Chapter 1 - The Weaver and the Warder

Chapter 1: The Silver ThreadElara lived in the hum of the world. As a Weaver, she didn't just see the mountain pass of Oakhaven; she felt its vibrations. To her, the wind was a low cello note, and the ancient stone of the Watchtower was a steady, rhythmic thrum against her palms.But today, the hum was jagged."You're pulling too hard, Elara," her mentor, Master Thorne, said without looking up from his parchment. "The resonance is spiking. If you snap the ward, the Mist will be through the gates before sunset."Elara exhaled, her fingers trembling where they hovered over the glowing silver threads of the village's protection spell. "It's not me, Master. The Mist is pushing back. It feels... hungry."She looked toward the valley floor. Below the cliffs, the Veil—a shimmering curtain of white fog that separated their realm from the Void—was churning. It was no longer the soft, lethargic cloud of her childhood. It was a roiling ocean of ash, and within it, she could see the faint, needle-like shadows of the Hollowed."Focus on the silver," Thorne commanded, his voice tight. "Your heart is a needle. Keep it steady."Elara closed her eyes, trying to find the center of the vibration. She reached for the silver thread, the tether that bound Oakhaven's safety to the mountain's core. But as her fingers brushed the light, a new sound cut through the drone of the wards.It wasn't a hum. It was a scream—not of a person, but of the air itself being torn open.A crack like a thunderclap shook the tower. Elara was thrown back, her head hitting the cold stone floor. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Thorne shouting. She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide.The silver ward hadn't just snapped. It had been severed.In the center of the ritual chamber, where the threads usually met, stood a man.He was draped in armor the color of a bruised sky, etched with runes that bled a faint, icy blue light. A heavy cloak of raven feathers settled around his shoulders, still ruffled from the force of his arrival. He didn't look like the monsters from the Mist; he looked like the shadow they were afraid of.His eyes were the most terrifying part—a piercing, molten gold that seemed to see right through the stone walls, right through Elara herself.Thorne drew a jagged dagger of obsidian. "A Warder? We haven't seen your kind since the Great Silence. What have you done to our protection?"The stranger didn't look at the Master. His gaze remained locked on Elara. He took a step forward, the metal of his boots clanking with a heavy, final sound."The ward was a cage, not a shield," the man said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that sent a literal spark through Elara's fingertips. "And you, Weaver, are the only thing keeping the locks from turning."Elara stepped back, her hand flying to the small silver shuttle she wore on a cord around her neck. "I don't know who you are.""I am Kaelen of the Iron Gate," he replied, finally shifting his gaze to the window where the Mist was already pouring over the broken threshold. "And if you want your village to survive the night, you will stop trembling and give me your hand."Outside, the first howl of a Hollowed echoed up the mountain, a sound of pure, unadulterated hunger. Elara looked at the broken threads of light, then at the stranger's outstretched hand—gloved in dark leather, steady as the mountain itself.The hum of the world had changed. It was no longer a song. It was a war.