The factory's air crackled as the Voidborn rift pulsed, its violet edges bleeding into reality. The eye within—swirling, endless—fixed on Kael, its whisper slithering through his mind: *"Kael… free us…"* The shard in his pocket burned, its crack leaking chaotic energy, threads of the factory unraveling like frayed cloth.
Ryn gripped her knife, goggles reflecting the rift's glow. "Kael, do something!"
Vren wove threads to seal the rift, their hands steady but strained. "It's feeding on the shard. Kael, you need to weave—now!"
Kael's heart pounded, blood dripping from his nose. The shard's energy clawed up his arm, violet tendrils coiling. He focused, threads shimmering—through the rift, the factory, the Voidborn eye. Pain seared his skull, but he grabbed a thread tied to the rift's edge and pulled, weaving it back into reality. The rift shuddered, shrinking, but the Voidborn's whisper grew louder.
A memory flashed—his parents, scavengers, hiding him in a slum crate during a Weaver raid. His mother pressed the shard into his hand, her voice trembling: "Keep it safe, Kael. It's your blood." A Weaver's thread had lashed out, and their screams echoed as the memory faded.
Kael gasped, the rift snapping shut. He collapsed, Ryn catching him. "What the hell was that?" she demanded.
"My parents," Kael rasped. "They died for this shard. It's… me."
Vren's scar twitched. "Your bloodline. The creators' legacy—it's waking."
Before Kael could process, a skiff engine roared outside. Mira's voice cut through, sharp and furious: "Vren, drones found us! We're pinned!"
The factory door burst open—Mira and her half of the Unthreaded stumbled in, battered. Her cybernetic arm sparked, her pulse rifle smoking. "Weaver drones tracked us," she spat, glaring at Kael. "Your glitchweaving's a damn beacon."
Ryn stepped forward, knife ready. "Blame Tor, not Kael. He just saved us from that rift."
Mira's eyes narrowed, but a drone's hum interrupted. Kael's shard pulsed, threads revealing three drones closing in. "They're here," he warned.
Vren wove a shield, threads shimmering over the door. "Together, or we're dead."
Mira hesitated, then nodded, reloading her rifle. Kael stood, the shard's leak steadying as he wove with Vren—threads collapsed the entrance, crushing the drones. But the shard's glow flared, and Kael felt a presence: the elite Weaver from the slums, their golden threads cutting through the Veins.
"They're coming," Kael said, voice hollow. "The Weaver—they've found me."
To be continued…