Chapter 102 – Ripples Across the WorldI. The Fallen ProphetsIn the marble hall of the Temple of Threads, silence reigned. For centuries, the Order of Prophets had stood as arbiters of fate, their every word shaping kings and guiding empires. Today, their voices were gone.High Oracle Sareth clutched the sacred loom-staff, its once-glowing crystal dull and lifeless. Around her, acolytes whispered in panic.“The visions… they’ve vanished.”“My dreams—there’s nothing but silence!”“Without prophecy, who will guide the kingdoms?”Sareth stared at the horizon through the temple’s high windows. Her chest felt hollow, her certainty gone. “The Loom has abandoned us,” she whispered. “No. The Loom is no more.”For the first time in her life, she was not a prophet. She was just… Sareth. And she didn’t know if that terrified her or set her free.II. A King Without a ScriptFar to the north, in the storm-wracked citadel of Ironvale, King Dareth sat on his throne, surrounded by advisors in chaos.

Chapter 104 – A World Without a ScriptThe days after the Harbinger’s fall unfurled like a tapestry without a weaver. The threads that once bound nations, destinies, and ordinary lives no longer tightened into predictable patterns. Instead, the world began to fray.The Shattered KingdomsIn the south, the banners of the Drosian Empire were torn down not by foreign invaders, but by their own people. Soldiers threw down their spears, tired of marching to wars that no longer carried the weight of “fate.” Farmers refused to pay tribute, saying, “The Loom is gone. Why should we?”By week’s end, three provinces declared independence. By month’s end, ten more. The once-mighty empire split into quarrelling shards, each led by voices who had been silenced under the yoke of inevitability.Yet freedom bred chaos. Where one province raised its flag for peace, another raised blades for conquest.The Unmoored PriestsFarther west, temples crumbled not from battle, but from silence. Priests who once

Chapter 106 – Sparks in the SilenceThe night after Kai’s words, Calvess did not sleep.Fires burned in alleys, not from battle but from neighbors huddling together, arguing over what “freedom” meant. Some claimed the city had been liberated from chains. Others insisted it had been abandoned to anarchy.The bells in their towers hung heavy, unmoving, as though they too waited to see which way the city would turn.Whispers of DivisionThe four took shelter in an abandoned inn near the river. The walls groaned with every shout carried on the wind.Mira paced restlessly. “They’re splitting already. Half of them want to build a council chosen by the people. The other half are gathering behind that priest—what’s his name? Revnar. He’s preaching that without the Loom, the city must accept him as its ‘new destiny.’”“Convenient destiny,” Toren muttered, sharpening his axe. “Bet he writes his own sermons with one hand and counts coin with the other.”Elira sat by the window, her eyes reflecti

Chapter 108 – Echoes of Fire The city of Calvess burned with its own fury. From the high towers to the lowest alleys, every street seemed to vibrate with the clash of voices, steel, and fear. The bells still refused to ring, as though the city itself held its breath. The Square – Blood and Resolve Toren swung his axe in a brutal arc, scattering zealots like wheat before the scythe. He fought not to kill, but to clear a path, his body a living shield around Mira and the wounded Solenne. Mira’s voice cut sharp over the roar. “This way! Toward the river!” But the mob was relentless. Revnar’s zealots screamed that Solenne was cursed, that her blood would consecrate the square. Her followers screamed back, desperate, clashing in a storm of fists and blades. A stone struck Mira across the shoulder; she staggered, nearly dropping Solenne. Toren’s roar shook the square as he slammed his axe into the ground, splintering cobblestones and driving back attackers by sheer force of will.

Chapter 110 – Voices in the SquareThe square of Calvess had not been this crowded since the spring markets, when caravans came singing down the river. Now, no songs rose—only murmurs thick with fear.At the temple steps stood Revnar, his crimson cloak torn but his voice sharper than ever. He raised a hand, and the crowd stilled as if the very air had been leashed.“You saw it with your own eyes!” he thundered. “The pretender struck down, the heavens themselves casting judgment! And yet still, her name is whispered in the shadows. Lies, deceit, treachery—nothing more!”The crowd rumbled. Some nodded, desperate for certainty. Others glanced uneasily, as though fearing the weight of their own doubts.And then—another voice cut across his roar.Solenne’s ReturnSolenne stepped into the square, leaning on Mira’s arm. Her bandages were visible, her gait unsteady, but her presence commanded more than strength could have. The sight of her drew gasps from the people.Revnar’s eyes widened bef