Some truths are not meant to be spoken aloud. Some are buried beneath the fabric of reality itself.And yet, even the most concealed threads can be pulled, and once they are, the world unravels, piece by piece.
Ilyan had seen the shadow in the ruins, heard the cryptic warnings of the Riddle-Speaker, and felt the unnerving pressure of the journal's words. But as he walked through the empty streets of Noend—the city where shadows lived and whispered—he couldn't shake the feeling that something was drawing him toward the very heart of the mystery.
He hadn't expected to find Lady Revienne Solthar in the manner he did.
The Loomed building she resided in was an architectural marvel—a towering structure of glass and iron that seemed to hum with a quiet, deliberate rhythm. Unlike the crumbling ruins that dotted the city's outer edges, this place felt alive with purpose. The hum of machinery, the shifting of gears behind closed doors, the occasional low murmur of voices—everything about the structure screamed order.
And yet, there was a stillness to it. A quiet that permeated every inch of the place, as if its very foundations were built upon the weight of a secret.
Ilyan had been directed here by a series of cryptic clues. First the journal's instructions. Then the passing whisper of the Riddle-Speaker. And now, his own intuition, pulling him like a thread unraveling too quickly. He didn't understand why, but something told him that his fate was tied to this place.
The door opened before he could knock.
Lady Revienne Solthar stood in the entryway, tall and regal, dressed in the black-and-silver attire of the Ecliptic Concord. Her hair, a cascade of dark silk, framed a face that appeared ageless. Her eyes were sharp—cold, almost unnervingly so. She stared at Ilyan for a long moment, as if assessing him, weighing him in some unfathomable way.
"You've come," she said, her voice a calm, measured thing that seemed to carry the weight of centuries.
Ilyan nodded, unsure of what to say. He had expected to find an intimidating presence, but not the quiet command that seemed to radiate from her.
"I did," Ilyan replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I… I don't understand why. I only know that I need to understand the truth. The world feels…"
"Frayed?" Lady Revienne finished for him, her lips curling into a slight, unreadable smile. "Yes. You are not the only one who feels it. But you are one of the few who can see it."
She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. Ilyan hesitated for only a moment before walking into the heart of the building. The air inside felt different—charged, as if it was full of potential. The walls were lined with shelves of books, each one glowing faintly with an ethereal light, and strange relics were displayed on pedestals, their shapes twisting in ways that made his mind recoil.
"This is the Loomed Hall," Lady Revienne explained, her tone turning more serious. "It is where the Ecliptic Concord preserves knowledge. The truths of this world, and the fragments of the other worlds that have been forgotten."
"I don't understand," Ilyan said, his voice wavering slightly. "What is the Ecliptic Concord?"
She turned to face him, her eyes locking with his. There was something about her gaze that seemed to pierce through him, as if she could see every secret he had ever kept hidden.
"The Concord is the keeper of truths," she said. "We are the ones who preserve knowledge—knowledge that would otherwise corrupt, destroy, or simply fade away into nothingness. We protect the fragile threads that bind this world together."
Ilyan's chest tightened. "And the journal I found? Is that one of the threads?"
Lady Revienne's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She reached for a nearby pedestal, lifting an object that shimmered with faint blue light—a relic, perhaps, or some kind of artifact.
"The Loom is a delicate thing," she continued, her voice now low and serious. "There are those who would tear it apart. There are those who would seek to burn it to the ground. But there are also those who will protect it, even at great cost."
She placed the relic on the table in front of Ilyan. It was a small sphere, seemingly made of pure light, swirling with hidden patterns within. There was an undeniable pull to it, a call that resonated deep in his chest.
"This is one of the keys," Lady Revienne said, her eyes narrowing. "A relic of great power. We need it. But more importantly, we need someone who is willing to take the first step."
Ilyan swallowed, his throat dry. "Take the first step?" he echoed, confusion still clouding his thoughts. "What do you want me to do?"
"Retrieve the rest of the relics," Lady Revienne said, her voice soft but carrying an underlying weight. "Find what has been hidden, lost, and forgotten. You will travel to places no one dares venture. You will face choices that may tear you apart. But you will also gain something no one else can."
Ilyan didn't know what to say. His mind raced as he tried to process everything she had said. Relics. Forgotten truths. A world falling apart at the seams.
"You must understand," Lady Revienne said, stepping closer. "The world is unraveling, and the Ecliptic Concord must ensure that it does not fall into chaos. We are not the only ones who seek the truths, Ilyan. Others will come after you. They will try to stop you. But you must be willing to fight for what you believe in, even if it means sacrificing everything."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of destiny.
"I don't know if I'm ready for this," Ilyan admitted, his voice shaking. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."
Lady Revienne's gaze softened, if only for a moment. "Strength is not always a matter of power, Ilyan. Sometimes, it's simply a matter of doing what must be done."
She reached into a pocket and handed him a small object—a key, intricately designed and cold to the touch. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and as soon as his fingers closed around it, he felt the unmistakable pull of something much larger than himself.
"This is your first step," Lady Revienne said. "A key to a door that has long been sealed. Find it, and you will find the truth you seek."
Ilyan nodded, the weight of the key heavy in his hand. He could feel the world pressing in on him, demanding that he take the next step. But what if the world he sought to uncover was too much for him to bear?
He had already started down a path that would change him forever. And now, there was no turning back
The wind carried dust and the scent of broken stone as Ilyan stepped over the shattered arch of what had once been a gate. The land beyond Noend was brittle and pale, riddled with cracks like veins spreading across a dead body. The Ruins of the Bound stretched out before him — a place spoken of only in soft tones by those who remembered the world before.
But Ilyan had never known the world before. Only what was left behind.
His satchel held the journal, several vials of pale flame for light, and the key Lady Revienne had given him — a twisting silver thing that hummed with a quiet, metallic life. Every time he touched it, his heart beat strangely in his chest.
The journal had offered only one line that morning:
"The bones remember where the breath was stolen. Seek the place where echoes weep."
Cryptic, like always. Yet somehow, it was the only direction he had.
The ruins were no mere rubble. They were bones of a city that once breathed, girded with pillars that reached for skies long gone. Some of the structures still stood — angular, impossible geometries that bent the eye and refused interpretation. Between them, rusted statues of figures cloaked in long robes stood in silence, their faces erased by time.
There was a hum beneath the stone here, a pulse underfoot like something sleeping under the earth. Ilyan pressed his palm to the cold surface of a wall, and for just a moment, he heard something: a single, strangled note of music. A choir with no breath.
He pulled away, shivering.
He was being watched again.
A shadow flitted across the far ruins.
Not the Riddle-Speaker. This was smaller. Faster. Human?
Ilyan crouched low, hand hovering over the small dagger Lady Revienne had insisted he carry. "For more than the flesh," she had said. He didn't know what that meant — only that she had spoken it like a warning.
He kept moving. The journal's compass had turned warm in his hand, subtly tugging him through the maze of stone. Each step carried him deeper into the silence, until he came to a sunken amphitheater — massive, untouched by time, its stone benches cracked but orderly.
At its center: a black obelisk surrounded by concentric runes etched into the floor, now glowing faintly with pale blue light.
This was it.
He stepped down, one foot at a time, feeling the air thicken like syrup. As he approached the obelisk, the key at his side thrummed loudly.
He knelt. The obelisk pulsed in response.
He wasn't alone.
Behind him, a figure stepped into the amphitheater. Not cloaked like Revienne, not riddling like the Riddle-Speaker — but young, sharp-eyed, and draped in faded maroon robes. A man, or something close enough.
"I was wondering if you'd find this place," the stranger said. His voice was confident, but not hostile. "Not many can read the journal."
Ilyan stood, cautious. "Who are you?"
The man smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"I'm one of the Many Unspoken. We, too, read what the Loom hides. But we don't… preserve truth the way your Concord friends do."
He gestured lazily at the obelisk.
"You're here for the relic. But did Lady Revienne mention the cost?"
The runes around the obelisk glowed brighter.
"I'm not here to serve either side," Ilyan said, carefully.
"Oh, but you already do," the man said, tilting his head. "You chose by arriving. The Loom watches. It always watches."
He stepped closer, and Ilyan caught a flicker of something behind his eyes — black lines that moved like ink under skin.
"You'll take the relic, of course. You'll feel the truth. But know this: every truth gained is a thread pulled. And every thread pulled leaves something undone."
Ilyan turned back to the obelisk. His breath caught.
The surface had cracked open, and within floated a shard of glass, spinning slowly, holding within it the image of a crying child — no sound, just the endless looping grief.
His chest hurt just looking at it.
A voice filled his head:
"One truth: The world broke long before you. You are only a witness.""Take this memory. Bear it. Let it write itself into your soul."
Ilyan reached forward.
Pain shot through his arm, and for a moment he felt everything: the end of a city, screams locked in stone, hands reaching for air that wasn't there. He dropped to his knees, gasping, and the shard embedded itself in the air above his hand, hanging like a tethered thought.
The relic had chosen him.
The maroon-cloaked man was gone.
Only the whisper of dust and the low hum of stone remained.
Ilyan stood, weak but standing. The journal buzzed at his hip, pages turning on their own.
"You have taken the first weight. There will be others.The world remembers you now. You are no longer forgettable."