Astenos rears—hooves cracking skulls, his fury a fortress. But it isn’t enough. There are too many teeth. Too many claws. And inside, I am breaking. Splitting. Unraveling.
The rift hangs open, but the cost comes due. The price. The toll.
And still—my hands stay lifted.
Still—Isingthe Weave.
I must be myself. Even if I vanish doing it.
A hound lunges.
Too fast.
Astenos turns.
Too slow.
BOOM.
The houndvanishesbeneath the slashing force of a glaive.
Thessia.
A whirlwind of golden braids and blood.
Armor like a god.
Fire in her grin.
“Keep casting, moonbeam!” she roars. “I’ve got your back!”
Every strike opens a path. Every blow buys time.
I cannot fail her, so I push harder. Pull deeper. Until my vision turns to shadow.
I will show them.
All of them.
The world, if I must.
I am not small.
I am the Weave.
I was not made for silence.
Sweat pours.
Blood runs.
Silver light scorches the sky.
I twist the strands—twist the rift shut.Remind the sky that it was whole, once. That only the vast horizon has the right to cleave its depths.
A shout behind me.
My name.
