Behind the crystal wall, where reality grew thin as a final breath, hovered Grakhar—the Weaver of Empty Endings. He was no creator of the universe and occupied his rightful, albeit isolated place within the familiar cosmology of the planes, governing the domains of Fate, Trickery, and Twilight. His true form retained the traits of a high troll, yet eons of divine existence had warped his flesh. A massive gray body, encrusted in a crystalline shell, rested motionless in interplanar space. From his back and shoulders extended thousands of silvery threads—harvested destinies, stolen fortunes, and severed paths of mortals—while within his chest slowly spun the Wheel of Absorbed Fates, serving as both his heart and his treasury.
Grakhar did not seek chaotic destruction; he was driven by a different motivation—the desire to fashion within himself the perfect collection, devoid of the random tragedies of mortal life. He harvested the finest stories: moments of true heroism, pure love, and boundless potential. At the very dawn of young realities, before the arrival of life, he would gently nudge their development, drawing them closer to one another and making them richer in events. He could not unite them completely—his divine power was bound by the laws of the planes—but it was enough for mortal destinies to blossom more brilliantly, preparing a fertile soil for his harvest. By taking these finest threads, he left the planes with nothing but empty endings, drained of hope and meaning.
Because the rules of cosmology forbade the god from intervening directly in the affairs of the Material Plane without the risk of unraveling the Weave of magic, Grakhar required a conduit. His faithful apostle and living anchor became Velaris Whisper, a dark elf whose spirit and body had been remade for the sake of servitude. Velaris was tall and slender, his skin gleaming with the hue of cold lead, and his long silver-black hair concealed pulsing silver lines across his body, resembling fractures in a crystal. His milk-white eyes appeared blind, yet it was this very blindness that granted him his mystic gift—the ability to see the true intertwining of others' destinies and gently nudge them in the desired direction.
Melancholic and taciturn, the oracle was fanatically devoted to his creator, viewing the collection as the only way to rescue mortal stories from senseless entropy. Yet this power came at a cost. As an extension of the Weaver's will, Velaris remained vulnerable to the manifestations of pure elements. Radiant light and holy magic temporarily blinded his vision; fire, lightning, and biting cold inflicted acute pain, shattering his charms; and pure running water literally corroded the silver scars upon his skin, stripping him of the ability to weave false probabilities.
In the silence of the interplanar borderlands, Velaris bowed his knees before his god. The silver lines upon the elf's body pulsed in unison with the Wheel of Absorbed Fates.
— My Weaver, — he spoke softly, his whisper echoing across the crystals of the barrier. — The planes you once nudged have ripened. Their threads are taut and brimming with life. Especially those that bear the greatest potential.
Grakhar slowly turned his massive head. The distant contours of the Material Plane reflected within his hollow eye sockets. The god's voice thundered directly into the mind of the apostle, heavy and cold as cracking ice.
— Then go. Become my eye and my hand. Nudge the threads, weave false paths, and lead mortals astray from their true roads. Prepare the most precious prizes for me. I see a girl whose soul is like an unyielding flame, and her thread burns with pure gold—her potential is too grand to burn away in vain. I see five sisters bound by a single thread of curse and destiny, so strong it could hold kingdoms together. And I see one who carries something ancient and hungry—a seed of the abyss, capable of consuming everything around it before I can gather the harvest. Isolate them.
— As you command, my Weaver, — Velaris replied.
The deity's words acted as a catalyst. The space before them fractured with a deafening crack, exposing the Crystal Wall. Grakhar's might forced open the protective barrier, revealing a narrow, gray-oozing portal that led straight to the Material Plane. Velaris Whisper rose from his knees, cast a final respectful glance at his creator, and without hesitation stepped into the shimmering maw of the rift. The portal snapped shut instantly behind his back, leaving the Weaver of Empty Endings to run his fingers through already collected threads in his accustomed silence.