The stars in the sky twinkled like ink dots in water—no longer fixed, but in motion. A new design bloomed in the sky, not the Weaver, not the Watcher, but something new… slowly unfolding, as though waiting for a name.
Kael looked up at it, something tight in his chest.
"We have to decide what it means," he whispered.
Elira's gaze never wavered from the Archivist. "You said others would come. That they'd try to seize the pen. Who are they?"
The Archivist looked back towards the portal they'd traveled through, and Elira saw hints of motion—other forms in the distance. Tall, dark forms of beings draped in wraps of obscured material and starlight. Some had horns, others banners crafted from broken memory.
"Elder Threads," the Archivist said. "Remnants from before the Loom. Before even the First Tongue of magic was spoken. When the worlds were wild and every soul created its own fate."
A cold wind swept through the spire.
