Bound by Moonlight and Magic
The Hollow awoke in soft song and golden haze.
Dew clung to leaves like tears not yet wept, and the Loom’s threads pulsed quietly through the roots and rivers, weaving their own slow hymn beneath the skin of the world. No alarms. No spells flaring in warning. Just the deep, rhythmic breathing of a realm beginning to remember peace.
Liora moved through it with bare feet and ink-stained hands.
The old spire had become something of a sanctuary—half observatory, half archive. Scrolls lined the new walls, some etched in ink, others made from woven Threads themselves, stories encoded into patterns only a Weaver could read. And today, she wasn’t alone.
A voice drifted in behind her—soft, amused. “You know you could just rest like the rest of us.”
Liora looked ov
