The Realms stirred.
Not with the fury of battle or the silence of dread, but with an ancient awareness—like the world itself drawing breath for the first time in ages.
Seven Fragments now pulsed in rhythm within Lyra's chest. No longer separate, no longer foreign. They were her. And she was them.
She stood on the deck of the Stellar Vow, now transformed by the unified fragments. Its hull shimmered with threads of starlight, humming with power not even the Ancients could name.
The others gathered.
Kaelen, silver-eyed and resolute.
Nysera, veiled in the twilight of her oathbound heritage.
Elian, his voice now echoing faint harmonic whispers, touched by proximity to the Weave.
Vaelion, silent but watchful. A guardian of secrets.
And beyond them, the sky itself bent.
"So," Elian muttered, "what does one do after assembling the seven most powerful shards of existence?"
"You weave," Nysera said softly "That's what they were always meant for."
"Into what?" Kaelen asked.
Lyra looked up.
And saw the Shattered Realms for what they truly were.
Fractured.
Not just by Serian, but by time, grief, choice, and silence.
Each Realm floating like a broken glass pane, refracting what little hope remained.
But Lyra saw the threads—invisible to most, glowing to her eyes now.
They connected everything. Every Realm. Every soul.
But they were cut.
Not severed entirely, not dead—but sleeping. Waiting.
"I need to go to the Loomheart," Lyra whispered "Where it all began, Where Serian first broke the weave."
"That place was sealed before the Aeonfall," Vaelion said "Even Serian fears its truth."
"He fears what it will remind him of."
She met his eyes.
"You were with him, Vaelion, You remember."
Silence.
Then a slow nod.
"He once believed, as you do now. That the Weave was not just power—but purpose. But it betrayed him. Or he believed it did."
"He lost someone," Lyra guessed.
"He lost himself," Vaelion said "And he's been trying to replace that loss ever since."
The journey to the Loomheart was unlike any voyage.
They didn't sail through space.
They sailed through memory.
Each fragment burned brighter the closer they came, guiding the way.
And as they moved, others joined them.
Small ships from minor Realms. Nomads who remembered legends. Starborn who had waited generations for a sign.
They followed Lyra's trail like pilgrims, drawn by a light they could not name.
The final battle wasn't just hers.
It never had been.
At the edge of everything stood the Loomheart.
Not a fortress.
Not a city.
But a colossal tangle of luminous thread, stretching infinitely, glowing with every color, vibrating with every soul.
Fractured.
Fraying.
Waiting.
"It's beautiful," Kaelen murmured.
"And broken," Nysera added.
"Not for long," Lyra said.
She stepped forward—and the Loom trembled.
And then…
He came.
Serian didn't descend like a tyrant.
He appeared—wrapped in silks of dark energy, fragments orbiting him too—twisted reflections of hers.
His face was older now. Lined with pain, pride, and an exhaustion deeper than death.
"You came to fix what you don't understand," he said "You'll doom us all."
"No," Lyra said "You already did. I came to remember."
The Weave flared.
And Serian attacked.
The battle echoed across Realms.
Not just energy—but stories clashed.
His shadows: powered by forgotten names, erased truths.
Her flames: shaped by memory, forged in choice.
They collided with screams and songs, fire and void, thread and blade.
Kaelen fought beside her, his sword deflecting spears of pure sorrow.
Nysera weaved shields from silence itself.
Elian unraveled echoes of Serian's lies, song by song.
And Vaelion—
Vaelion stepped into Serian's path.
"You were my brother," he whispered.
"Then die with her," Serian replied.
But Vaelion didn't attack.
He knelt.
And sang.
A song only two souls could know.
The one they sang before the Realms fell.
A lullaby for the lost.
Serian staggered.
His rage cracked.
And Lyra stepped into the heart of the Loom.
The threads rose to meet her.
She let go of fear.
She let go of power.
And she wove.
Seven Fragments ignited.
Each thread—past, present, alternate—found its place.
And the Loom…
Healed.
Serian screamed.
His shadows peeled away.
Not destroyed—returned. To where they belonged.
And he…
He fell.
Not as an enemy.
But as a man.
Alone.
Lyra caught him.
"Why?" he rasped "Why save me?"
"Because you were part of the story too," she whispered.
And the Loom shone.
Every Realm shimmered.
Not restored to what they were—
—but reconnected.
United not by force.
But by threads of choice.
Lyra opened her eyes.
And saw a universe whole again.
The Shattered Realms were shattered no more.