Fimbria. The Cuckoo City—where the threads of the Tapestry entwine in cycles of gold and betrayal. Upon its white walls, the Loom is worshipped as both god and tool. The Twin Emperors are hailed as holders of the rightful threads, the ones who command all Weavers within and beyond the imperial capital. And truth… truth is but a costume worn by the lie that follows.
It was there, beneath the echo of glass bells from the Central Temple, that Lira heard her name spoken.
She wore the ceremonial robes of her caste: a scarlet mantle embroidered with black symbols of the Four Veils. No longer an apprentice—yet not high enough to walk among the Grand Weavers. Not yet. Her rise was said to be inevitable, some whispered. Dangerous, murmured others.
The summons came from High Reader Velhissa herself—an almost unheard-of honor. Lira had been called to present her first Weave before the Loom's Court. A privilege granted to one in a thousand. And at the same time, a veiled trap. Weaves are not merely strands and destinies; they are intentions stitched with the power to raze cities or save kingdoms.
Velhissa awaited her in the Hall of Laments, a chamber lined with living tapestries that whispered the regrets of all who dared dream too high. The High Reader was an ancient woman, with eyes older than the tower they stood in. Her hair was smoke-silver, her skin worn like old parchment.
"Do you know why you've been called, Lira?"
"I presume it's because of my thesis on tri-tone threads. I believe triple destinies can be woven in parallel without direct—"
"Silence." Velhissa raised a hand. "That is irrelevant. You've been summoned because you saw something in Kael."
The name struck like a blow. Lira kept the tremor from reaching her fingers.
"He's dead."
"He was. And now he is not. Something in him remains. Something… broken. The Loom cannot unmake what rejects it. You touched him. You care."
Lira felt the tapestries around her stir.
"I killed him, Velhissa."
"No. You cut his thread. But it didn't fall."
The High Reader rose, her steps soundless. She handed Lira a long needle of blackened bronze.
"Go to the Temple of the Fractured Thread. There, you will present your first Weave. A lie dressed as truth. A truth whispered as prayer. Stitch something that justifies your existence. And perhaps, you will survive."
Lira departed the next day. The city below the High Tower looked altered. Crowds of faithful knelt before processional tapestries—each one alive, woven with threads that still murmured the names of the dead.
She descended the Salt Stairs, crossed the Whispering Way, and reached the banks of the River of Dead Threads, where a boat awaited to carry her to the temple.
Along the way, she endured the silence of those who knew her name. Many respected her. Some feared her. But all watched her. They knew her thread shimmered with an unnatural hue—somewhere between desire and ruin.
Upon reaching the Temple of the Fractured Thread, she was received by the Weaver-Guards. Their masks depicted gods that had never existed. The temple was dark within, the air thick with incense and anticipation.
Lira was led to the Lesser Loom. A stone frame where threads do not obey—they resist. Where the Weaver must tame them.
There, she was to create her first Weave.
And she did.
Her hand trembled as it grasped the needle, but her mind was clear. She stitched memories she had never lived. She laced into the threads visions of a lost love, an empire on the brink of betrayal, a forgotten man who bled unlike any other. Each stitch was a silent scream. Each knot, a scar.
When she finished, the living tapestry before her whispered:
"He still remembers you."
Lira collapsed to her knees.
Behind her, Velhissa watched—and smiled.
"Your ascension has begun, my dear. Now let's see who bleeds first: you, the Loom, or the world."
Having taken her first step toward ascension, Lira is given a secret mission: to investigate a cult attempting to weave its own Tapestry—outside the will of the Empire. There, she will face enemies, shadows… and a part of her past she had tried to bury.