Ch - 2

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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