The Eternal Loom stretched in all directions like a living canvas of possibility, its threads of raw creation pulsing with colors no mortal eye could name. This was no gentle paradise of clouds and harps. It was order forged in violence, a realm where concepts were born screaming and realities were tested until they broke or endured. Vast spires of crystallized law rose from oceans of liquid potential, their surfaces etched with the final moments of failed universes. Floating citadels drifted between them, home to lesser gods and their servants—beings of pure intent who maintained the balance their masters demanded.
Aeloria had once walked these paths as one of their own. Now, in her absence, the realm had grown colder, more rigid. The air itself felt measured, every breath calculated to serve the greater design.
