The world was coming apart.
Not with sound or light, but with stillness — the kind that follows a breath that will never return. Across the fabric of existence, threads shivered, snapped, and fell into nothingness. Even the gods, what remained of them, went quiet.
Somewhere in that silence, something moved.
A being of light and ruin — the one mortals once called Weaver — floated above the dying pattern of the world. They had watched countless destinies take form and fade, and for the first time, they were powerless to stop it.
The Heir of Shadows had fallen.
Humanity was gone.
The pattern had completed itself.
Everything had ended in the exact opposite way it was meant to.
The Spell — their greatest work — had failed.
The monster it was meant to imprison had awakened.
And the weapon forged to kill it — humanity — was fracturing under the weight of the Unknown.
They had crafted the Spell to be perfect.
The world would fall, awakenings would spread, the worthy would rise, the weak would nurture — and one day, the strongest of mortals would stand before the corrupted god as its equal. That was the promise they had inscribed into the bones of creation.
But the pattern no longer obeyed them.
A shadow had defied its purpose.
The Daemon's hands — six of them, trembling with contained wrath — hovered over the sundered lattice of reality. Light spilled from their fingertips, but it did not heal the wound. Every adjustment, every correction, only deepened the wrongness.
Weaver looked into the possibilities, and for the first time in eternity, they found no ending that led to victory.
The Unknown would not die.
The Spell would fail.
Humanity would vanish before fulfilling its duty.
All because one mortal refused to stay bound…
No — it was also their fault. It was purely arrogance to think that they could predict the exact course the world would when the tapestry was shattered. Who would have thought that not even Weaver, the Daemon of Fate, could fully understand Fate?
Everything was now fated to end, to be swallowed by the Void.
But they could not accept it.
They had always woven what was. But now, at the edge of all endings, they reached for something that wasn't.
Their hands tore through the threads of creation, breaking what they had once sworn to protect. Each movement was desperate, trembling between prayer and madness. Their own essence began to unravel, spilling into the torn fabric of the world.
They bled light that turned to color.
They tore flesh that turned to silk.
They burned their name and made from it a new one.
They wound them together, ignoring the pain. Divinity frayed from their flesh, each pulse of power devouring what little remained of their being. Their voice broke as they wove.
"One thread… born from ruin. Not divine. Not bound."
The fabric of reality shuddered in protest. The Tapestry itself recoiled, unwilling to accept a thread that was not meant to be. Weaver pressed harder, bleeding light, forcing the anomaly into existence.
"If fate bends, she will remember its shape. If destiny dies, she will mourn it back to life."
They reached for the one thing that remained of their being — the source of their sight, the eye that had watched the birth of time, through which they had seen every possible end.
They tore it from their face.
Reality howled.
Threads screamed.
The pattern began to devour them.
They didn't care. They pressed the burning eye into the cocoon of threads, sealing it within the shape forming from their own dissolution.
At the center of their unraveling, a shape took form — a human. She drew her first breath as the last one left them.
Her hair, deep obsidian streaked with faint silver, like the night sky reflecting starlight on moving water. Her eyes were mirrors of contradiction — one dark, like an onyx gem; the other burning faintly with something older than time.
Weaver looked upon her with what remained of their consciousness — a creation born not from command, but defiance.
A thread that should not exist.
"Guide him," they whispered. "Guide them to where I could not."
As the words left their mouth, the eyes of the woman before them opened and met the fearsome mask of the Daemon.
That was the first and only time she saw the face of her creator — her parent — in person.
And then the light went out.
The last Divine fell apart, scattering into silence.
The new being — Weaver's final act of defiance — drifted downward, through time, through the shattered remnants of possibility, until the world remembered how to breathe again.
It was dawn above Bastion.
The rain had just ended, and the sky was the color of faded steel.
At the end of the street stood an elegant one-story cottage of brown brick, with a sloping tiled roof and a tall chimney. A sign above the door read:
Sunny's Brilliant Emporium: Café & Memory Boutique.
Inside, someone was sweeping, humming as he prepared to open his shop.
Across the street, stood a woman whose choices would change what was meant to be — a woman fated to weave a new path for humanity.
One saw the world.
The other saw how it would end.
And for the first time in a very long time, nothing ended at all.
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Sup fellow SS Readers, I'm Gyre and this is my first ever fanfic, this is a plot that's been wandering in my mind for a while now and I've finally made my mind and decided to put it into words; I'm really excited for this journey, although this chapter is short this is only a prologue, I want to keep chapters between 1.5k - 2.5k, if I'm inspired maybe more (I may also increase it in the future).
Since SS lore is still expanding, the fic's plot might become a bit inconsistent, but I'll try to keep it on track as much as possible — or I can use the butterfly effect and changing fate as an excuse ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ — as the main story progresses.
Just some heads up, the writing is 99% human made, you might notice I use "—" but it isn't because AI wrote it, it's because I like to avoid using commas and parentheses to keep it smoother and less informal. I'm not gonna be an hypocrite and say I didn't use AI at all, it helps me find words and expressions to keep up with the exotic "G3" description standards — excuse me, I'm one of the classic "English is not my first language" writers — and because of grammar concerns.
If you enjoy it your feedback would be really appreciated, and if you find any mistakes, be it grammar or story wise, please comment so I can fix it and make the fic as enjoyable as possible :)