Night pressed down like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. The village lay in silence, but Kael felt the weight of the unseen—the looming presence of the Loom, watching, waiting. The whispers of the Threads hummed in his mind, restless and unyielding.
He moved through the back paths, shadows melding with shadows. Every step was a calculation, every breath a battle against the tide of doubt threatening to drown him. The elders' words echoed in his thoughts: Break the seventh, and the fabric of fate unravels.
He paused at the well, where Sera still lay in unconsciousness, her face pale but peaceful in the moonlight. Her chest rose and fell, fragile as glass.
Kael's gaze drifted to her, a flicker of regret stirring—brief as a dying ember. She was his key, his sacrifice, and perhaps his undoing.
He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow. "Forgive me," he whispered.
The whisper was almost a prayer. Or a curse.
He had already bound six threads. Six chances to reshape the world. But the seventh—the one he had just stolen from her—was the last, the most dangerous.
And he knew that breaking it would shatter everything.
The Whisper Root's warning echoed again in his mind: Break seven fates.
He clenched his fists, feeling the faint pulse of the violet thread beneath his skin. It was his anchor, his weapon, his curse.
He remembered her eyes—dark, tired, yet burning with unspoken rebellion. Sera had always been a wild thing, frayed at the edges, unpredictable.
But now, she was more than that. She was a vessel of chaos, a fragment of the Loom's own unraveling.
Kael looked at her, then around the silent village. The elders had yet to suspect—at least, not openly. But he could feel the tension tightening, like a noose ready to tighten.
He knew he could not delay. The final thread was trembling, eager to be torn apart, eager to be freed from its prison.
He drew the shard from his pocket—a fragment of the Loom's own broken weave. Cold and jagged, it shimmered with the power of countless fates.
He hesitated only a moment, then pressed it against Sera's wrist, where the residual power of the sixth thread still thrummed.
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.
"Hold on," Kael whispered. "Just a little longer."
He reached into his bag, pulling out the vial—the final offering, the last gamble.
One sip. One choice.
He knew the cost.
But he also knew what was at stake.
The Loom had already begun to crack. The threads had frayed, slipping from their moorings.
Soon, the entire weave would unravel if he failed.
And perhaps, if he succeeded, everything might finally break free.
He stared into her eyes, searching for the girl who once believed in fate's mercy—and saw only the storm he had unleashed.
"Trust me," he said softly. "This is the only way."
Her lips parted, trembling. She reached out, trembling fingers brushing the vial.
And in that quiet, trembling moment, the world held its breath.