Three days passed after the first trial, and though Morya's hands had healed, a part of her still trembled. The Loom was quieter now—watching. The Watchers, ever distant, were waiting to see if she would falter.
Then the winds shifted.
The Hollow trembled.
And the Sacrifice Stone rose from beneath the old roots.
It was not a stone, not truly. It pulsed with memory, shaped from bone and thread, veined with stardust. Upon its face, a single line shimmered:
"What would you give to preserve what you love?"
Morya approached the stone alone.
Nima stood far behind her, arms folded tightly. "You don't have to do this."
"I do," Morya said, "because they need to know I'm willing to pay the price."
"Even if the price is us?"
She paused—but did not turn back.
"If I fail, all of us fall. I'd rather bleed for our future than bargain with regret."
She touched the stone.
Instantly, the world melted.
She stood on the Edge of All Threads—a silver plain where every life she had ever touched shimmered in fragile lines. Erielle. Nima. The children of the Hollow. Even forgotten ones—like Aleth, her first mentor, lost to the Thread Plague. Or Sael, the boy she let die during the war.
Each line pulsed with warmth.
And then, they began to fade.
"Choose one," said a voice made of wind and sorrow.
"One thread must break for the rest to hold."
She staggered. "No—there must be another way."
"This is the Second Trial. Sacrifice is not cruelty. It is choice."
One by one, the threads grew thinner.
Erielle's thread pulsed brightest—she was Morya's anchor. Nima's thread twined with hers, like two vines grown together.
And then there was the unborn thread—a child, not yet real, but promised in the stars.
"No," she whispered. "Don't ask me to—"
"You are Weaver. You must choose."
Time shattered.
She was back before the stone, but now Nima stood bound upon it—his eyes pleading. Behind her, Erielle was trapped in a circle of burning threads. And in her hand was the silver needle, glowing white-hot.
"One thread must end."
Her body screamed. Her heart broke.
"Let me take my own," she offered. "Let me be the one."
"You are needed," the Watchers replied.
"And so is the cost."
Finally, she pressed the needle into her chest—not to end her life, but to burn away her certainty.
And as she bled, she whispered:
"Take the unborn thread. I will not let the living fall."
The Loom wept.
The child that never was faded from the stars.
And the stone cracked.
The world shimmered, the trial complete.
Morya collapsed, trembling.
Erielle caught her. "What did you give?"
"A future I'll never hold."
Nima stared at her, tears caught in his throat. "You shouldn't have done it."
"Someone had to."
Above, a second star dimmed.
Only one trial remained.