The Weaver's daughter's cold gaze lingered on Arin, a silent challenge hanging between them. The worlds around them hummed in distress, threads of reality spiraling like a tightening noose. Each moment that passed felt heavier, as though time itself was being strangled, the weight of her words anchoring his every thought.
"We've been here before, haven't we?" Arin muttered, eyes flicking across the shifting reality. "You speak of choice, but all I've ever done is try to carve my own fate. Yet now, I stand before the Loom... and it's already unraveling because of me."
"Because of you?" The Weaver's daughter stepped closer, her eyes flickering with the light of distant stars. "No, Arin. Not just because of you. Because of everything that has ever been. The Loom is not a single entity, not a force you can tame. It weaves all things together—time, space, life, death. And you think you can rewrite its design? You will pay the price for that."
"Then what would you have me do?" Arin's voice was quieter now, tinged with both anger and exhaustion. "Stand aside? Let the Loom continue its endless cycle? Let this world, and every other, remain at the mercy of fate?"
Seraph's hand rested on his shoulder. "We've already defied fate once. We won't stop now."
Kaelen's grip on his sword tightened. "Whatever happens, Arin, we face it together. No matter the cost."
The Weaver's daughter tilted her head, as if amused by their defiance. "Such resolve... but it is not enough. The Loom is far older, far more powerful than you can fathom. It bends all things. Resistance will only invite destruction."
Arin's eyes burned with determination. "Then let it burn. We've been walking a path of destruction since the beginning. We won't turn back now."
The Weaver's daughter's smile faltered, and for a fleeting moment, a shadow of doubt crossed her face. But it was quickly gone, replaced with a cold, unyielding certainty. "Very well," she whispered. "You will see what it means to tear at the fabric of existence."
The ground beneath them trembled, and reality itself twisted. Arin felt his body lurch, as though he was being pulled apart, his senses stretched thin across an endless expanse. Kaelen and Seraph struggled to keep their footing, their forms flickering as if they were no longer fully anchored in this world.
"Watch, Arin. Watch as the threads of your decisions unravel." The Weaver's daughter's voice became a mere whisper, lost in the chaos.
And then, as if on cue, the world split open—torn asunder by the very force that Arin had sought to defy. A ripple of energy surged through the rift, casting light and shadow across the infinite planes of existence. What appeared before them was a kaleidoscope of fractured realities, each one a distorted reflection of the lives they had lived, the choices they had made. Some were twisted versions of themselves—darker, broken, lost.
"This is the cost of your defiance," the Weaver's daughter intoned, her voice cutting through the chaos. "The worlds have bled into each other. And now, you must choose: restore the balance, or watch it all fall apart."
Arin stared into the infinite abyss, the weight of his choice pressing down on him. The Loom's threads burned in his chest, their power calling to him like a siren song. He could feel his connection to the fabric of existence itself, but it was slipping. The Weaver's daughter was right; the cost was higher than he could have imagined.