The lanterns flickered in the dimly lit tailor’s shop, their golden glow casting long shadows over the rolls of velvet and silk. The scent of freshly cut fabric mingled with the faint aroma of candle wax as Lyria leaned over her workbench, the steady rhythm of her needle piercing the silence of the night.

She was the last to leave, as always. The other seamstresses had long since retired to their chambers, but Lyria found solace in the quiet hum of the shop. Her fingers traced the delicate embroidery of the gown she had been working on—a commission for the queen herself. It was nearly finished, but something about the pattern felt… incomplete.

A sigh escaped her lips as she stretched her aching fingers. Perhaps she was being too much of a perfectionist. Or perhaps, she thought, glancing toward the farthest corner of the shop, it was because of the loom.

It had always been there, covered with a heavy silk drape, untouched for as long as she had worked in the palace. Rumors surrounded it—whispers among the older seamstresses spoke of magic woven into its golden threads, of a power that once belonged to the Celestial Weavers themselves.

But no one dared to touch it.

Until now.

Something pulled at Lyria, a force she couldn’t name. She rose to her feet, the floor creaking softly beneath her weight as she approached the loom. The air around it felt charged, humming with an energy that made her skin prickle.

With hesitant fingers, she pulled back the silk covering.

Beneath it lay the most exquisite loom she had ever seen. Crafted from dark mahogany, its frame was inlaid with delicate carvings of constellations and swirling patterns that seemed to shift under the flickering light. But it was the threads that stole her breath away—thin strands of gold and silver, shimmering as if woven from pure starlight.

Lyria swallowed, her heart pounding.

She shouldn’t.

She knew she shouldn’t.

But before she could stop herself, her hands moved, reaching for the shuttle. The moment her fingers brushed against the golden thread, a spark danced up her arm, sending warmth flooding through her veins. The sensation was intoxicating, and for a moment, she forgot everything—her duties, the warnings, even the fear that curled in the back of her mind.

She began to weave.

The thread glided smoothly beneath her fingers, forming intricate patterns of light and shadow. She didn’t know what she was creating, only that it felt right. The loom seemed to guide her, whispering secrets in a language she didn’t understand.

Then, the air around her changed.

A gust of wind, though no windows were open, rushed through the shop, sending fabric swaying and candles flickering wildly. The golden threads glowed brighter, and Lyria’s pulse quickened.

Something was happening.

The threads pulsed beneath her fingers, and suddenly, a vision flashed before her eyes—a pair of piercing silver eyes, a crown of obsidian, and a shadow that loomed over Elarion like a storm. And then, a name—

Kael.

The moment the name formed in her mind, the loom shuddered. The golden threads tightened, twisting into an intricate pattern before fading into nothingness.

Lyria gasped, stumbling back. The loom was silent once more, its magic retreating like the tide.

She didn’t understand what had just happened, but deep in her bones, she knew—

She had changed something.

And there would be consequences.

The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of rain and earth as Prince Kael rode through the palace courtyard. The hooves of his black stallion struck the cobblestones with sharp precision, echoing through the empty streets of Elarion’s royal grounds.

He had always preferred the solitude of the night. It was the only time he could breathe without the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

The kingdom saw him as cold, detached—an heir with no heart. And they weren’t wrong.

He had long since accepted his fate.

The curse that had plagued him since birth ensured that no love would ever touch his soul. Any attempt at warmth, at connection, was met with an empty void. He had tried once, as a boy, to love—his mother, his father, even the royal hounds that followed him as a child. But the affection never took root.

It was as if something inside him refused to let it grow.

And so, Kael had stopped trying.

But tonight… something was different.

A strange sensation stirred within him—something unfamiliar, something dangerous. It started as a whisper at the edge of his mind, a soft tug at the strings of his soul. His fingers tightened around the reins, a frown creasing his brow.

It felt as though something had shifted.

As though the very threads of his fate had been altered.

A sharp wind cut through the courtyard, rustling the banners of the royal palace. Kael exhaled, trying to shake the feeling. He was being foolish. He didn’t believe in fate.

Yet, the unease remained.

Pulling his stallion to a halt, he dismounted, his boots striking the stone with practiced ease. The guards at the palace doors straightened as he approached, offering stiff bows.

He barely acknowledged them.

Instead, he strode through the grand halls, his mind heavy with thoughts. The torches lining the walls flickered as he passed, casting long shadows that danced in the corners of his vision.

By the time he reached his chambers, the sensation had only grown stronger.

Something had changed.

And he needed to find out what.

Elsewhere in the Palace…

Lyria sat on the edge of her small cot in the servants’ quarters, her hands trembling in her lap. She hadn’t been able to sleep since she had touched the loom. The golden threads, the vision of Prince Kael—his name still echoed in her mind like a haunting melody.

She had felt it—the moment the pattern had been woven, the moment their fates had entwined.

But what did it mean?

A knock at the door startled her. She shot to her feet, her pulse racing. It was late—too late for visitors.

Cautiously, she pulled the door open.

A hooded figure stood in the dim candlelight, their cloak a deep midnight blue embroidered with constellations. The sight sent a chill down Lyria’s spine. She had heard of them in whispers, in stories meant to keep children in line.

The Guardian of Destiny.

Her voice barely came out as a whisper. “Who are you?”

The figure lowered their hood, revealing an ageless face with eyes that shimmered like the night sky. Their expression was unreadable, but their words carried the weight of prophecy.

“You have done something that cannot be undone, child.”

Lyria swallowed hard, fear curling in her stomach.

“What do you mean?” she asked, though deep down, she already knew.

The Guardian stepped forward, their presence filling the tiny room. “You have touched the threads of fate. You have woven a pattern that was never meant to be. And now, the balance of Elarion teeters on the edge.”

Lyria’s hands clenched at her sides. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Intent does not change the consequences.” The Guardian’s voice was calm but firm. “Prince Kael’s fate was set from the moment of his birth. The curse that bound him was not meant to be broken. And yet, you have altered his path.”

Lyria’s breath caught. “I—altered it?”

The Guardian nodded. “His heart, which was destined to remain untouched, now feels the stirrings of something forbidden. And that, child, is more dangerous than you realize.”

Lyria felt her knees weaken. She gripped the edge of the door for support, her mind racing.

What had she done?

She thought back to the vision, to the golden threads that pulsed with power beneath her fingers. She had changed something within Kael… but what if she had doomed him instead of saving him?

“What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Guardian’s expression darkened. “Now, we see if the kingdom survives what you have unleashed.”

Sleep did not come to Prince Kael that night.

He stood by the open balcony of his chambers, his silver eyes scanning the dark horizon. The stars above Elarion glowed faintly, as if whispering secrets only the gods could hear. The cold night air brushed against his skin, yet he felt a warmth deep in his chest—a foreign sensation he did not recognize.

It unsettled him.

For as long as he could remember, Kael had felt nothing. Not love, not longing, not even the bitter ache of loneliness. He had accepted that his heart was an empty vessel, incapable of holding affection.

Yet now… something had shifted.

A flicker of something unfamiliar—soft, yet insistent—curled in his chest. It was neither pain nor pleasure, but something in between, something dangerous.

He clenched his jaw.

This was wrong.

He knew this was wrong.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.

“Enter,” he commanded, his voice sharper than intended.

The door swung open, revealing his closest advisor, Lord Edrin. Dressed in deep crimson robes, the older man’s sharp eyes flickered with concern as he stepped inside. “Your Highness, forgive the late hour, but there is something you should know.”

Kael turned from the balcony, his expression unreadable. “Speak.”

Edrin hesitated. “The palace seers… they have sensed a disturbance in fate. Something unnatural has occurred.”

Kael’s fingers curled into a fist. He had suspected as much. “And?”

“The stars have shifted, my prince.” Edrin’s voice was grave. “Your destiny has changed.”

Kael’s breath stilled.

A slow, creeping dread unfurled within him. His fate had been sealed since birth—bound by an unbreakable curse. How could it suddenly change?

“How?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge of unease beneath it.

Edrin met his gaze. “We do not yet know. But the High Seer believes that someone has tampered with the celestial threads.”

Kael’s fingers twitched. The celestial threads.

The loom.

His heart pounded, and for the first time in his life, he felt fear.

Something—or someone—had altered his fate.

And he needed to find out who.

In the Servants’ Quarters…

Lyria had not slept.

The Guardian’s words echoed in her mind, each syllable pressing down on her like a heavy stone.

“You have woven a pattern that was never meant to be.”

She sat at the edge of her cot, staring at her hands. Hands that had stitched countless gowns, embroidered the most intricate patterns… and now, hands that had defied fate itself.

She had always believed destiny was unchangeable. That the gods wove the threads of fate with unerring precision. But now, she had proof that it could be altered. That she, a mere seamstress, had the power to unravel and reshape it.

But at what cost?

A soft knock at her door startled her. She jumped to her feet, fear spiking in her chest. The Guardian had warned her that there would be consequences. Had they come for her already?

Taking a deep breath, she hesitantly opened the door.

It was not the Guardian.

It was Lyric, one of the younger apprentice tailors. His brown eyes were filled with excitement, oblivious to the turmoil inside her.

“Lyria, you won’t believe it,” he whispered, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

She swallowed hard. “What is it?”

“The palace is in an uproar.” Lyric’s voice was hushed, but his words carried an unmistakable thrill. “The seers say the stars have shifted. That someone has changed the course of destiny.”

Lyria’s heart stuttered.

Her worst fear had been confirmed.

Lyric leaned closer. “And there’s more. Prince Kael… something is happening to him.”

Lyria gripped the edge of her desk to steady herself. “What do you mean?”

Lyric lowered his voice further. “He’s… feeling.”

Her breath caught.

The prince who was cursed to never love. The prince whose heart had been untouched by warmth or tenderness.

She had changed him.

She had done something that even the gods had deemed impossible.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. She had to fix this. She had to—

A sharp gust of wind swept through the room, though the windows were closed. The candle flames flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

And then, as if summoned by fate itself, a deep, unfamiliar voice echoed through the chamber.

“You.”

Lyria froze.

A figure stood in the doorway, tall and imposing, dressed in dark robes embroidered with silver thread. His silver eyes burned into hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Prince Kael.

She had never been this close to him before. She had only seen him from afar—an untouchable figure of power and cold perfection. But now, standing in the small space of her quarters, he seemed… different.

There was something raw in his gaze, something almost vulnerable beneath the sharp edges of his expression.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Kael stepped forward, his movements controlled but purposeful. “You did something.”

Lyria’s throat went dry. She should deny it. She should run.

But she couldn’t.

Because as much as she wanted to lie, she could feel it too—the invisible thread that now bound them together. A thread that had not existed before she touched the loom.

Kael’s gaze darkened. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

Lyria swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

But the truth was… she had a terrible feeling that she was about to find out.