The city above groaned beneath a sky bruised by purple storms. The crackling energy from the ruptured rifts was spreading like wildfire, and every citizen felt the pulse of change beneath their skin — whether they dared to name it or not.
But deep beneath the chaos, the Protagonist stood before an ancient doorway carved from obsidian and bone. The carved glyphs on its surface pulsed faintly, alive with the breath of a long-forgotten magic.
"This is it," Iri whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Her eyes shimmered with a mix of awe and dread.
Sevan's hand hovered near her sword, tension coiled in every muscle. "They say no one passes this trial unscathed."
He studied the doorway, cold and calculating, feeling the hum of the System within the ancient magic — a twisted puzzle waiting for the key only he might possess.
The Trial of Threads was said to separate the true Weavers from those bound by lies and chains.
No ordinary battle.
No simple test.
It was a crucible for fate itself.
With a steady breath, he stepped forward.
The moment his fingers brushed the glyphs, a torrent of visions flooded his mind. Memories not his own. Faces forgotten and futures unlived.
He was falling through strands of light and shadow, each thread tugging at a different fragment of his soul.
The System flared.
[Skill Check: Thread Manipulation]
Difficulty: Extreme
Risk: Memory Fragmentation, Soul Shard Loss
Time slowed. His mind raced, calculating the weave — pulling, pushing, severing threads in a delicate dance.
The pressure was immense, threatening to tear him apart. But he endured, piecing the fractured tapestry of his fate with surgical precision.
When the final thread settled, the chamber around him shimmered, reshaped by his will.
A door creaked open.
Behind it lay the Heart of the Loom — a pulsing core of energy, alive with raw potential and deadly secrets.
Outside, distant bells tolled. The Red Accord was moving.
The trial was only the beginning.