The Hollow Throne was no more.
Its ashes lost themselves quietly into the weave of the Loom, the vacuum it had left diminishing in a soundless breath that swept across worlds like a forgotten sigh. But silence did not beget peace.
Not yet.
Kael stood at the edge of the broken chamber, watching the horizon in the Loom fracture and change. No longer was it subject to one shape or rule. Instead, it pulsed to the beat of something new—something that never had before: free will woven into the fabric of being.
Behind him, Elira sat cross-legged amidst a circle of shattered sigils, her breathing even, tranquil. The crown of light that had sat atop her like a storm was gone, but something else remained in her eyes—soft and knowing and shaded with sorrow.
"How long before it catches on?" Kael asked gently.
She opened her eyes, the threads still discernible in her irises. "It already has."
Before he could get another word out, the world shook.
Not the Loom.
