The fall

Previously

…“Who are you?” I demanded, my gaze fixed on the Weaver. “What is this place?” The Weaver’s impression was a final, chilling pronouncement. “I am the loom. And this place… is the weave itself. Heaven, Hell, Earth… they are but colours in the thread. All here, all now. And you, Elias Thorne, are a knot that has come undone. Your choice is not to escape, but to be rewoven, or to fray into oblivion.” The red symbols pulsed one last, blinding time, and the ground beneath me gave way. Not into an abyss, but into a blinding white void. The Weaver’s final words, a haunting echo, reverberated through the nothingness: The illusion of choice is the most powerful cage of all.