The High Citadel groaned as another district fell into shadow. Clevatess stepped off the glass spire, descending through the air as if walking down a grand staircase, his silver-tipped mantle trailing like a storm cloud behind him. Below, the Great Loom—a massive structure of pulsing solar glass and iron—began to spin with a frantic, uneven rhythm, sensing the approach of its original architect.
Alicia and Nelluru followed, their auras providing the only color in the growing darkness. As they reached the palace gates, the air grew thick with the smell of ozone and burnt silk. The Queen's Royal Guard did not move to intercept them; they stood like frozen statues, their sun-glass armor cracked and leaking light as Clevatess's presence drained the energy from their cores.
"She is waiting in the heart of the weave," Clevatess said, his voice echoing through the silent courtyards. "She thinks she can incorporate my shadow into her masterpiece."
They entered the throne room, but the quartz throne was gone. In its place stood a woman draped in a gown made of pure, liquid sunlight. Her face was a mask of cold, perfect ivory, and her eyes were two burning stars that refused to blink. She stood before the Great Loom, her fingers dancing across threads of energy that connected the entire kingdom.
"You have returned, Phantom Quill," the Queen said, her voice a harmonious chime that hid a jagged edge. "But you look tattered. You've brought the cold of the Grave-Sea into my garden. Did you think I wouldn't notice the flaw in your design?"
"The flaw was never the cold," Clevatess replied, raising his hand. The silver threads in his palm began to glow, weaving into a needle that hummed with the trapped power of the Titan. "The flaw was the belief that a world without a shadow could ever be finished."
The Queen laughed, and the Great Loom erupted in a blinding flash. "A shadow is just an unfinished thought. I am going to sew you into the sky, Clevatess. You will be the final stitch in a world that never sleeps."
The golden threads of the Loom lashed out, not to strike him, but to bind him. They wrapped around his wrists and throat, pulling him toward the center of the machine. Clevatess did not struggle. He let the heat wash over him, his violet eyes locking onto the Queen's starlight gaze.
"A good tailor knows," Clevatess whispered as the light began to consume him, "that the strongest stitch is the one you never see."
The Great Loom began to vibrate at a frequency that shattered the palace windows. The Queen's smile vanished as she realized the golden threads weren't pulling him in—he was pulling the Loom apart.