"Silas, if you keep staring at that abandoned 'Dreamweaver' altar, I'll pluck out your eyeballs and sell them to the deep-sea merchants,"
growled Old Deke, a burly dwarf missing half his ear.
He was struggling to drag a wrecked Mechanical Heir chassis from the mud pit.
Silas crouched in the rubble beside the altar, twirling a rusted copper needle—his only possession—between his fingers.
He looked up with a smile, revealing a set of white teeth, his clean-cut face shadowed with a weariness far beyond his years.
"Old Deke, I was just wondering—if the gods really are as equal as the legends say,
why do their God Core fragments always fall in the manors of noble lords,
and never in the mud pits of slums like ours?"
"Because the gods are snobs, kid," Old Deke spat.
"Get over here and help me. This chassis might still have a thread or two of Divine Residue Threads left—enough to buy us white bread for three months."
Silas stood, brushing the dirt from his pants.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through the base of his spine.
It was the Awakening Sense.
The air thickened, as if invisible spiderwebs were thrashing wildly through the void.
The dull gray sky split open with a jagged purple rift, and a suffocating pressure crashed down from above.
"Godfall Tide..." Old Deke paled, sinking to the mud. "Damn it, did a god just fall nearby?"
"No, not falling," Silas said, his voice eerily calm. His pupils reflected countless fine, multicolored threads. "They're fighting."
A massive figure woven from pure lightning flickered in the clouds, while opposing it were countless shadowy tendrils.
There were no words in this battle of gods—only raw, clashing laws.
A blazing golden object plummeted from the heavens, aimed straight at the altar where Silas stood.
"Old Deke, move!" Silas lunged—not to escape, but toward the falling object.
He knew it was suicide.
But in the world of Shattered Godweaving, mediocrity was more terrifying than death.
The golden light struck the altar, and the shockwave flattened every ruin within a hundred meters.
Silas felt at least three ribs crack, but he still crawled to the crater's edge.
At the bottom, a shattered crystal pulsed like a heartbeat.
[Detected: High-Purity Dreamweaver God Core Fragment...]
[Base Protocol Initializing...]
Silas reached out with trembling hands and grasped the crystal.
Instantly, a flood of information exploded in his mind.
His vision blurred, and the world around him unraveled into a tangled mess.
[Awakening Successful: Ordinary Weaver (Level 1)]
[Core Imprint Acquired: Shattered Mirror]
[Positive Effect: You can weave and replicate any non-divine skill within your line of sight.]
[Fatal Flaw: Memory Deprivation. Each use of this imprint ability will permanently erase a specific period of your memory.]
"Silas! Are you still alive?" Old Deke's voice rang out, laced with panic.
Silas shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness.
He looked at his hands, now wrapped in semi-transparent, glowing threads.
"I'm alive, Old Deke," he murmured, a fierce edge in his eyes. "But I think I just forgot the taste of yesterday's lunch."
At that moment, the shadows around the altar began to writhe.
The aftermath of the gods' battle had not only brought opportunity—it had drawn the Shadowweaver Beasts lurking at the edge of the void.
Three creatures, their bodies shifting like smoke and covered in multifaceted eyes, emerged from the ruins, locking onto the injured Silas.
Silas looked at the monsters, a wry, self-mocking smile on his lips.
"Damn, just awakened and already losing memories? The world sure thinks highly of me."
He watched one monster lash out with a shadowy claw.
Divine threads flickered wildly at his fingertips.
In that moment, he saw the trajectory of the attack and wove it into his own thread.
[Mirror Weaving: Shadow Strike.]
Silas vanished from sight.