved as I was taught—low, quick, balanced—but her lance met mine with practiced precision and age-wrought cruelty.
"Too high again," Perephone barked, knocking me off balance with a sharp jab of her foot.
I stumbled back, corrected my footing, and struck.
Clang—!
She blocked it effortlessly, then twisted, knocking the wind from my lungs with the shaft of her weapon.
"Better. You didn't hesitate this time."
I dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
On the edge of the sparring platform sat my mother, draped in ivory shawls, her blind gaze turned toward us, hands folded on her lap. Though she could not see, she had always known every sound of movement—every wince, every breath. She had never missed a moment of my training.
"You're growing stronger," she said quietly, smiling in my direction. "Your strikes have more conviction."
"They still lack context," Perephone muttered, tossing her lance aside. "Strength without vision is just a blade waiting to fall on the wrong neck."
She offered me a hand. I took it, rising.
"Which is why I've decided something."
"Oh?" my mother asked, tilting her head.
Perephone turned to me.
"Luna. You've spent your entire life in these mountains—learning prophecy, wielding fate like a spear, surrounded by people who see you as a relic or an answer."
"...And?"
"It's time you step out into the world. Leave the loom and walk into chaos."
I blinked. "You mean... a pilgrimage?"
Perephone shook her head.
"No. I mean real dirt, real cities. The Kingdom of Cindral. I want you to attend the Aetherfall Academy."
The name hit me like a cold wind.
"That's... where nobility train. Where the elite gather for war studies, spirit control, and politics."
"Exactly," Perephone replied. "They won't worship you there, Luna. They'll challenge you, question you. They'll see you as a girl, not a goddess. You need that."
"And what of the Order?" I asked, uncertain. "What of Solviel?"
"If she's worth anything," Perephone said without missing a beat, "she'll follow you."
My mother stood then, walking slowly until she reached me. She touched my wrist, fingers brushing against the woven thread that still clung there.
"Your thread does not belong to the temple anymore," she said softly."It belongs to you."
She paused.
"Go. See the world for yourself. I would rather you return with wounds and truth than remain here with gilded illusions."
The wind shifted.
And in the distance, I could already feel it—the pull of a new beginning.
A world not shaped by temples, but by people.
Aetherfall Academy.Cindral.My story, finally unwoven from prophecy's shadow.
"How do I get there then?" I asked, brushing dust from my shoulder as I turned toward Perephone.
She gave a shrug, half casual, half smug.
"It's simple. You're the daughter of a respected guild family and my student. I could sponsor you personally. The academy would accept you immediately."
My mother, still resting at the edge of the training platform, tilted her head slightly.
"Is that so?" she said gently, her voice measured with soft skepticism.
"You don't have to worry, Lady Gadriel," Perephone added, stepping forward and folding her arms. "I'll accompany Luna on her journey. I know the roads that pave the way to Cindral better than most kings know their own court."
My mother gave a quiet smile, though I could sense her unease.
"Then I entrust her to you, not as a seer, but as a mother. Promise me she will arrive safe."
Perephone's usual sharpness faded, just for a breath.
"You have my word," she said. "She'll get there stronger than when she left."
I looked between the two of them—the warrior who forged me and the mother who raised me—and for the first time in my life, I felt the chain loosen.
Not break. Not yet.
But loosen.
"Then it's decided," I said, voice steadier than I expected. "I'll go."
As I stepped beyond the inner sanctum, the air shifted.
The golden archway that once felt like protection now loomed like a farewell gate—etched in threads of light, silent in its glow. The temple grounds stretched out in full before me, and so did the people.
They had all gathered.
The disciples, the weavers, the flamekeepers.Even the children I once taught the names of stars to.All stood in quiet stillness as I emerged.
Their faces carried no ceremony. No divine awe. Just... warmth. Like they were seeing me, not the Vessel.
I walked slowly, my boots clicking softly against the marble threadstones.
And at the end of the path—beneath the final sun-drenched archway—stood my mother.
She wore robes of soft pearl and silver, her staff resting gently beside her. Though blind, she turned her head as I neared, her senses reaching for me long before I spoke.
"I knew your footsteps wouldn't falter," she said.
I stopped just before her, unsure whether to bow or embrace her. She made the choice for me—reaching forward to gently cradle my face one last time.
"You carry not just our blood... but our forgiveness. Do not fear your own path, Luna. Even if you unravel it."
My throat tightened.
"Will you be okay, mother?"
"The threads remain here. My place is with them," she whispered. "But your place… was never meant to stay woven."
Off to the side, another presence lingered.
High Seer Vareon, robes shimmering with quiet moon-thread, stood watching us beneath the shade of the final pillar. On each arm clung his twin daughters—one with curious eyes, the other half-asleep in the crook of his shoulder.
He inclined his head as our eyes met.
"She will do well," he said softly to no one in particular.
"If you try to preach again, I'll hurl your ceremonial staff off this mountain," Perephone muttered, appearing beside me with a raised brow.
"No preaching," Vareon replied, smiling faintly. "Only watching. And remembering."
Perephone gave me a nod.
"Time to go. The path to Cindral won't wait for prophecies or goodbyes."
I turned one last time, took in the temple, the mountain sky, the people who shaped me—and let the silence bury my hesitation.
Then I stepped forward.
One foot after the other.
The Loom behind me.The world ahead.
The first day of travel was painted in soft grey and quiet wind.
We descended the highlands in silence, the towering temple spires shrinking behind us as the mountain roads gave way to winding cliff trails. Beneath us, the vast kingdom of Cindral stretched like a quilt of misty green and stone towns, stitched together by rivers and roads.
I had never seen so far before.
"It's... endless," I said, unable to hide the awe in my voice.
"That's just one province," Perephone said dryly. "Cindral's massive. Bigger than any single kingdom from the old Mourning Era. Even after the Golden Peace, they never stopped expanding."
She walked with a confident pace, cloak fluttering, her lance strapped across her back. Unlike me, she didn't seem burdened by the road or the weight of change.
"You've been to Cindral before?" I asked, adjusting the strap of my satchel.
"Lived there. Trained nobles. Broke a few lords' noses. I even taught a king once—though that didn't last long. He lost to me in three bouts and banned me from the palace out of embarrassment."
I blinked. "You trained royalty?"
"Briefly. But they hated that I never bowed."
She glanced at me with a faint grin.
"That's the thing about Cindral. It's proud. Sophisticated. Brutal in its own elegant way. Politics run thicker than blood, and secrets get you further than strength."
"Sounds... charming."
"It's dangerous," she corrected, her tone leveling. "But you'll be fine. You already know how to see through people."
We passed a moss-covered shrine, long-abandoned, its statues chipped and overgrown with ivy. A fox spirit sat curled beneath it, watching us with lazy golden eyes before vanishing into smoke.
"What about the Academy?" I asked. "Why send me there?"
Perephone didn't answer immediately.
"Because Aetherfall Academy is the one place in Cindral where power, vision, and legacy all collide. It's where the world decides what tomorrow looks like. And if you want to change your fate—if you really want to be more than prophecy—you need to understand how that world works."
She paused.
"And… because that place will challenge you in ways I no longer can."
"So it's not just about becoming stronger?"
"No," she said. "It's about learning who you are when no one calls you chosen."
We walked a little longer before she added, almost casually:
"Besides, Solviel's been too quiet. That place might wake her up."
I looked away, uncertain.
"...You really think so?"
"Who knows? Maybe she's waiting for you to find something out here. Or maybe she's scared."
"Spirits don't feel fear," I said automatically.
Perephone gave a low chuckle.
"You keep telling yourself that, Luna."