Chapter 1: The Missing Thread

The village of Lunaris lay nestled in a valley, surrounded by rolling hills that seemed to hold the sky itself. Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the villagers gathered in the central square to watch the tapestry in the sky. Threads of every imaginable color wove and danced above them, reflecting the lives and destinies of all who lived. It was a ritual of comfort and certainty—a reminder that their lives had meaning, purpose, and an unshakable connection to the grand design.

Tonight was special. A young villager named Fenna stood in the square, her golden thread shimmering brightly among the stars. A golden thread meant greatness—a destiny that would ripple through the lives of others and echo in the tapestry for generations. The villagers celebrated with music, dancing, and the aroma of spiced bread wafting through the air. But as the crowd cheered, one figure lingered at the edge of the festivities, her heart heavy with a secret she dared not share.

Aria stood beneath the tapestry, her eyes scanning the intricate web of threads above. She had tried countless times to find hers, but the truth remained the same: her thread did not exist. It wasn’t broken or dim—it was simply absent, as if fate itself had forgotten her. She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders, feeling the chill of isolation more than the evening breeze.

“Aria!” a voice called, breaking her thoughts. Turning, she saw her friend Lira hurrying toward her, a garland of wildflowers in hand. “Aren’t you coming to the feast? Fenna’s story-weaving ceremony is about to start!”

Aria forced a smile. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she lied. Lira hesitated but nodded, her excitement too great to linger. As her friend disappeared into the crowd, Aria’s smile faded. She couldn’t bear to hear another tale of destiny while her own existence remained a void.

The night deepened, and Aria wandered to the edge of the village, where the forest began. Here, away from prying eyes, she could think. But her solitude was shattered by a sudden commotion. A loud crash echoed through the trees, followed by panicked shouts. Rushing toward the noise, she found a cart overturned, its heavy barrels spilling across the path. The villagers were gathered around, their faces pale.

“What happened?” Aria asked, stepping closer.

“The cart slipped,” an elderly man explained, his voice trembling. “It would have crushed Fenna if not for…” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on Aria. She followed his eyes and realized the crowd had parted around her. Murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Her thread should have snapped,” someone whispered. “How did she survive?”

Aria’s heart pounded. She had always kept her secret hidden, but now the village’s attention was turning toward her in suspicion. Without a word, she turned and ran, her feet carrying her to the one place she felt safe—the old watchtower at the forest’s edge.

Inside the crumbling tower, Aria climbed to the top, where the view of the sky was unobstructed. She stared up at the tapestry, willing it to reveal answers. Her fingers trembled as she traced the air, mimicking the movements of the Weavers she had seen in books. Nothing happened. Her threadless existence mocked her.

“Looking for something?” a voice said, startling her. Aria spun around to see a figure leaning against the doorway. He wore a tattered cloak, and his eyes glinted with an intensity that made her uneasy.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The man stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Someone who knows what it’s like to be unseen. Your thread is missing, isn’t it?”

Aria froze. “How do you know that?”

He smiled faintly. “Because I’ve been watching. And because you’re not the only one.”

Before Aria could respond, a low rumble filled the air. She looked up and gasped. The tapestry, usually serene and flowing, was trembling. Threads vibrated and twisted as if caught in a storm. In the distance, a symbol began to glow—a sigil she recognized from the stories. It was the mark of the Weavers’ Guild.

“They’re coming,” the man said, his tone grave. “And they’re looking for you.”