The world above greeted them not with light, but with silence.
Kael and Elira emerged from the Severance onto the surface of the Loom's dwindling world, the air crisp and still—as if the ground itself held its breath. The sky had changed. No longer bleeding threads or storming whirlwinds, it now shimmered with soft waves of light, each pulse echoing the freshly awakened rhythm of the Heartloom far below.
Kael felt it in his bones. Not peace. Not yet. But balance.
"We altered something," Elira said quietly, her foot onto the thread-scarred ground. "The rift isn't bleeding anymore."
"No," Kael said, his voice quiet, "but someone will try to make it bleed anew."
They looked up.
Across the plateau, the Citadel of Loomwatch stood crooked, parts of its ivory spires shattered, as if the skies themselves had deemed it wanting. Its gates gaped open. No banners waved. No guards patrolled.
But one person stood in the entrance.
