The Seer's chamber was quiet, save for the rustle of threads moving through the air like a living wind. Golden strands hung from the ceiling, weaving and unweaving into shapes that dissolved before the eye could grasp them.
Matthew stood in the center, palms damp, shoulders rigid.
The Seer's gaze pinned him, a weight heavier than stone. Her eyes glowed faintly, not with light but with a presence, as though the Loom itself stared through her.
"You have learned to fight," she said, voice low, echoing strangely in the chamber. "You have learned to bleed. But you have not yet learned to carry."
Matthew frowned. "Carry what?"
Her lips curled faintly, neither smile nor frown. "Threads are not only for weaving. They are for bearing. To weave without burden is to create without meaning. Tonight, you will face the Trial of Burden. Whether you walk out whole… depends on whether you accept what you must bear."
Before Matthew could speak, her staff struck the ground. The chamber dissolved.
---
The world around him shifted into a strange, dreamlike expanse. He stood upon a bridge of unraveling threads, suspended over an abyss of shadow. Each strand beneath his feet quivered, unraveling and re-forming with every breath.
And on his back—he staggered at the sudden weight—rested a massive Loom-weight. It was not made of iron, yet it pressed into his shoulders as though it sought to grind him into dust.
He gasped, knees nearly buckling. Every step sent fire shooting through his bones, the weight digging into his very threads.
The bridge stretched endlessly forward, shimmering into mist.
"Carry," the Seer's voice whispered across the void.
So he stepped forward.
---
At first, the burden was only physical. Every muscle screamed. His breath came ragged. Sweat soaked his tunic. Yet he pressed forward, one trembling step after another.
Then the air rippled.
A figure appeared ahead, standing in the mist. A girl, pale and trembling, her veins traced with black.
"Mira…"
She reached for him, her small hand trembling. But her eyes were not bright with hope—they were hollow, accusing.
"You failed me," she whispered. "You let the shadows in. You let me unravel."
The Loom-weight on his back doubled, slamming him to one knee. His chest heaved, breath stolen. Threads quivered at his fingertips, desperate to weave and cut—but they tangled, useless.
"No…" Matthew rasped. "I didn't… I tried…"
But the illusion did not vanish. Mira's gaze burned into him, as heavy as the weight itself.
He forced his legs to move, dragging himself forward.
Another ripple in the mist.
Liora. Her eyes blazed with fury, but tears streaked her face.
"This is your fault. You let them exile you. You let them exile us. You should have fought harder."
The burden doubled again. Matthew collapsed to both knees, the bridge trembling beneath him. The threads beneath his hands burned as he clutched them, leaving scorch marks.
"Liora… stop…" His voice cracked. "I… I didn't want this…"
But she turned away, the weight sinking deeper into his back.
Then came Bren. Silent. Cold. His eyes said nothing, yet they accused more loudly than words.
The burden crushed Matthew flat against the bridge. The strands beneath him threatened to snap, abyss yawning below.
His breath broke into ragged sobs. His chest burned with guilt, his shoulders with pain.
--
And then came the other voice.
Silk-smooth. Honey-sweet.
The whisper from his chest.
"Drop it."
Matthew froze, trembling against the bridge.
"You are not meant to carry this weight. Let us bear it. We will turn your burden into strength. Into a weapon. No more guilt. No more shame. Only power."
The black filament in his chest pulsed, a heartbeat that was not his own.
Images flashed in his mind—himself standing tall, burden gone, shadows swirling at his command, his enemies falling before him. No more weakness. No more pain.
His hand trembled. The bridge quivered. The abyss called.
"Just let go," the whispers crooned. "Let us weave for you."
---
Matthew shut his eyes, gasping. His body screamed for relief. His heart screamed for escape.
But beneath the weight, beneath the whispers, something else stirred.
Memory.
Mira's trembling fingers pressing into his palm. Don't unravel.
Liora's defiant eyes, blazing even when the village turned against them.
Bren's silent presence, steady at his side even when words failed.
Matthew's throat tightened.
"Yes," he whispered, voice breaking. "I failed. I hurt them. I was too weak."
The burden trembled, heavier than ever. His chest nearly split with the pressure.
"But I will carry it," he said, louder now, forcing the words out through blood and fire. "I will keep carrying it. Because it's mine. My guilt. My mistakes. My people."
The black filament throbbed, furious. The golden threads at his fingertips sparked wildly.
And then—something impossible.
The two did not fight.
For the first time, the golden threads wrapped around the black filament—not to cut it, not to reject it, but to intertwine.
Light and shadow, weaving together.
The burden lifted, not gone, but steadied. The bridge beneath him solidified, threads glowing golden-black, carrying him forward.
With a ragged shout, Matthew forced himself to his feet. Step by step, he staggered across the bridge.
And when he reached the far side, the burden dissolved into glowing dust, scattering into the abyss like fireflies.
---
Matthew collapsed to his knees, chest heaving. His shoulders burned—but when he touched them, his fingers brushed a faint scar of black-gold etched into his skin, glowing faintly through his tunic.
The Seer stood waiting at the far side. Her expression was unreadable, though her eyes lingered on the scar with something like awe—and fear.
"To carry is to change," she whispered. "And to change is to weave anew."
---
Origin Realm
Above the starlit dais, Kai leaned forward in his chair, golden eyes gleaming.
"Well, well. He chose to carry the burden instead of casting it off. Bold… and dangerous."
Ema stood beside him, her face pale. "He is blending the Hunger with his Loom-threads. No Seer has ever done that. If he keeps going down this path, he won't just survive the Hunger—he'll reshape the very laws of weaving."
Kai's smile widened. "Then maybe it's time for a new kind of Seer."
--
Back in the settlement, Matthew awoke in the woven hammock, his body trembling, breath shallow. Frayborn gathered around, whispering in awe and fear as they saw the faint black-gold scar glowing across his shoulders.
Some called it a blessing. Others, a curse.
But before the whispers could spread further, a shout rose at the settlement gates.
A messenger stumbled in, breathless, eyes wide with terror.
"The Starscape is stirring!"
The words crashed over the settlement like a storm.
And Matthew, lying weak and scarred, knew his trials were only beginning.
---
[A/N:I have recently started reading the book from the start and I found out that chapter 39 was not completed,so I have updated it.you should check it out once you're done with this chapter]
Bye,and have a nice day