The sky burned red as the second night in this strange realm drew in like a veil, blanketing the village of Sael'keth in an unnatural glow. The Blood Moon had risen.
Elara sat by the wooden window frame, watching its ascent with unease. Her fingers traced the carved rune symbols along the edge of the sill, each of them glowing faintly as if reacting to her presence.
She wasn't alone.
"Still awake?" a deep voice broke the silence behind her.
She turned slowly to see Caelum standing in the doorway. He had changed into a loose tunic of dark blue linen, one she hadn't seen before, embroidered with faint silver thread in swirling constellations.
"I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "The sky… it feels like it's watching me."
Caelum stepped closer, his boots silent against the polished stone floor. "That's because it is. The Blood Moon sees more than you think." He paused. "And so does the Order."
She turned back to the window, unable to shake the feeling that the moon's crimson light pierced more than clouds—it pierced truth.
"You've heard of the prophecy, haven't you?" he asked gently.
Elara nodded. "Only fragments. Whispered in dying tongues. Something about a Weaver… and a Threshold."
Caelum knelt beside her, his face lit by the eerie red hue outside. "In this realm, the moons are more than ornaments. Each one governs a force—memory, time, will, desire. The Blood Moon is the Moon of Oaths. And tonight… oaths become unbreakable."
Her heart quickened. "What does that mean for me?"
"You carry the Sigil of Aevara," he said, pointing to the glowing mark on her wrist. "And with it, the right to awaken the Loom."
"The Loom?" she echoed.
He looked at her, truly looked, with the kind of gaze that made people confess secrets they hadn't even realized they were keeping. "The Loom that binds fates. The one that connects all living threads across this fractured realm. You are not just summoned, Elara. You were chosen."
"But I'm not ready," she whispered. "I didn't ask for any of this. I don't even know who I am here."
"You will," he said, rising. "And when the time comes, you'll have to choose: protect the pattern or unravel it."
Suddenly, a tremor rippled through the floor.
A blast of light surged from the northern horizon, where the ancient ruins of Yhren lay buried beneath stone and silence. The runes on Elara's wrist flared in response, scorching hot against her skin.
Caelum stiffened. "They've begun early."
"Who?" she asked, breath caught.
"The Shattered Choir. The cult who believes in remaking fate by destroying it. They must've sensed your arrival."
Just then, the door slammed open behind them. A girl no older than sixteen stumbled in, robes torn, blood smeared across her cheeks.
"Master Caelum!" she gasped. "The wards on the outer ring are falling!"
He moved instantly, catching her before she collapsed. "Tari, where's the rest of the Vanguard?"
She shook her head weakly. "Gone. Shadows took them. They moved through the forest like mist. One touched Ronnel and he… he turned to ash."
Elara's breath caught in her throat.
"We have to move," Caelum said, pulling a silver vial from his cloak and pressing it to Tari's lips. "Elara, come. We can't let them reach the Loom's heart."
But even as he said the words, another tremor shook the ground.
Elara's vision swam for a moment. In that instant, she wasn't in the cottage. She was floating—adrift—in a dark place filled with whispering threads. All around her were voices, too many to distinguish, but one rose above the rest.
A voice she knew.
"We do not break fate, Elara. We reweave it."
She blinked—and the vision was gone.
"Elara!" Caelum barked, dragging her to her feet. "Snap out of it. We're out of time."
She grabbed his hand, something electric passing between them. "Then let's run toward it."
He stared at her, surprised by the steel in her voice. Then he nodded. "As you wish, Threadbearer."
Tari's eyes widened at the title, but there was no time to ask questions.
Outside, the Blood Moon cast twisted shadows across the valley as three dark figures emerged at the forest's edge. Cloaked in garments of drifting void and stitched mouths, they began to chant in unison.
The runes on Elara's wrist pulsed violently.
"I can hear them," she said.
"They're trying to unravel your thread," Caelum said grimly. "You have to resist. Or worse, they'll splice you into their own pattern."
"I don't even know how," she cried.
Caelum leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "Then trust me."
He pulled a blade from his cloak—curved, obsidian, and etched with a single name.
He cut his palm and pressed it to hers.
"By the Blood Moon's Oath," he whispered, "I swear to protect your thread, Elara of Earth, until the Loom unravels or the sky forgets its stars."
She felt the magic surge between them, binding, alive.
The shadows screamed in response.
But Elara stood tall. She was done running from her own reflection in this strange new world. She would find the Loom. She would uncover the truth.
And if the Blood Moon demanded an oath, she would give one of her own.
"I swear," she said, locking eyes with Caelum, "to find the pattern… and never let it fall into their hands."
The mark on her wrist ignited with blinding light.
And somewhere, beyond the veil of sky and stars, something ancient stirred.