When villages fell apart and cities crumbled beneath storms and shifting earth, a child was born who brought neither hope nor celebration. In the small, isolated village of Draemoor, far from the great kingdoms and their kings, a boy came into the world whose very birth inspired fear and whispers of mockery. News of his arrival traveled quickly through the spiritual currents, but priests were hesitant to visit. Few dared approach the child, sensing the danger in his presence.
Yet one priest, clad in deep indigo robes embroidered with silver sigils that shimmered faintly in candlelight, braved the journey across jagged hills and mist-choked forests to see him. The priest entered the modest home, his staff tapping softly against the floor, and a chill ran down his spine. He knelt beside the cradle and spoke with a voice both grave and measured. "Fear trembles in my body. This child is an Unraveler."
The father, a tall man with a strong frame, frowned in confusion and alarm. "An Unraveler? What is that?"
The priest's gaze met the parents' eyes, steady and unflinching. "An Unraveler is one who possesses a rare and dangerous power. He can cut the threads of reality itself, breaking apart anything he touches or concentrates upon. His gift can be both destructive and defensive, and it carries great peril."
The mother, pale and trembling, shifted from the sleeping infant and clung to her husband, tears glistening in her eyes. "So this child is a destroyer," she whispered, her voice breaking. "He is evil by nature."
The priest shook his head slowly. "No mortal defines the heart of the Unraveler. But know this: each time he uses his power, a fragment of his life fades, leaving him weaker and vulnerable. Even he is not spared the cost of his gift."
The father's fists tightened, anger and fear warring across his face. "Is there no way to rid ourselves of him? Could he not be killed before his power grows?"
The priest's voice became stern, heavy with warning. "If you were to harm him, the world itself would be doomed. The gods have decreed the approach of the Time of Destruction. Every hundred years, the threads choose a Destroyer and a Protector. Once chosen, this cannot be reversed. Any attempt to tamper with destiny would invite the wrath of the gods themselves."
The father's shoulders slumped in despair. "But we did not ask for a child like this."
The priest inclined his head solemnly. "He is yours because once the thread of life has chosen, it cannot be withdrawn. It can never be undone."
He paused, then continued, his eyes darkening with grave importance. "And know this: wherever there is an Unraveler, there shall also be a Weaver."
The father's brow furrowed further. "A Weaver?"
The priest's lips pressed into a thin line. "A Weaver is one who can mend the threads of reality, restoring what is broken, repairing what is lost, and keeping balance where there is ruin. The child you hold is not that, and you may envy such a fate."
The mother's hands shook as she stared at the infant. "Why could we not have a child like that?"
"They are not alike," the father said quietly.
"Exactly," the priest confirmed. "They are opposites. They must never cross paths. Should they meet, reality itself becomes unstable, torn apart by the clash of their powers."
As if sensing the weight of destiny pressing upon him, the baby began to cry, sharp and piercing. No one reached for him, for the air seemed heavy with fear. But a small boy, standing silently in the corner, stepped forward. His eyes were bright with stubborn courage. He reached for the infant, but their mother's hand lashed out.
"Where are you going? Do not touch that thing," she hissed.
"Mother, let me go!" the boy protested. "He is crying, and he is my baby brother, not a thing to fear!"
The mother hesitated, torn between terror and her older child's plea. The boy's hands closed gently around the infant, holding him close as the baby's cries continued. For the first time that day, the sound of life, fearful, powerful, and unstoppable, filled the room without judgment, hinting at the storm the child would one day bring into the world.
Eighteen Years Later.
"Kael, where are you?"
A tall boy called out as he walked to the back of the house. His footsteps slowed when he saw Kael crouched low, pale hands pressed into the earth, cracks crawling outward in jagged lines.
"There you are," his brother sighed, frowning. "What are you doing again? I told you to stop making cracks on the ground. If Mother and Father see, they'll make a fuss."
Kael lifted his head, his skin white as bone, his dull blue eyes shadowed yet sharp. He stood, brushing the dirt from his clothes. "And what will they do?" His voice was bitter. "Curse me again? Wish me dead? Nothing new."
His brother stepped forward and ruffled his hair gently. "You need to be careful, Kael. Come inside. I'm sure you haven't eaten a thing. I made a lot of sales today."
Kael allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "Yes, I will, Aron."
Inside, the two brothers shared a meal. Laughter flickered across the table, fragile, like sunlight breaking through a storm. For a moment, Kael almost felt normal.
Then a thunderous voice shattered it.
"What is this devil doing in my house?"
Their father stormed in, his face twisted with disgust. Behind him, their mother entered, her gaze sharp, burning with contempt.
"He is not wrong," she spat. "This boy is cursed. Always ripping things apart with those unnatural hands. The villagers are already whispering. If the king finds out, he will kill us all."
Aron pushed himself to his feet, his voice rising in fury. "That doesn't mean you can call him that! He is my brother. Nothing is wrong with him!"
Kael stood silent, his throat tight, as his father turned away and disappeared into his room. Moments later, he returned, gun in hand.
"If the gods will not rid us of this cursed boy, then I will."
The air froze. Aron's eyes widened.
"Father, no!" he cried, throwing himself forward. He shoved Kael aside just as the gun roared.
The shot cracked the silence.
Aron staggered, clutching his chest as blood bloomed across his shirt. He collapsed, his body crumpling like broken glass.
"No… no, no, no!" Kael dropped beside him, shaking, his hands pressing desperately against the wound. "Stay with me, Aron. Please, stay with me. I'll take you to the doctor. They'll treat you. Just hold on... please!"
Aron's breathing was shallow, his eyes already dimming. "Kael… you have to run. They'll come after you. They'll kill you."
"No!" Kael shook his head fiercely, tears blurring his sight. "I can't leave you here. I'll save you. Just hang on!"
With the last of his strength, Aron clutched his brother's arm. "Run, Kael. Please… run."
The door burst open. Their mother rushed in, her face a mask of rage, dragging villagers behind her. Their torches blazed, their voices a storm.
"There he is!" she shrieked, pointing at Kael. "That devil killed my son! Kill him!"
The villagers roared. "Monster!" "Cursed one!" "He'll doom us all!"
Kael froze, staring at them, his chest heaving.
"Run, Kael," Aron whispered one last time. His hand fell limp. His eyes closed forever.
Something inside Kael shattered.
Tears streaming, he stood and bolted through the back, his heart pounding. The villagers surged after him, their torches casting shadows through the night.
"Catch him!"
"Don't let him escape!"
"He'll bring ruin to us all!"
Kael ran. With every step, the earth cracked beneath him, long jagged scars tearing across the ground, separating earth from earth. Trees split. Stones crumbled. The forest shook.
But no matter how far he ran, he could still hear their voices. His mother's shrill cry. His father's silence. The villagers' hatred. His brother's dying whisper.
Run, Kael.
At last, when his legs gave out, Kael collapsed deep within the forest. With trembling hands, he split the ground wide and sank into the hollow crack, hiding himself in the dark.
There, beneath the earth, Kael wept. He wailed until his throat broke, his grief echoing in the hollow dark.
The only person who had ever loved him... the only one who ever saw him as more than a curse... was gone.
And Kael blamed himself.
Two years later.
Kael wandered through a lonely forest, his eyes carrying the shadow of grief. The air smelled of damp leaves, the silence heavy. And there, beneath the trees, he saw her...
A girl, sitting on the ground, her face streaked with tears.
Elara.
Two souls who had lost everything. Two lives scarred by tragedy. Two fates forbidden to cross... yet pulled together by the same thread.