The Skyveil Peaks pierced the heavens like spears forged from storm and stone, their crags cloaked in mist that swirled with flecks of silver, catching the dim light of a moon shrouded by clouds. The air was thin, sharp with cold that bit through cloth and flesh, smelling of frost and wet rock, with a faint metallic tang that lingered like a warning. Loose gravel skittered underfoot, and the wind howled through narrow passes, a mournful wail that carried whispers—faint, jagged words like fall, shatter, end. The cliffs loomed, their faces carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly, as if the mountain itself were alive, watching, judging.
Kaelith Varn led the climb, her boots scraping on icy stone, her tattered cloak flapping like a torn sail. The shard at her belt flickered, its glow a pale blue, weak as a dying star. Her dark hair was tangled, crusted with frost, clinging to a face so gaunt it seemed carved from chalk. Her gray eyes, bloodshot and hollow, scanned the path ahead, searching for the anchor the scroll had promised. Her hands trembled, clutching the parchment from the Starfall Crater, its map a soft pulse guiding her upward. The heart's power was a knife in her chest, cutting deeper with every step, leaving her breathless, her skin clammy. Gold ichor stained her lips, crusted under her nose, and she wiped it away, her sleeve stiff with it.
Torren Ashkarn followed, his broad frame hunched, dragging himself with a spear he used as a crutch. His scavenged robe was a ruin, shredded by spawn and stained with blood that wouldn't stop seeping. Bandages peeled from his chest, raw wounds glistening where claws had torn him in the crater. His scarred hands shook, gripping the spear, no trace of riftweaving's fire—just a twitch that betrayed its hunger. His face was a map of pain, bruises fading into pallor, dark eyes dull with exhaustion. His breath came in wet rasps, each one a struggle, but he moved forward, stubbornness his only fuel.
Sylvara Ren stayed close, her auburn braid tucked under a scarf knotted tight against the wind. Her green eyes were wide, shadowed with grief, darting to every crack and shadow like they might hide a threat. Her tunic was patched, too thin for the cold, torn at the elbows to show scrapes crusted with dirt. Her dagger hung at her hip, its blade notched but sharp, her only defense since losing everything else. Her hands fidgeted, nails bitten raw, missing the herbs she'd once wielded like magic. The Hollow's death was a stone in her gut, heavier here where nothing grew, but she kept her shoulders squared, her voice steady for the others.
Rhydian Thalor scouted ahead, his lean frame slipping through the mist like a ghost. His coat was barely cloth anymore, patched with scraps, flapping open to show a shirt stiff with blood and sweat. His blue eyes glinted, sharp as knives, catching every glint of rune-light. His dagger spun in one hand, a restless habit, while the Weaver tablet pressed against his ribs, its runes a hum he felt in his bones. His face was lean, stubble thick, and his smirk was gone, replaced by a tightness that said he expected trouble and wasn't sure they'd survive it.
They'd bled for every mile to get here. Kaelith's exile from the Crystal Veil, chasing the Codex's heart, had pulled her through rifts, ruins, seas, and deserts. Torren's flight from the Emberfall Dominion, running from the lives he'd burned, had carried him from the Waste to the Skyveil's edge. Sylvara's mission to save the Verdant Hollow had made her a warrior, her hands stained with blood, not just earth. Rhydian, dodging his Riftborn curse, had bound his fate to theirs, his tablet echoing Kaelith's shard. The Weaver's Voice stalked them, its promises of freedom through ruin deafening now, its laughter a wound after every battle—from the Sunken Isles to the Starfall Crater.
"This cold's gonna kill me before any spawn do," Torren muttered, his voice a rough scrape, barely carrying over the wind. He leaned on his spear, his breath steaming, frosting his stubble. "Feels like my bones are cracking."
Sylvara glanced back, her scarf slipping to show worry etched deep. "You're tougher than that, Torren. Just keep moving. We'll find somewhere to rest soon." Her voice was soft, but it shook, like she wasn't sure she believed it.
Kaelith didn't stop, her eyes locked on a ledge above, the scroll crumpled in her fist. "There's no rest," she said, her voice raw, like she'd been screaming. "The map says the anchor's in a shrine, up there. We're almost to it."
Rhydian slid down from a rock, landing lightly, his dagger glinting. "Almost to what, Varn? Another fight? Cause I'm running low on blood to spill. That scroll's been dragging us to hell and back."
She turned, her face pale, gold ichor crusted on her chin. "You wanna turn around, Thalor? Be my guest. The shard's burning, the map's glowing, and the Tapestry's tearing itself apart. This is our shot, or we're all dead."
Rhydian raised his hands, his eyes narrowing. "Hey, I'm here, aren't I? Just saying, every time we follow that thing, we get jumped. Look at us—walking corpses, arguing in a freezer."
Torren coughed, spitting blood that froze on the stone. "He's got a point. I can't feel my damn hands, and riftweaving's about to finish me. You sure this shrine's worth it, Kaelith?"
Sylvara stepped between them, her voice sharp, like a teacher breaking up a fight. "Enough, all of you! We're falling to pieces, and it's not helping. Torren, you're not dying yet. Kaelith, you're not alone. And Rhydian, quit stirring trouble unless you've got a plan."
Kaelith's jaw tightened, but her eyes softened, just a flicker. "You're right, Sylvara. I'm sorry. I'm… scared. The heart's killing me, and I don't know if I can keep this up."
Torren looked at her, his face softening, his voice low. "We're all scared, Kaelith. Doesn't mean we stop. Lead on, alright?"
Sylvara nodded, her hand brushing Sylvara's arm. "Together. Like always."
They climbed higher, the path narrowing, ice slick under their boots. The wind screamed, flinging gravel that stung their faces, and the whispers grew louder—fail, break, die—slipping into their heads like ice water. Sylvara shivered, clutching her dagger, her voice a whisper. "It's like the crater, but worse. Like the mountain's talking."
Rhydian's dagger slowed, his eyes scanning the mist. "Yeah, and it's not happy we're here. My tablet's humming—same runes as those cliffs. Something's close."
Kaelith's shard flared, its light cutting through the fog. "There," she said, pointing to a cave mouth carved into the peak, runes glowing along its edges like frozen stars. "That's the shrine."
Before they could move, the ground shook, a deep rumble that sent ice cracking. A rift tore open, its violet light blinding, its hum a scream that clawed their skulls. Spawn surged out—creatures of frost and shadow, their bodies spiked with ice, eyes like shattered mirrors. One lunged, its claws slashing the air.
"Get down!" Kaelith yelled, diving behind a rock. The shard blazed, and she wove a barrier, its golden light flickering as a spawn smashed it. She gasped, gold ichor streaming from her nose, staining her cloak.
Torren swung his spear, riftweaving sparking weakly. He stabbed a spawn's chest, its body shattering, but another tackled him, claws tearing his robe. "Get off!" he roared, flames bursting, searing it. He fell to his knees, blood freezing on the stone, his spear shaking.
Sylvara slashed with her dagger, aiming for a spawn's eyes. It screeched, swiping at her, but she rolled, ice in her hair. "Torren, stay back!" she shouted, stabbing another that lunged. Her arm bled, her tunic ripped, but she kept swinging, her voice breaking. "We've got this!"
Rhydian moved like a ghost, his dagger sinking into a spawn's neck. He warped the air, crushing another, but blood poured from his ears, his face gray. "Varn, close it!" he yelled, dodging a claw that cracked the ground.
Kaelith's barrier shattered, her body crumpling. "It's fighting me!" she sobbed, the shard burning her hand. The Tapestry's threads were chaos, slipping away, and her vision blurred, ichor pooling.
The Weaver's Voice rose, its shadow swallowing the rift's light. "You chase anchors," it whispered, a chorus of despair, "but you are the flaw. Break, and be whole."
"Shut up!" Torren bellowed, staggering up. He swung at the Voice, flames flaring, but it laughed, slamming him into a rock. Blood sprayed, and he slumped, spear clattering.
Sylvara screamed, diving for him, her dagger slashing a spawn to keep it off. "Torren, please!" she cried, dragging him back, her hands slick with blood. "Don't leave me!"
Rhydian grabbed Kaelith, pulling her up. "You're not done!" he shouted, his powers surging, a weak shield holding the spawn back. "Do it!"
Kaelith nodded, tears mixing with ichor, and wove again, the shard blinding. Sylvara stabbed a spawn, clearing space, her arm trembling, blood dripping.
The rift shrank, threads snapping into place, but the Voice struck, its shadow breaking Kaelith's weave. She screamed, falling, the scroll slipping.
Sylvara tackled a spawn, saving Torren. "Get up!" she sobbed, slashing another, her voice raw.
Rhydian steadied Kaelith, his eyes fierce. "One more, Varn! Together!"
Kaelith wove, the shard's fire consuming her, threads aligning. The rift closed with a crack, the Voice's laughter fading: "You weave your end."
The spawn dissolved, the peak quiet except for their gasps. Kaelith slumped, the shard dark, her body shaking. Sylvara checked Torren's pulse, sobbing as he groaned, alive. "You're okay," she whispered, tearing her scarf to bandage him, her hands trembling.
Rhydian kicked a rock, his voice hoarse. "We're not surviving another one. We're done."
Kaelith crawled to the scroll, its map glowing. "The shrine," she rasped, pointing to the cave. "We're not done."
They staggered to the entrance, ice stinging their wounds, the wind screaming. The cave was a cathedral of frost and stone, its walls carved with runes that glowed blue, pulsing like veins. At its center stood a pedestal, a crystal sphere atop it, glowing gold, its threads weaving into the air—an anchor, alive with the Tapestry's pulse.
"It's… beautiful," Sylvara said, helping Torren sit, her voice awed. "Like the stars."
Torren coughed, blood on his lips. "Beautiful's trouble. That thing's gonna break us."
Rhydian circled it, his dagger still. "Another anchor. My tablet's buzzing—says it's tied to the sky. It's holding the weave."
Kaelith touched the sphere, visions hitting her—Weavers binding anchors in storms, their blood freezing, anchoring the Tapestry. "It's part of the heart," she said, her voice breaking. "It's keeping the weave—but it's killing us."
Sylvara's hand tightened on her dagger. "Can we fix it?"
Kaelith shook her head, ichor dripping. "Fix or cut. We're anchors too. We can heal it—or break free."
Torren's voice was grim. "Break it. I'm done."
Rhydian's eyes darkened. "Break it, and what? Everything falls? We're out of guesses."
Sylvara stepped forward, her voice fierce. "We fight. For the Hollow, everything. We mend it, Kaelith."
A rumble shook the shrine, ice falling. The Voice returned, its shadow filling the cave. "You cannot mend," it hissed. "The anchors are mine."
Kaelith faced it, her shard blazing. "Not today!" She wove, the sphere's light merging, threads surging.
Torren stood, flames sparking. "Back her!" he shouted, stabbing a spawn.
Sylvara slashed another, her arm bleeding. "Faster!"
Rhydian crushed a spawn, blood streaming. "Finish it!"
Kaelith channeled the sphere, the heart's fire roaring. The threads aligned, the anchor stabilizing, but the Voice struck, shattering her weave. She fell, screaming, ichor pooling.
Sylvara tackled a spawn, saving Torren. "Get up!"
Rhydian grabbed Kaelith. "One more!"
Kaelith wove, the sphere blinding, the anchor's light flooding. The rift closed, the Voice gone, its whisper fading: "You are the end."
They collapsed, bloody, spent. Kaelith clutched the scroll, its map shifting—to the Voidheart, beyond the peaks. "Another anchor," she whispered.
Sylvara bandaged Torren, tears falling. "We're still here."
Rhydian wiped his dagger, his voice low. "Barely."
Kaelith stood, swaying, her eyes hard. "The Voidheart's next. We end this."
They left the shrine, the wind howling, the anchor's light fading. The Tapestry held, but they were fraying, the Voice waiting.