Chapter 1: The Unwoven Thread

Liora had spent her life watching the Celestial Loom, but she had never imagined she would stand beneath it alone, past curfew, with its golden threads whispering in the air like strands of captured starlight.

The Loom hovered at the heart of Velnara, an intricate web of silver filaments stretching into the endless sky. Every thread carried the fate of a living soul, shifting and shimmering as choices were made. The Master Weavers claimed that only they could decipher its patterns, but Liora suspected even they did not fully understand its secrets.

Tonight, however, she was not here to admire it. She was here because of a mistake.

The parchment in her hands trembled as she unrolled it, revealing a constellation of inked lines and symbols she had never seen before. It was a record from the archives—one she should not have found.

She had been tasked with retrieving a ledger for Master Gavrin, but in her haste, she had pulled the wrong tome from the shelf. Instead of a list of past Weavers, she had found a page scrawled in luminous script, old as time itself.

-An unwoven thread waits to be found.-

The moment she read the words, the air had changed. A thread had flickered in the Loom, pulsing erratically, as though it did not belong.

Now, standing before it, Liora hesitated. Most threads gleamed with vibrant color, shifting with the choices of the souls they represented. But this one… this one was different. It was frayed at the edges, its light dim, as though it had been forgotten by the Loom itself.

She took a shaky breath. No apprentice was permitted to touch the threads. Only the Masters were granted that right. But the words in the book had led her here, and something deep inside whispered that she was meant to see this.

Before she could reconsider, she reached out.

The moment her fingers brushed the thread, the Loom shuddered.

A gust of energy surged through the chamber, sending the threads quivering like startled birds. Liora staggered back as a rush of images flooded her mind—glimpses of unknown lands, shattered constellations, a storm of unraveling threads. The Loom groaned, the vast silver structure trembling as if resisting an unseen force.

A voice—ancient and distant—echoed in her ears.

"The Loom is fraying. The pattern is breaking."

Then, the world shattered.

A brilliant light engulfed her, and the chamber of the Loom vanished. Wind roared in her ears, and for one heart-stopping moment, she felt weightless—falling through an endless void.

Then—impact.

Liora gasped as she hit solid ground, the air driven from her lungs. She lay still for a moment, blinking against the dizzying sensation of displacement. The scent of rain and damp stone filled her nose.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, her hands scraping against rough stone. The smooth marble floors of the Loom’s chamber were gone. Instead, she found herself in an open space, surrounded by towering pillars that rose into a sky she did not recognize. The stars above were strange, arranged in constellations she had never seen.

Panic coiled in her chest. Where was she?

She turned sharply at the sound of footsteps.

A figure stood at the edge of the ruins, watching her with sharp silver eyes.

They were dressed in layered robes of midnight blue, embroidered with shifting constellations that seemed to move as they walked closer. Their expression was unreadable, but their voice, when they spoke, was steady and certain.

"You shouldn't have pulled that thread."

Liora’s breath caught. "Who are you?"

The stranger studied her for a moment before answering. "Someone who has been waiting a long time for this."

Liora swallowed, glancing around again. "Where am I?"

The stranger tilted their head slightly. "Not where you should be."

That was not an answer.

Liora forced herself to stand, ignoring the lingering dizziness. "I—" she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I was at the Celestial Loom. There was a thread… it didn’t belong. I touched it, and then—" She gestured around her. "This happened."

The stranger nodded, as if unsurprised. "The Loom sent you here because you disrupted its pattern. And now, you're part of something much older than you understand."

Liora's heart pounded. "Older than the Loom?"

The stranger's gaze darkened. "Older than Velnara itself."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sound of wind sweeping through the ruins.

Liora clenched her fists, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She had been training for years to become a Weaver, to study the Loom’s patterns and preserve its balance. But now, standing in an unfamiliar place with an unknown stranger, she realized something terrifying.

For the first time in her life, she could not see the thread of her own fate.

And that meant she was truly lost.

END OF CHAPTER 1

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Chapter 2: The Threads of the Lost

Liora’s mind raced. She had studied the Loom for years, memorized the way its threads intertwined, learned the legends of the Weavers who guided fate itself. Yet nothing in her lessons had prepared her for this—being thrown into an unknown place, beneath a sky that was not her own, with a stranger who spoke as if they had been expecting her.

The figure before her remained still, their silver eyes unreadable. The shifting constellations embroidered on their dark robes flickered with an eerie, living light.

Liora steadied her breathing. Panic would get her nowhere.

"You said I shouldn't have pulled that thread," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Why? What was it?"

The stranger regarded her for a long moment before answering. "An anomaly. A thread that should not have existed."

Liora frowned. "That’s impossible. Every thread belongs to someone."

The stranger gave a small, knowing smile. "That is what the Weavers believe."

A chill ran down Liora’s spine. If what they were saying was true, then the Loom had been wrong—something it had never been before.

She crossed her arms, narrowing her gaze. "Who are you?"

"My name is Elos," the stranger said. "And I am the last of the Lost Weavers."

Liora inhaled sharply. "That’s not possible. The Lost Weavers vanished centuries ago."

"Did they?" Elos’s expression did not change, but there was something in their voice—a quiet challenge. "Or were they simply erased from the Loom’s pattern?"

Liora had no answer to that. The Lost Weavers were only a story—one of many myths about those who had strayed too far into the Loom’s mysteries and been swallowed by its magic. But if Elos was real…

She forced herself to focus. "Where am I?"

Elos turned, gesturing to the ruins around them. "You stand in the Threads Between—what remains of the Loom’s discarded fates. A place outside of time, where lost possibilities gather like dust."

Liora's heart pounded. She had never heard of such a place. "Why did the Loom send me here?"

Elos studied her, then spoke carefully. "Because you pulled the thread of a soul that was never meant to exist. And now, the Loom does not know where to place you."

The words struck her like a physical blow. The Loom dictated all things—every life, every choice, every path. If it had abandoned her here, did that mean she no longer had a place in its design?

"No," she whispered. "That can’t be right."

"It is not a matter of right or wrong," Elos said. "It is simply what is."

Liora clenched her fists. She would not accept that. If the Loom had sent her here, then there had to be a way back.

She lifted her chin. "Then I’ll fix it. I’ll find a way to restore the thread, and the Loom will put me back where I belong."

Elos gave a slow, approving nod. "Perhaps. But first, you must understand what you have truly unraveled."

They turned and began walking toward the edge of the ruins, where the stone platforms broke away into open sky. Beyond them, in the vast emptiness, something shimmered—a tangled mass of glowing threads, frayed and twisting like broken constellations.

Liora hesitated before following. As she stepped closer, she felt it—a hum in the air, like the distant echo of a song she could not quite hear.

"What is this?" she murmured.

Elos stopped beside her. "The Threads of the Lost. The fates that were cut away, forgotten by the Loom."

Liora's breath caught. If that was true, then these were lives that had never been—people whose stories had been erased before they could begin.

She turned to Elos. "Why would the Loom do this?"

Elos's gaze darkened. "Because even fate fears what it cannot control."

Liora looked back at the tangled threads, her mind spinning. If she had pulled a thread that was never meant to exist, then what did that make her?

And more importantly—what would happen if she found a way to restore it?

END OF CHAPTER 2

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THE CELESTIAL LOOM

Chapter 3: Echoes of the Unwoven

Liora stood on the crumbling platform, staring at the shifting mass of threads before her. The Threads of the Lost.

She had spent her entire life believing that the Loom was perfect, that every thread had a place, every pattern a purpose. Yet here was proof that fate was not as absolute as the Masters had claimed. The Loom had cut these threads away, erased lives before they had even begun.

And now, she had pulled on a thread that should not have existed.

The air around her vibrated with a strange energy, humming in her bones. It was not quite magic, not quite song, but something in between.

She turned to Elos. "What happens to the souls connected to these threads?"

Elos watched her with an unreadable expression. "That depends. Some fade before they ever become real. Others remain here, caught in the space between existence and oblivion."

A shiver ran down Liora’s spine. "You mean they’re still… alive?"

"Not in the way you understand life," Elos said. "They are echoes. Fragments of what could have been, waiting for a fate that will never come."

Liora's throat tightened. If that was true, then had she just tethered one of those lost souls back to the Loom? And if so… what did that mean for the balance of fate itself?

She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself. "How do I get back?"

Elos studied her. "You are asking the wrong question."

Liora clenched her fists. "Then what’s the right one?"

Elos turned toward the tangled threads. "You should be asking: Why did the Loom send you here?"

Liora opened her mouth, ready to argue, but stopped. They were right. The Loom had never made a mistake before. If it had placed her in this forgotten place, there had to be a reason.

She exhaled sharply. "Fine. Then tell me why."

Elos gestured toward the shifting threads. "The answer is in the tangle."

Liora frowned. "You want me to go in there?"

"You already have," Elos said simply. "When you pulled that thread, you connected yourself to this place. The Loom abandoned you here because it does not know what to do with you anymore. If you wish to leave, you must understand why it cast you out."

Liora stared at the mass of frayed threads, the air shimmering around them like distant heat waves.

She had no choice.

With a deep breath, she stepped forward.

The moment she crossed the threshold, the world around her shifted. The stone beneath her feet dissolved into nothingness, and suddenly, she was falling—plunging through endless strands of broken light.

Then—impact.

She hit solid ground, gasping. The air smelled of damp earth and something old.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, blinking against the dim glow of the space around her.

She was no longer in the ruins.

She was standing in a vast hall, its ceiling lost to shadow. The walls were lined with enormous spools of thread, but these were different from the ones she had seen in the Loom’s chamber. They were dull, frayed, their colors faded with time.

Echoes.

A sound made her turn.

At the far end of the hall, something moved.

A figure stepped forward, half-shrouded in shadow.

Liora's breath caught.

It was a boy—no older than herself, his form flickering like candlelight, as if he were not entirely there. His dark hair was tousled, his expression unreadable. But it was his eyes that held her attention.

They were golden.

Just like the threads of the Loom.

He opened his mouth to speak—

Then the world cracked apart.

Light flooded her vision, and she was yanked backward, back through the tangled threads, back into the ruins where Elos waited.

She staggered, gasping.

Elos steadied her with a firm grip. "What did you see?"

Liora's heart pounded. "A boy," she whispered. "A golden thread."

Elos's expression darkened. "Then the Loom truly has begun to unravel."

Liora swallowed hard.

She had thought she was lost.

But now, she realized—

She was only at the beginning.

END OF CHAPTER 3