Felix stood at the edge of the sea, the chill wind tugging at his cloak. Above, the loom's wheel spun in the clouds, its spokes glimmering with starlight. Threads of light descended from the sky, weaving through his fingers, humming with secrets and possibility.
He watched the waves roll in, each one carrying a memory—some his own, some belonging to the city, and some far older than either. The night felt alive with stories waiting to be told.
Behind him, the city was quiet, as if holding its breath. The spindle given by the Messenger rested in his pocket, its glassy surface now cool and still after the vision he and Linh had shared. The loom's wheel above seemed closer than ever, as if watching, waiting for what would come next.
Felix closed his eyes, listening to the tide. He heard the echo of his friends' voices—Linh's certainty, Kiran's laughter, Anaya's calm wisdom, Arjun's steady resolve. He felt the weight of the silver thread they had woven into their world, the ripple it had sent through the tapestry.
A sudden shift in the wind made him turn. Down the shore, a figure approached—hooded, like the one on the cover, their silhouette outlined in moonlight. Felix's heart quickened. Was this another Messenger? A Weaver from beyond the sea? Or a shadow drawn by the loom's new pattern?
The figure stopped a few paces away, their face hidden. "You've changed the weave, Felix," they said, their voice soft but clear. "The city feels it. The world feels it. The tides remember every secret you've woven."
Felix gripped the threads in his hand. "Are you here to warn me? Or to help?"
The stranger extended a hand, palm up. In it lay a single, dark thread—darker than night, yet shimmering with hints of color. "Every new pattern draws its own shadows. This thread is a memory the sea has kept for too long. If you are willing, weave it into your tapestry. But know this: not all secrets wish to be revealed, and not all tides can be turned back."
Felix hesitated, feeling the weight of the choice before him. The loom's wheel spun faster, the threads in his hand tightening with anticipation.
He reached out, taking the dark thread. As their fingers touched, the sea seemed to hush, and the clouds above parted to reveal the loom in its full, radiant glory.
The stranger's voice was barely a whisper now. "In the tides of time, every thread holds a secret. Some are burdens. Some are gifts. Only a true Weaver can tell the difference."
As the figure melted into the night, Felix stood alone at the water's edge, the new thread pulsing with possibility. The city behind him, the loom above, the sea before him—he understood that the next unraveling would begin not with a storm, but with a choice.
He turned back toward the city, the dark thread woven into his palm, ready to face whatever secrets the tides would reveal.