The stars flickered out one by one, a harbinger of the unraveling universe. Arin stood at the center of an ancient, crumbling temple, the weight of the loom's threads heavy in his chest. The loom had become more than just an artifact—it was an anchor, a tether to reality itself. And it was slowly slipping out of his control.
"Arin…" Kaelen's voice cut through the stillness, a rare tremor in his tone. The warrior was uneasy, his senses stretched thin as they felt the distortion in the air, the shift between worlds. "Something's wrong."
He was right. It wasn't just the loom's power—it was the fabric of time itself, warping around them. The air vibrated with the hum of an unknown force, pulling at the threads that held them together. Arin clenched his fists, his body flickering in and out of visibility, as though the loom was calling him from far-off realms.
"We're not alone," Seraph said, his eyes flicking to the shadows.
And then, as if summoned by the fabric of the cosmos itself, a figure emerged. A woman, her eyes burning with the glow of distant stars, her presence radiating a power that far surpassed even the loom's might.
"Who are you?" Arin demanded, stepping forward, the threads inside him crackling in response. They were disoriented, but he could feel a connection—a bond between them. A pull that felt like fate itself, woven into the loom's tapestry.
The woman smiled, her voice low and intoxicating. "I am the Weaver's daughter. And I am here to correct the mistake you've made."
Before Arin could respond, the ground beneath them trembled. The temple began to shift, transforming into something unrecognizable—a new world, a different dimension, a place caught between realities.
"You've torn the weave too much," the Weaver's daughter continued, her hands tracing patterns in the air, threads of energy snapping into place. "And now, you will witness the price."
With a flick of her wrist, the space around them twisted. Reality split open, revealing alternate timelines and universes—a kaleidoscope of worlds, each teetering on the brink of collapse. And in each one, a version of themselves stood, some familiar, others twisted beyond recognition.
"This is the cost of your interference," the woman said, her voice echoing in the shifting void. "The worlds have bled into each other. Now, you must choose: restore the balance or watch it all fall apart."
The threads inside Arin flared, but he was no longer in control. The loom had always been more than he could comprehend. And now, he could see it—each decision he had made, each path he had walked, had been leading him here.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Time is unraveling. And you, Arin, are the one who must decide whether to repair the weave… or let it burn."