Prologue - The 'gift'
The air hung thick with the scent of burning herbs and the faint metallic smell of blood.
Above them, the night sky swirled with impossible colors ignited by Drakos’ desperate incantations in a lost tongue and Ethan’s precise scientific predictions.
Between them, on a stone pillar, lay the fading Kayla. Her breaths shallow, eyes glassy and distant.
She was dying.
“It’s working! The nexus point…it’s opening.” Drakos screamed over the chaos of sparking conduits, glowing ancient runes, and questionable artifacts that thrummed with unknown power.
Ethan held her hand. “Hold on, my love. Just a little longer.” He whispered. “Please, hold on.”
The fabric of reality tore with as much dramatism as you would expect reality to tear. A vortex formed where the stars should’ve been, and a thunderous noise echoed all around them.
A presence, cold and vast, descended upon them—an entity of pure indifferent will that appeared uniquely to both of them.
The Weaver of Fates. When it spoke, its voice resonated directly in their minds, a combination of a thousand voices in one.
“You seek to defy the cycle of life. You covet what’s not yours, humans.” It was both a statement and an accusation.
“We only seek to save her. To grant her life.” Drakos defended their desperate endeavor.
Ethan, eyes fixated on her fading form, added, “Take whatever you want from us, ask us of anything, but please, let her live.” He pleaded.
“Interesting.” The entity paused. The thunderous sound returned, and the sky bled with an impossible storm. “Your desire is granted. Life for the young woman.”
“Thank you—” Drakos started.
“But the balance must be maintained.”
Without warning, a searing pain ripped through Ethan and Drakos. Their bodies convulsed as raw, cosmic energy surged through them—knitting flesh, meshing with bone, and swirling through blood to entwine with their very essence. They cried out in pain—sounds consumed by the angry sky.
When it subsided, residual tendrils of energy swirled out of them and into Kayla’s body, flickering and morphing with her—humming under her skin.
The entity’s voice, now tinged with cosmic finality, reverberated in their minds, “It’s done. She will live—her essence bonds you to endless life. Her own now weaves within the cycle. This is the price.”
In an instant, the world returned to normal, no bleeding sky or vortex in the fabric of reality. No Weaver of Fates.
It is only then that they noticed the shimmering, almost living shadow etched around their right arms—a large infinity symbol interwoven with a delicate thorny vine. A manifestation of their unwanted gift. A reminder of the fateful day.
Ethan collapsed beside Kayla. Hoping. Praying. Clutching her hand.
Drakos stood a few feet away, trembling from what they’d done. The realization of their actions finally settled over him like ice water.
They’d been mistaken, and Kayla was going to pay the price.
