Chapter 1: The Falling Shadow
The wind off the Sea of Shards lashed Kael's face like a scourge as he crested the cliffs overlooking Moonfall. Salt burned in his eyes, mingling with the sharp tang of ruin on the air. The wind howled, a voice made of ice and ancient grief, tearing through his cloak and biting at the exposed skin beneath his collar. He narrowed his eyes against it, tasting the sea's bitterness on his tongue, and gazed down at the jagged sprawl of docks and weather-beaten stone huts below. The town looked half-drowned—its people hunched against the gale like broken reeds, backs bent from generations of surviving what this sea delivered.
It had taken him weeks to reach this place, trekking north from the Shattered Crown, driven by the unrelenting itch in his palm. The runes there—etched into his skin with silver fire since the fall of the Loom—had pulsed with a frequency that grew sharper with every step. Now, as he stood on the cliff's edge, looking down at the place whispered of in forgotten verses, the runes flared. A sudden, searing jolt lanced through his hand, up his arm, and into his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs.
He staggered, knees buckling, and gritted his teeth as the pain subsided into a humming throb. He stared out over the horizon, eyes wide, and saw something that hadn't been there the day before.
Above Moonfall, the sky was fractured—a great scar of violet light split through the clouds. Suspended in its center was the rift-moon: a colossal orb of jagged stone and seething, pulsing radiance. It hovered low, its edges flickering like a heartbeat torn open, bleeding raw energy into the air. The sea beneath it churned, warped into a frenzy of crashing waves and spiraling whirlpools. The wind carried a new sound now, beneath the howling—an electric hum, vibrating against Kael's bones. He knew that sound. He had heard it before, echoing through the vault beneath the Shattered Crown. But this time it was louder. More insistent. Alive.
He pulled his cloak tight around him, fingers brushing the dagger at his belt—a steady, familiar weight amid the unknown. He began to descend the winding path into the town, boots crunching on the gravel-strewn trail. Below, Moonfall seethed with unrest. Shouts rose from the docks, half-snatched by the wind. Fishermen bellowed curses as they hauled in their nets with frantic urgency, while merchants shuttered their stalls, already preparing for the worst.
"Rift-storm's here!"
"Three days 'til it drops, mark me!"
"We're cursed again. Just like before."
Kael kept his hood low, the glowing runes concealed in a fist at his side. He moved through the crowd like a ghost, trying not to draw attention. But even so, he felt the gaze of the town—suspicion sharpened into paranoia by years of surviving near the edge of the world's sanity.
A cry rang out—sharp, panicked—and Kael froze mid-step.
"Gavyn! Get up, damn it!"
He turned and saw a burly fisherman kneeling at the water's edge, his broad hands gripping the shoulders of a collapsed man. The one on the ground was older, his gray beard soaked with sea spray, eyes wide and empty as if staring into something only he could see.
Kael approached without thinking, the runes on his palm flaring in rhythm with his heartbeat. "What happened to him?" he asked, voice low.
The fisherman looked up, startled. His eyes, rimmed with salt and exhaustion, widened as he saw the runes faintly glowing in Kael's hand.
"Collapsed mid-haul," he rasped. "Started mumblin' nonsense. About tides… about something pulling. He's the third today. Something's wrong. Something deep."
Kael knelt beside Gavyn, the man's body trembling faintly under his hand. The old fisherman's lips moved—"Deep… pulling…"—and Kael felt a chill cut through his spine. The runes on his hand grew cold, resonating with Gavyn's breath like two mirrors facing each other in an endless echo.
"I can help," Kael said, glancing at the other fisherman. "But it might… look strange."
The man hesitated, eyes darting to the glowing lines on Kael's skin. But after a long moment, he gave a reluctant nod. "Do it. He's my brother."
Kael nodded once, then pressed his rune-marked palm to Gavyn's chest.
"No shard now," he whispered under his breath, invoking the power that had lived within him since the Loom cracked open the threads of the world. He closed his eyes and reached inward—past flesh and thought, into the veil where dreams coiled like serpents beneath the surface.
The world dissolved.
A roar engulfed him, louder than thunder. Kael landed hard, boots skidding on a slick reef of black stone. Around him, water screamed—waves crashing in every direction, the sea transformed into a beast of fury beneath a sky the color of bruised twilight. Overhead, the rift-moon loomed even larger, its light splintering across the waves like jagged shards of glass. The ocean was alive, and it was watching.
Ahead, a figure stood at the heart of the storm.
Gavyn—no longer a frail old fisherman—towered like a wrathful titan, his frame swathed in salt and mist. His fishing spear had twisted into something monstrous: a trident forged from jagged coral and wrapped in tendrils of black vapor. His eyes glowed hollow, twin voids cut from the storm itself. Rage pulsed in the air, so thick Kael could taste it—bitterness, sorrow, and fear bound together in an ancient fury.
"Gavyn!" Kael shouted, voice nearly lost to the screaming wind. "It's not real! You're caught in the veil!"
The giant turned, and for a moment, recognition flickered. Then he roared—a deep, guttural sound that made the sea itself recoil—and charged.
The trident came down in a blur of motion, splitting the reef with a thunderous crack. Kael leapt aside just in time, the shockwave slamming into his ribs like a hammer. He rolled and came up with his rune-hand outstretched—glowing threads of violet light surged forth, spiraling like snakes.
"Thread Dance: Binding Lash!"
The threads lashed out and wrapped around Gavyn's arm, yanking the trident off course. But Gavyn roared again, and a surge of shadow burst from his skin, shattering the bindings with a sound like splintering bone.
"Too deep!" Gavyn howled, his voice an avalanche. "It's pulling me down!"
Another swing, this time the trident igniting with black flame. It sliced through the air in a crescent arc, searing a line of destruction that hissed and boiled the reef.
Kael moved fast—too fast for the eye to follow.
"Thread Step: Flicker Dash!"
Threads snapped beneath his feet, launching him into the air. He twisted mid-leap, cloak billowing, and landed behind Gavyn in a crouch, his hand already weaving more light.
"Thread Dance: Razor Weave!"
A flurry of glowing strands lashed out like blades, cutting through the mist surrounding Gavyn's form. The shadows screamed as they recoiled, but the tide surged again—an impossible wall of water rising to swallow the world.
Kael raised his hand, heart pounding.
"Thread Wall: Shatter Veil!"
A dome of light exploded outward, slamming into the wave and splitting it in a spray of foam and fury. The impact knocked Kael back, his legs skidding on the slick stone. Blood trickled from his temple where debris had grazed him. He pushed to his feet, panting, salt stinging his wounds.
From the shattered wave, a figure emerged—not Gavyn.
It was a silhouette of shadow, pieced together from writhing threads. Its form was incomplete, flickering between shapes, but Kael recognized the whisper that accompanied it. A voice like a blade drawn in darkness.
"Soon…"
Kael's grip tightened.
"You."
He launched forward, light spiraling from his palm.
"Thread Dance: Spiral Fang!"
A lance of pure energy tore through the air, striking the shadow square in the chest. It screamed—an inhuman sound—and dissolved into mist. But Gavyn was charging again, his form flickering, caught between man and monster. Kael ducked beneath a thrust, wove a thread to entangle his legs, and vaulted over him in a burst of speed. He landed near a cracked shrine half-buried in the reef, its surface glowing with familiar runes.
A lock. Ancient. Alive.
He slammed his palm against it.
"Thread Pulse: Unraveling Cry!"
The runes exploded with light. Threads surged outward like vines, spiraling into the sky. The reef shook, the tide collapsed inward, and Gavyn dropped his trident with a groan. The storm cracked like glass and the dream shattered.
Kael gasped as the real world slammed back into him.
He was on the docks, soaked in cold sweat, Gavyn coughing beside him, sea water streaming from his beard. The fisherman clutched Kael's arm with trembling hands, eyes wide with horror and awe.
"I saw it," Gavyn rasped. "A shadow… in the deep. It's coming. Three days."
The other fisherman stared, dumbstruck.
"What are you?"
Kael rose slowly, cloak dripping, runes dimming to a dull glow. He looked toward the sky—the rift-moon now lower, its light casting long, crooked shadows across Moonfall.
"I'm someone who's fought this before," he said quietly.
He raised his hand again. The runes pulsed—sharp, decisive—and the world snapped back. The docks blurred, time resetting. Gavyn was once again hauling his net, the shout not yet screamed.
Kael exhaled slowly. The countdown had begun.
Three days.
The Weaver's Moon had returned.
And it demanded a fight.