The shard in Kael's hand pulsed once, then stilled—as if awaiting a command.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
The battle around them died down. Even the air seemed to still.
Kael's voice cut through it. "This isn't a key."
He turned, thread pinched between thumb and forefinger. "It's a thread of the First Weave. One that wasn't destroyed. One that wished to live."
Elira stepped forward, her eyes wide with awe. "The Heartloom must have hidden it—safekept it… in that creature."
Arlyn, alive but limping, approached them with a bloodied, ashen face. "Or cursed it with the burden of memory," she rasped. "Either way… the Remnant is lost."
Kael knelt and placed the thread upon the middle of the platform, where the loom lines, worn smooth, intersected like a spider's web. The ground rippled. Symbols flared—old sigils buried beneath millennia of decay. They ignited one by one in a spiral, running outward.
The skies opened.
Not torn as previously—but opened.
