Ch - 3

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—