Chapter 18: The Moonweaver's Choice
The reset snapped Kael back to the jagged cliffs of Moonfall, breath seizing in his throat as reality unwound and rewound with brutal precision. One blink ago, they had fallen. Now—again—they stood. The rift-moon loomed above like a broken god's eye, its violet corona bleeding across the dying night, shadowing the cliffs in hues of cold fire. Time screamed, but the runes—those damned, blessed runes—dragged him back, a puppet on a cosmic thread.
Gavyn hauled in his net near the docks, shoulders tensing as if sensing déjà vu behind his calloused neck. Lysa, as ever, counted coins at her stall with her usual flourish, gold flickering between fingers far too sharp to be purely decorative. And Maraen—gentle Maraen—clutched her locket by her cottage's steps, the faint glow beneath her fingers pulsing with grief that never had time to heal.
The runes' cold surge hummed through Kael's bones, echoing with unbearable clarity. One day compressed to mere moments. The drowned cave's hum from before—the last hum before failure—roared in his ears. Louder now. Impossibly loud. The whisper that haunted the reset—that cursed voice of the Sleeping Tyrant—curled around his thoughts like a noose.
"Soon…"
It was a thread snapping taut. And in that snap, Kael felt the veil—the careful illusion that the world was safe—finally give way.
No more delays.
No more resets.
Only now.
Only the last stand.
He moved like thunder in flesh, legs bursting across the cobbled path toward the docks. "Gavyn!" he barked, voice already flaring with rune-light. The burly fisherman turned, spear in hand before Kael had even reached him.
"You again?" Gavyn asked with a knowing sneer. "Something in that cave wake up for good this time?"
Kael gave a curt nod. "It's stirring—tonight. We don't get another reset. We end it. Now."
Gavyn's eyes hardened. His grip on the spear shifted—casual tension replaced by grim focus. "Tides won't take us. Let's gut it!"
Kael was already moving, flickering with pre-ignited thread magic as he shot past the market square. "Lysa!"
She flicked a coin, letting it spin midair, catching it between two fingers with her usual smirk. "That tone," she said, hopping down from her stall, "is either the end of the world or a chance to bankrupt something bigger than a merchant prince."
Kael's rune-flare intensified. "Both."
Her grin sharpened. "I'm in."
They didn't need to knock on Maraen's door. She was already standing outside, eyes on the cliffs, locket humming like a heartbeat against her chest.
"For Torm," she said softly, not even looking at them. "For Moonfall."
Kael's voice dropped low. "We end it, Maraen. Tonight."
She nodded. "Then let's make it count."
They ran.
Westward.
Cliffside winds whipped their cloaks, salt spray stinging their faces as the path narrowed to a precipice of jagged stone. The sea below raged with unnatural fury, tides crashing with the rhythm of a distant, alien heart. The rift-moon's light carved knife-edged shadows across the rocks, a violet blade held at the world's throat.
The drowned cave loomed ahead, its gaping maw swollen with tidewater, its ancient rim pulsing with runes older than names. The symbols flared as Kael approached, sensing the final confrontation like a locked vault scenting the key.
"Blades out," Kael murmured, drawing his dagger—thread-light erupting from the edge like a bleeding star.
They entered the cave in silence, feet sloshing into knee-high water. Cold. So cold it bit marrow. But there was no room for hesitation.
Inside, the cavern pulsed like a living lung, a humid, fetid breath exhaled from the void. The walls glowed faintly with residual magic—threadmarks from countless resets—and at the chamber's core, the rift boiled with light.
Then it happened.
The hum became a scream.
The rift erupted.
Threads of light—too many, too vast—wove together into a towering silhouette. Humanoid in shape, impossibly tall. Its body a shroud of shifting shadow and violet flame. Its head crowned in runes that bled memory. And in its right hand, the scythe—a monstrous crescent forged from riftlight and unmade reality, every curve humming a thousand deaths.
The Moonweaver. Fully awake. Minister Tier and more. Reality around it bent with each breath.
Its voice echoed in Kael's skull.
"Kael… Join us…"
Kael's grip tightened on his dagger. His threads blazed.
"No deal," he snapped. "Together—now!"
Gavyn slammed his spear into the stone, the shaft humming with readiness. "Hit its legs—I'll pin it!"
Lysa flipped her coin. "Your deal's done, freak."
Maraen's locket lit with a flare of warmth. "End this, Kael. For us."
Then chaos bloomed.
The Moonweaver moved—a swing, casual, effortless—yet it tore the cave in half.
Rift-Scythe Storm.
The scythe spun, a whirlwind of shadow and violet flame. Blades—dozens, hundreds—scythed through stone, air, and magic. Walls cratered. Stalactites exploded. The sea surged into the chamber.
Kael moved—Thread Step: Phantom Drift!
His form became a blur of afterimages, threads trailing behind like comet tails. He weaved through the onslaught, each blade missing by whispers. Sparks flew. Rock shattered.
"Scatter!" he roared.
Gavyn dove, cursing. "Storm-god, that's a bloody hurricane!"
Lysa ducked beneath a blade, laughter in her voice. "That's your idea of an opener?"
Maraen braced herself, threads forming around her. "Hold fast!"
Kael retaliated.
Thread Dance: Crescent Slash!
His dagger slashed upward in an arc, threads flaring into a radiant crescent that collided with the incoming scythe blades. A shockwave burst through the chamber, violet light rippling like shattered moonlight. For a breath, balance returned.
The Moonweaver shrieked—no voice, only vibration—then thrust the scythe forward.
Thread-Nova.
A radial burst of threads detonated from its chest—reality itself rippled, distorted. The water twisted into jagged spears, erupting outward.
"Brace!" Kael shouted.
Thread Wall: Vortex Shield!
He spun his dagger in a spiral, threads forming a whirling barrier of light. The nova clashed against it—pressure unlike anything they'd faced before. The cave shook. Runes cracked. The tide screamed.
Gavyn punched a spike aside. "Not yet!"
Lysa hurled coins imbued with disruption threads. "Eat your own trash!"
Maraen's locket bloomed with soft light, wrapping them in a warmth that stilled the chaos. "For Torm!"
Then came the scythe.
The Moonweaver lifted its weapon high, violet flames trailing like comet tails, and brought it down in a thunderous arc.
Kael surged forward.
Thread Step: Sky Fang!
Threads exploded beneath his feet, launching him upward. He flipped over the scythe's path, light streaking behind him. Gavyn charged under his cover—spear in both hands—and drove it deep into the creature's leg. Shadow bled from the wound.
Kael landed in a roll, spinning.
Thread Dance: Spiral Tempest!
A tornado of threads burst outward from his body, shredding the Moonweaver's shroud. Threads lashed, slicing away layers of the creature's form. Lysa's voice echoed over the storm.
"Rip it apart!"
Her coin-shards sliced through the chaos, carving runes in midair, destabilizing the Moonweaver's body.
But the Moonweaver did not fall.
It retaliated.
Scythe Barrage.
Shadow-blades rained from above—blistering speed, no rhythm, no mercy.
"Cover me!" Kael called, moving again.
Thread Dance: Spiral Evasion!
He became a blur again, his dagger spinning, threads flickering into small shields that deflected the worst of the blades. Still, cuts appeared—burning lines of flame across his arms.
Maraen's locket flared—catching stray blades in nets of gold thread. "Stay strong!"
Gavyn swung, deflecting a blade midair. "Not today, beast!"
The Moonweaver's void-eyes flared again.
"Soon…"
Its hands split wide.
Rift-Tide Eruption.
A colossal tide of shadow and threads surged outward—unstoppable, world-breaking. It swallowed the chamber, warped stone, drowned fire.
Kael stood firm.
Thread Ascent: Unshackled Dawn!
His runes surged. Light bloomed from his chest, rising like the sun beneath the sea. For a heartbeat, he transcended.
Initiate Tier, awakened.
Threads spun into a spiral around him, erupting into the tide with explosive force. The two waves met.
The world broke.
Sound died.
For a moment—there was only white.
When the light cleared, Kael stood in the wreckage, clothes torn, body bruised—but alive. His eyes burned with purpose.
"Together!" he roared.
Thread Dance: Binding Lash!
Tendrils of violet light burst from his blade, coiling around the Moonweaver's arms. They wrapped and tightened, pulling, pinning.
Gavyn surged forward, spear locking its leg again. "NOW!"
Lysa spun three coins and flung them—each one exploding in a web of threads. "Pay up, freak!"
Maraen's locket opened wide—an image of Torm inside—and released a beam of golden thread. "For us all!"
Kael stepped into the fray.
Thread Sever: Moon's Requiem!
A single radiant thread—pure, uncorrupted—formed in his palm. He drove it into the Moonweaver's chest.
Time screamed.
The scythe shattered.
The shadow howled.
The rift convulsed—then collapsed.
"NOOOOOO—"
The Moonweaver unraveled, threads bursting outward in a silent, final scream. The chamber dimmed. The light faded.
Silence.
Kael fell to his knees. Runes flickered. The air tasted of salt and ash.
"It's… done," he breathed.
Gavyn knelt beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Storm-god, Kael… You did it."
Lysa exhaled, her grin feral. "Bankrupt and buried."
Maraen cradled her locket. "Torm's free…"
They sat together in the fading light, as the rift-moon trembled one last time above Moonfall. The cave stilled. The tide ebbed.
And for the first time in countless resets, the hum… was gone.