The night was deep and endless, the sea a restless expanse beneath a sky stitched with clouds. Felix stood at the water's edge, the chill wind tugging at his cloak. Above him, the loom's wheel shimmered, its spokes spinning slowly, threads of light descending from the heavens and vanishing into the waves.
He felt the weight of the tapestry in his hands, the threads humming with secrets yet untold. Each strand seemed to pulse with memory—some his own, some belonging to others, all woven together in the endless fabric of time.
Behind him, the city slept, unaware of the silent vigil at its border. The other Weavers had returned to their homes, seeking rest after the ordeal at the Whispering Peaks. But Felix could not sleep. Not yet. The loom's call was strong tonight, and the sea's whispers were louder than ever.
He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the waves fill him. Visions flickered behind his eyelids:
—A girl running along the shore, laughter echoing in the wind.
—A storm-tossed ship, its crew clinging to hope as the sky split with lightning.
—A shadow slipping through the city's alleys, unseen but not unfelt.
Felix opened his eyes. The threads from the loom above seemed to reach for him, inviting, questioning.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence—a whisper, barely louder than the wind.
"You stand at the threshold, Weaver. Do you seek answers, or are you afraid of what the tide will bring?"
Felix turned. A figure stood a few paces away, cloaked in darkness, face hidden beneath a hood. Yet there was something familiar in the way the stranger held themselves, something that tugged at Felix's memory.
"Who are you?" Felix asked, his voice steady.
The figure smiled—a glint of teeth in the moonlight. "A friend. Or perhaps a warning. The sea of unraveling hours is never still. New tides bring new secrets. Are you ready to face them?"
Felix gripped the tapestry tighter. "I have to be. The city depends on it. The weave depends on it."
The figure stepped closer, the threads from the loom swirling around them both. "Then listen well, Weaver. The next storm will not come from above, but from within. Trust the threads, but trust yourself more. Not every secret is meant to be revealed, and not every shadow is your enemy."
With that, the stranger turned and vanished into the night, leaving Felix alone at the shore, the loom's wheel spinning silently overhead.
Felix watched the sea, the words echoing in his mind. He understood now: the greatest unraveling was not the storms that battered the world, but the ones that churned within the heart.
As dawn crept over the horizon, Felix turned from the water, the tapestry glowing softly in his arms. Whatever secrets the new day would bring, he would meet them—thread by thread, hour by hour, as the Watcher at the Shore.