Chapter 1: The Loom of Destiny

The Great Loom of Aethelgard occupied the entire central tower of the Weaver's Guild. It was a massive contraption of brass gears, wooden beams, and silver needles, clicking and whirring day and night. From its frame, millions of glowing threads descended, woven into the Great Tapestry that covered the floor.

Silas, the Master Weaver, walked along the catwalks, his magnifying glass held to his eye. He was responsible for checking the tension of the threads. Each thread represented a human life—its color showed their character, its thickness their health, and its pattern their path.

As he examined the sector representing the merchant district, his hand froze. There, lying loose on the wood of the catwalk, was a severed thread. It was not glowing, but it was not dark either. It was a deep, velvet black, absorbing the light around it. He picked it up. It felt cold, vibrating with a strange, silent energy. He traced it back to the loom, but there was no empty needle. The thread had no origin, and no woven end.