Chapter 115
The Thread That Weaves Itself
Lira weaves the white thread into the loom of shadow and light, confronting the emptiness she feared. The act of weaving herself reshapes the chamber, and a door of mirrors opens to reveal a figure who has been waiting since the first thread was spun.
The loom sang once, a resonant hum that vibrated not just in the air but deep within Lira's bones. It was a single, pure note, hanging suspended like a held breath, before the silence rushed back in, thicker and more profound than before. The world itself seemed to pause, leaning in to witness this fragile act.
Lira’s hand trembled on the shuttle, the smooth, cool wood a grounding presence against her skin. The white thread had passed through the warp in a clean, unwavering line. Where it met the interwoven warp of shadow and light, a ripple spread outward, not violent, but like the gentle disturbance of a stone dropped into perfectly still water. Above, the eyes on the ceiling remained closed, their silver light pulsing softly, a silent metronome to her own racing heartbeat.
"Keep going," Kaelen whispered, his voice a low rumble against her ear. His hand rested on hers, a steady warmth that anchored her. "You're doing it."
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