Chapter Two: The Sky That Forgot Its Name
The wind no longer whispered—it howled with a voice that didn't belong to any world known. Amira stood at the edge of the ravine, where the earth broke like a cracked mirror, and the clouds above spiraled in wounded silence. The sky bore a scar—one that shimmered like silver thread torn from the Loom itself.
She had followed the glyphs left by the hollow-winged bird. A creature of dust and memory, it had glided above her in silence, feathers unraveling like petals. It had no call, no echo—only its shadow moved.
Behind her, the others waited. Morya, cloaked in the ash-tones of grief, and Damaris, who had begun to speak in riddles again. The boy with the opal eyes—Kelu—watched the horizon as if he knew what would break next.
Amira turned to them.
"The sky is bleeding," she said.
Damaris smiled strangely. "Not bleeding—remembering."
In the Temple of Forgotten Moons
Far beneath the jagged cliffs, a door opened where no door had ever been seen. Hewn from obsidian and embedded with bones that pulsed like heartbeat, the Temple of Forgotten Moons rose as if unearthed from beneath centuries of denial.
It was here that Amira had to go.
Elias's voice lingered in her memory—not his words, but the weight of them. The warmth that once steadied her now flickered in cold fragments. Had he truly been taken by the silence? Or was he part of this unraveling?
The moment she stepped over the threshold, the air changed.
Light bent inward. Time trembled.
And a woman without eyes stood waiting, cloaked in moths.
"You bring with you the wound of the sky," she said. "But do you remember who tore it?"
Amira did not speak. She couldn't.
Because deep in her soul, something old had stirred. Not fear. Not anger.
But recognition.
Above, the Sky Breaks Again
Outside, thunder didn't roll—it wept. And in its sorrow, the birds that once flew began falling like ash. The glyphs in the air—those floating, glowing shapes—began dissolving.
Morya looked up.
"The sky," she whispered. "It's losing its language."
And then, as if in answer, the earth cracked in a long, slow sigh. From the chasm, a wind rose—cold, knowing, ancient.
And in it, the name "Serai" was carried.
The name of the first winged flame, once a guardian of the Loom.
Once a friend to silence.