Chapter Twenty-Nine – Descent of the Chosen

The staircase wound deep beneath the surface, far below the roots of the forest. Each step I took was illuminated by runes that flickered to life as if recognizing me—welcoming me back.

But I had never been here before.

Or had I?

The others followed in silence, even Kael unnerved by how alive the place felt. The air wasn't stale like most underground ruins. It breathed. It pulsed with ancient power.

The word Desire continued down the walls, repeating in dozens of languages—some I knew, some long extinct. Some that weren't meant for human tongues.

And then the stairs ended.

We stood in a vast chamber, shaped like a loom's spindle—tall, round, with thick stone columns holding up a domed ceiling woven with golden threads that moved as if they had a mind of their own.

In the center of the chamber stood a pedestal.

Floating above it was a scroll bound by red string, dripping with light.

"The First Thread," Kael breathed.

Riven stepped in front of me. "If this is a trap—"

"I'll spring it," I said, walking forward.

The moment I touched the scroll, the chamber lit up like lightning had struck the soul of the room.

My mind flooded with images.

A girl… crying beneath a weeping moon.

A man… offering a sword to a faceless king.

A mother… hiding her daughter in a cradle made of thread.

A loom… broken in half, stitched back together with a single name:

Sera.

I gasped as the scroll unrolled in my hands. It wasn't a story.

It was a spell.

A map of a soul.

Mine.

And at the bottom of the page, written in the ancient tongue, was a question:

Will you unravel yourself… or remake the world?

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