Even gods forget the threads they once were.
But when the Weaver rises—
Even the divine must answer.
The Sky Opened
Not with thunder.
Not with lightning.
But with silence so profound it swallowed light.
The air trembled.
Time bent.
And across the horizon, the stars themselves bowed back—
As He arrived.
The Loomfather.
Wreathed in robes of unspun thread, his face hidden beneath a mask woven from forgotten names, he descended with one thought on his lips:
"The Pattern must not change."
Serenya Waited
She stood where the Echohunter had vanished—
Ash and memory still warm beneath her feet.
Caelum stood beside her, his gaze heavy with pain.
"He's not like the others," he said. "He wrote the laws. He can unmake you."
Serenya didn't flinch.
"He can try."
The Tribunal's Arrival
The skies peeled like parchment, revealing all Thirteen Seats—
Manifesting as colossal figures formed of flame, thread, bone, and storm.
Each one carried a blade—
Not of steel,
But of verdict.
They encircled her.
The Loomfather stepped forward.
"You were not supposed to awaken."
"You broke the binding seal."
"You corrupted the Soulkeeper."
"You remembered what was forbidden."
Serenya met his masked gaze.
"And still I stand."
The Mask Cracks
The Loomfather raised a hand—
And the air twisted.
A spear formed mid-air, woven from time itself.
It burned with the memory of every soul erased by law.
He hurled it.
Straight at her heart.
Serenya whispered, "I remember," and caught it barehanded.
It didn't pierce.
It didn't burn.
It dissolved into her.
The Tribunal Falters
The Sixth Seat staggered.
"She… absorbed a Judgment Thread."
"She is no longer mortal," muttered the Tenth.
"No," the Loomfather whispered.
"She is becoming Origin."
Caelum's Plea
"Serenya," Caelum said, breath shaking. "If you do this… you won't just rewrite fate. You'll break the loom."
She turned to him.
"It was always broken."
"We were just told to stop looking at the frays."
The Unmaking Begins
Serenya stepped forward and unwound her cloak—
Revealing the Threadmark glowing across her spine:
A symbol older than the Tribunal.
A symbol that preceded judgment.
The mark of the First Weaver.
The original power to remember and rewrite.
The Loomfather's voice broke:
"That mark was erased before memory."
Serenya's voice echoed with every soul she had ever been:
"And now it returns—because the souls you erased… are remembering themselves."
She opened her palms.
From them, threads burst forth.
Not as weapons.
But as names.
Auren.
Selith.
Mareh.
Alira.
Caelum.
Every soul lost.
Every soul silenced.
All remembered.
The Fall
The Loomfather raised both arms to strike—
But his own threads began to tear.
Not by her hands.
By the ones he once ruled.
The Tribunal screamed in protest.
The thrones behind them cracked.
And the Loomfather…
Fell to his knees.
Face Unmasked
The mask of names cracked—
And underneath it was no god.
Only a man.
Eyes old and haunted.
Voice trembling.
"I once had a name too."
Serenya knelt before him.
"Then take it back."
She offered him a thread.
He reached out, hands shaking…
And as his fingers closed around it—
He remembered.
Silence
The Tribunal shattered.
The sky closed.
And all that remained was the woman who rewrote fate—
And the name she whispered one final time:
"Serenya."