The pale moon cast its glow across the mists of Everloom, like threads of silver stretched over a canvas of shadow. Whispers carried through the kingdom spoke of the Loom—an unseen weave of souls that bound every life to a fate not of their choosing.
That night, **Selena**, twenty-five, stood on a cliff's edge. The wind clawed at her cloak, biting cold against her skin. Her eyes, once bright with trust, now brimmed with exhaustion and the sting of betrayal—betrayal by the one she trusted most.
"So this is it… just another puppet dancing to the Loom," she murmured, her words stolen by the wind.
Footsteps echoed behind her. A tall figure emerged, the gleam of a sacred blade glinting in the moonlight. Once, that sword was a symbol of honor—a mark of the **Four Knights of Everloom**.
"You're harder to kill than I thought, Selena," a low, sardonic voice rang out.
She turned. There stood **Alex**—a broad-shouldered man with dark hair, once a knight sung of in legends. But the man before her was no legend; he was a survivor, stripped of glory, haunted by choices unseen.
"Alex…" Her voice cracked, laced with anger, and—strangely—relief.
He smirked, tilting his head. "Don't look at me like that. If you keep staring, I might believe you actually missed me."
"Miss you? You abandoned everyone!"
"Because of the Loom," he replied flatly. Yet in his eyes, something flickered—doubt, regret, or perhaps guilt.
Selena clenched her fists. Her heart thundered, not from affection but from the wild spark of hope. For if Alex still carried secrets about the Loom… he might be the only key to unraveling the curse that bound their kingdom.
The wind howled louder, a whisper threading through it: *The strands are shifting…*
Above them, a golden streak split the foggy sky—threads of destiny woven anew.
**Thus began a path neither of them expected: one of blood, biting humor, and a slow-burning love that fate itself could not silence.**