Chapter 3: The First Thread
The plaza felt less like solid ground and more like a badly patched wound. It trembled under Kael's boots, dust rising around them like a theatrical shroud. The Rift—that pulsating violet gash in the sky—throbbed with such malevolence it almost looked offended by the morning light. Lirien, safely returned but still translucent around the edges, clung to Toren's side, shivering. The recent echo of the past—the brief, cruel tease of laughter and an unbroken city—had left Kael cold. Time wasn't just passing here; it was fraying, and if it unraveled completely, their problems would be significantly worse than a mild sickness.
He gripped the obsidian shard. It felt heavier now, its runes flickering weakly, like a dying battery trying to signal it was done with this whole mess.
"Mara, what do you mean I stirred it?" Kael's voice was strained, edged with a tired urgency. "I'm saving people. That shouldn't be an alarm clock."
Elder Mara hobbled forward, her cane sinking into the cracked earth with a determined thud. She didn't bother offering sympathy.
"The dreams you're pulling them from are not just trances, Kael," she lectured, her eyes fixed on the Rift. "They are threads, tied to something old and terminally grumpy. Every time you cut one, every soul you save, is a slap in the face. You're waking the Weaver Guardian."
"Wakes what?" Toren demanded, pulling Lirien closer. The blacksmith's skepticism was giving way to genuine, panicked fear. "You're talking riddles, woman. Just name the damn thing."
Mara's gaze narrowed, focusing now on the ground beneath their feet. "The Shattered Crown wasn't abandoned by chance. The Weavers left a shadow of their power here. A Guardian. It's been sleeping—feeding on the silence, digesting the scattered minds it caught centuries ago. Now it knows you're fighting back."
Kael's chest felt tight, a band of cold worry squeezing his lungs. "The shadow Lirien saw under the city?"
She nodded, her expression grim. "That is the Vault's heart. The Loom of Fate—or what's left of the power that once ran it. It was calling the dreams to itself. You aren't just answering the call; you're disconnecting its food supply."
He glanced at Lirien, her pale face hidden in Toren's dark shadow. "She's safe now. That's the point."
"For now," Mara confirmed, her tone stripped of any potential comfort. "But the others—Jessa, Korrin, the rest—they are still trapped. And the Rift is visibly growing. Give that Guardian enough time to shift, and you won't be able to go in, let alone come back."
As if on cue, another scream sliced through the air, fainter this time, coming from the plaza's northern edge. Kael's head snapped toward the sound. It was a woman's cry, familiar and haunting: Old Jessa, the knitter, slumped against the crumbling well. Her knitting needles were still clutched in her hands, her eyes wide and staring. Her lips were moving, a whisper lost in the constant, dusty wind: "Threads… too tight… can't breathe…"
"Jessa!" Toren started forward, but Kael grabbed his arm, the urgency of the moment snapping his focus back.
"Wait—I'm the specialist now. I'll go in. You keep Lirien and Jessa safe out here." He pulled the shard from his satchel. Its dim light flared in response to his touch as he moved toward the old woman. Jessa's muttering grew clearer: a chilling prayer for release.
Mara's voice followed him, a distant echo of caution. "Be quick, Kael. The longer you are in the veil, the stronger its hold on you gets. And the more energy the shard consumes."
Kael knelt beside Jessa. Her frail, trembling hands were cold, but the shard pulsed in sync with her shallow, frantic breaths. He pressed the cold stone to his chest, closed his eyes, and with a silent, weary sigh, let the consuming darkness take him. This is my life now, he thought wryly. Emergency plumber for ancient, magical sewage.
The air turned cold and sharp, smelling strongly of polished stone and stale incense. Kael stumbled onto a floor so pristine it felt wrong. His boots echoed loudly in a vast, silent chamber. Pillars of white, flawless marble stretched upward, etched with shimmering golden runes that cast an ethereal, oppressive light. Above, the ceiling was a perfect dome that shimmered with constellations—a mock sky. It was a temple, a Celestial sanctum straight out of Mara's dusty folklore scrolls, radiating a suffocating sense of forgotten perfection.
Jessa stood perfectly centered in the chamber. Her gray hair was loose, and she faced an altar whose surface was a black, rippling mirror reflecting her terrified eyes. Threads of brilliant, agonizing white light coiled around her, tightening with every frantic gasp, binding her arms and legs like the web of a colossal, cosmic spider.
"Jessa!" Kael shouted, sprinting toward her. The marble floor trembled, and the threads snapped taut, lifting her frail body off the ground. She gasped, a choked sob escaping her lips. "Too tight… too many…"
Before he could reach her, a figure rose from the altar's mirror—a magnificent Celestial Guardian. This one wore bright, radiant gold armor, its helm a blank, infuriating mask of golden light. Its sword was a blazing arc of fire that seemed to pulse with malicious, directed consciousness. It was the same entity as before, but bigger, faster, and its sheer presence was a crushing weight on Kael's shoulders.
"Intruder," it boomed, its voice a synthesized chorus of breaking bells. The sound echoed through the chamber like a death knell. "This thread is claimed. You have been warned."
Kael skidded to a halt, the shard flaring instantly in his hand, its power surging in a desperate response to the threat. "She's not yours, you overgrown, golden teapot!" He thrust the shard forward. A thin thread of violet light snapped out, connecting with the Guardian's sword arm. It successfully jerked the massive blade aside, but the knight countered instantly, sweeping its free hand. A wave of searing light washed over Kael like a tidal wave of instant sunburn.
He dove behind a massive marble pillar, the blast shattering its base into an explosion of marble dust and fragments. Pain flared in his side, where the heat grazed him, his cloak instantly smoldering. The smell of burnt fabric filled his nostrils. "Jessa, hold on!" he shouted, peering out from his inadequate cover. She was dangling higher now, the threads biting deep into her wrists, her face pale and stricken with pure, helpless terror.
The Guardian advanced slowly, its flaming sword tracing a glowing arc through the air, performing a deadly dance of light and fury. Kael rolled out, dodging a strike that split the floor beneath him, sending shards flying. He spotted the altar's mirror—its surface rippling, runes glowing faintly at its edges. Another Weaver lock, he realized. But this one is a password, not just a keyhole.
He darted left, feinting a roll, then lunged right as the Guardian swung, the massive blade whistling through the air barely missing his head. The shard pulsed urgently. He willed another thread into existence, this one wrapping tightly around the knight's legs. It stumbled, its balance momentarily failing, and Kael seized the chance—racing to the altar and slamming the shard against the mirror's center.
Nothing. The runes flared, but the lock remained closed. The Guardian, freed from the restraining thread, roared in synthesized fury, its flaming sword arcing down with lethal intent. Kael barely ducked, the blade grazing his shoulder. Hot, sharp blood immediately welled up, stinging the skin—a very real reminder of the stakes.
He gritted his teeth, staring at the runes—spirals, lines, patterns he half-remembered from Mara's endless, boring scrolls. A sequence. "Think, damn it," he muttered, dodging another strike that sent sparks flying. The Guardian's light flared blindingly, but Kael glimpsed Jessa's hands—her knitting needles still clutched in her grasp, glinting gold in the temple's dim light. Threads and needles. The craft of the Weaver.
He scrambled toward her, snatching a needle as the towering Guardian loomed behind him, its sword raised for a final, crushing strike.
"Stay still, you lunatic!" he yelled, jabbing the needle into the altar's mirror. He traced the first rune with trembling, bloodied hands. Snap. A thread instantly snapped loose from Jessa. He carved the second and third runes, desperation overcoming pain. The Guardian bellowed, its form flickering violently, its light dimming as Kael drove the obsidian shard into the final rune of the sequence.
Light exploded outward. The threads binding Jessa vanished in a cascade of brilliance. The Guardian froze, its sword raised, then shattered into a million motes of shimmering gold light, scattering like fallen stars. Jessa fell, and Kael caught her, the entire Celestial chamber dissolving around them in a chaotic whirlwind of light and cold shadow.
Kael gasped awake beside the well, Jessa coughing faintly in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, dazed but alive. "Kael…? The threads… the things I saw…" Her voice was weak, but the palpable relief in her gaze was a greater payment than any salvage contract.
"You're safe," he managed, easing her gently to the ground. Toren rushed over, Lirien trailing behind, their faces etched with anxious relief, and helped the old woman sit up.
"Another one," Toren muttered, rubbing his beard. "How many more of these glorified tantrums before we get to the main villain?"
Kael didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the Rift. It pulsed faster now, its edges jagged and unstable, spilling faint, oily shadows into the plaza—a dark, immediate omen. The shard in his hand felt unnervingly heavier, and its runes were noticeably dimmer, a physical reminder of the energy toll these battles were taking. He stood, wincing at the hot, sharp cut on his shoulder, and faced Mara as she hobbled toward him, her expression hardening.
"The Vault's next, isn't it?" he asked, his voice low and devoid of hope. The weight of inevitability was a physical thing.
She nodded, her cane tapping a slow, somber rhythm against the ground. "You're cutting its supply lines, Kael. It's no longer just defending itself. It's fighting back with intent."
"Fighting?" He glanced first at the traumatized Jessa, then at the malevolent slit in the sky. "That Guardian—it wasn't just a dream image. It knew I was an intruder. It knew I was there to stop it."
Mara's face tightened with sudden, cold concern. "The shadow is awake, Kael. It's not just feeding anymore—it's hunting the one who keeps ruining its meals."
A low, subterranean rumble shook the ground—not the quick, jarring tremor from before, but something deeper, rising from the very bedrock, a primal, angry force awakening. The Rift flared violently, and a voice—soft, ancient, woven with utter malice—whispered through the silent, dusty air, wrapping around Kael like a noose.
"Kael…"
He froze. The shard burned cold against his palm, a chilling counterpoint to the heat of battle that still lingered in his veins. Toren cursed loudly, yanking Lirien and Jessa back and instinctively shielding them. Mara gripped Kael's uninjured arm, her voice suddenly frantic, a thin lifeline in the chaos.
"The Vault, now. Before it finds you first and stops this little rescue operation permanently."