The academy was still.
Not the stillness of peace, but the stillness of something laid bare, hollowed.
Where the Loom had spanned the sky, only tatters drifted now fine, glittering threads burning like ash on the wind. The thrum that had controlled every beat, every step, every command, was stilled.
Students wandered the devastated courtyards like phantoms. Some silently cried. Some looked up towards the sky as if waiting for the system to call out again. Some sharpened blades, eyes already scanning for the next battle.
Near the West Spire, Elira placed her hand on shattered stones. A recollection remained there, as wispy as air.
Kiris. Nox. Prohibited thread. All of this was written.
She closed her eyes, not sure if it was the reverberation of the Loom or her own thoughts.
High up, above where the Loom had torn asunder, there lingered a presence in the void. Not a star. Not a rift. Something ancient, watching. Waiting.
The last system prompt flashed into existence, shivering, splintered.
SYSTEM NOTICE:
Arc One: COMPLETE
All Threads Cut.
Waiting for New Pattern.
And nothing else.
The silence extended until, far out beyond the ruins, there came an answer.
A horn. Not man. Not machine.
A call to war older than the Loom itself.
The students raised their eyes.
The academy was no longer their prison.
It was their battlefield.
And deep at the center of it all, Nox traveled alone through the ash, the black-red thread burning his skin, guiding him toward whatever awaited.