Chapter 1: The Threads of Fate

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.

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