Chapter Forty-One – The Choice Before the Storm

We left the Vault in silence.

Kael walked ahead with his eyes lowered, shoulders taut. Riven stayed at my side, close but uncharacteristically quiet. The vision from the orb lingered in my mind—not just images, but feelings. Centuries of regret. Lifetimes of choices I didn't remember making. And buried beneath it all… a single question:

Was I willing to change fate, even if it meant becoming something I feared?

We stopped at the edge of a cliff. Below, the Woven City shimmered like a jewel carved into the mountainside. Lights pulsed in patterns, each flicker a Thread of someone's life being rewritten, realigned.

"That's where we'll find the Keeper," Kael said. "If anyone knows how to sever a soul from the Loom, it's him."

"But he's not just a Keeper," I whispered, remembering now. "He was the one who bound me the first time."

Kael turned. "Yes."

"And you knew?"

"I suspected," he admitted. "But if we didn't come here, we wouldn't have stood a chance. He's dangerous, Sera. And brilliant. You'll need to outwit him, not overpower him."

Riven scowled. "Or we just slice his throat and end this."

I shook my head. "That's not how this ends."

Kael's gaze softened. "No. It ends with a decision only you can make."

That night, under a sky crackling with blue lightning, I sat alone beside the fire, tracing symbols into the dirt with a stick. The symbols were familiar now—echoes of spells, choices, lives I had once lived.

Riven approached, holding a flask of moonflower tea.

"You always do this before a battle," he said, sitting beside me. "Draw memories like they're wards."

"I'm not preparing for a battle," I murmured. "I'm preparing to let go."

His brows furrowed. "Of what?"

"Of who I used to be. Of every version of me that thought pain was the only path to purpose. I think the Loom kept repeating our lives because… we never believed we deserved more."

"You do," he said simply.

"Do you?"

He hesitated, then looked away. "Maybe I'm still learning."

I turned to him. "Then let's learn together. Let's rewrite this—no gods, no fates, no cursed threads. Just us, and a future we carve ourselves."

For a moment, he didn't answer.

Then he leaned forward, touched his forehead to mine, and whispered, "Then I'll follow you into the fire. No matter what it costs."

Above us, thunder rumbled—and the sky wept blue.

The Woven City awaited.

And tomorrow, the story would either break, or begin again.

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