The dawn that broke over the Hollow was unlike any before it.
Golden mist rippled across the river's skin, and the silver tree no longer bled—its roots were still, its leaves hushed as if listening. Lanterns that had dimmed now glowed softly again, not with sorrow, but with a warmth the Hollow had long forgotten.
And at the water's edge, two figures sat side by side: Morya and Nima.
Alive.
Changed.
Erielle was the first to find them. Her hands trembled as she approached, the old scissors slung across her shoulder like a relic.
"You brought her back," she whispered.
Morya stood slowly. "Not alone."
Nima looked up, her eyes gleaming. "The Unwoven let me go. Not because it was willing, but because something more powerful pulled me back."
Erielle nodded, her voice rough. "Threadkeepers."
The Hollow stirred with new rhythm. Villagers emerged from their homes as if roused from long slumber. Elders who had not spoken in years wept without understanding why. Children touched the earth and felt it hum.
Even the ancient Loom in the center of the Hollow, once veiled and shrouded, now stood revealed—its great stone frame reborn in color, its threads taut with stories old and waiting.
Morya stepped forward and touched it.
For the first time, it did not reject her.
A spiral of runes shimmered around her palm. The Loom pulsed—and threads began to spin on their own, golden and silver and violet.
"What's happening?" Nima asked.
Erielle's voice broke as she answered.
"She's not just Threadkeeper anymore."
She knelt before Morya, eyes wide.
"She's become the Hollow's next Weaver."
Morya staggered back. "No. I didn't come here to rule."
"You didn't," Erielle said softly. "But you came here to heal. And that… is what this place needed most."
Around them, the Hollow began to rewrite itself.
Ruined lanterns reformed, their fires steady.
Withered trees bore blossoms made of threads.
Old names forgotten reappeared on stones and walls, returning the dead to memory.
And the river ran not with sorrow, but with light.
The Unwoven was sealed—at least for now—but its echo lingered in Nima's gaze.
"Some things followed me back," she admitted that evening.
Morya looked at her.
"We'll face them together."
"And if they call me again?"
"Then I'll follow. Again and again, if I have to."
They laughed—a soft, tired laugh. Not out of joy, but relief.
Erielle raised her scissors and snipped the air. A sharp sound rang out—final, clear.
"A new chapter begins," she said.
And from somewhere deep within the Hollow, the Loom responded:
One thread ends. Another begins.