The Rust Slums were a warzone, the golden and silver threads of the warring Weaver factions clashing in a storm of light and chaos, while violet Voidborn rifts pulsed in the distance, their chaotic entities terrorizing scavengers. Kael stood in the Weaver outpost's central plaza, the revelation of Lira—the elite Weaver and fellow creator descendant—still sinking in. Lira's gray eyes, so like his own, stared back at him, violet streaks in their hair shimmering under their golden-threaded armor. "We are the same, Kael," Lira had said, their voice heavy with a shared burden.
Ryn, Mira, and Vren flanked Kael, their weapons ready, the outpost's massive Loom humming behind them. The city's thread-lockdown flickered, weakened by Kael's earlier weaving (Chapter 15), but the silver-threaded Weaver faction pressed their attack, their sleek leader's voice cold: "The creator's bloodline ends here." Silver threads lashed out, slicing through the plaza, forcing the Unthreaded to scatter.
Kael's glitchweaving surged, violet threads shimmering through the chaos, his creator bloodline resonating with Lira's presence. The shard fragments in his pocket pulsed, their chaotic energy amplifying his power but also the Voidborn's lingering influence. Blood dripped from his nose, his gray eyes glowing violet, pain lancing his skull with each weave. He redirected a silver thread, collapsing a drone, but the effort left him staggering, his vision blurring.
Ryn caught him, her goggles fogged with sweat, her auburn hair loose. "Kael, you're pushing too hard!" Her green eyes were fierce with worry, her knife flashing to cut down a skittering Voidborn entity that lunged from a nearby rift.
Mira fired her pulse rifle, her cybernetic arm sparking, her scar stark against her shaved head. "We can't fight both factions and these rift monsters!" Her dark eyes darted to Lira, distrust burning. "And I don't trust this Weaver, creator blood or not."
Vren wove green threads, reinforcing a shield around the group, their silver hair whipping in the wind, blue eyes calculating. "Lira's our only chance against the silver faction. We need an alliance—temporary."
Lira stepped forward, their golden threads clashing with silver, holding the enemy at bay. "Kael, the Weavers were born of creator descendants like us," they said, voice steady despite the chaos. "Some of us sought to control the Looms, to protect reality. Others—the silver faction—believe the creators' legacy must be erased, even if it means unmaking the Looms entirely. They'll destroy everything to stop us."
Kael's mind reeled—his parents, Lira, the creators' failsafe. "Why should I trust you?" he demanded, his glitchweaving flaring, violet threads crackling around him.
Lira's gaze softened, a rare crack in their stoic facade. "Because I've lost everything to this fight, just like you. My family—creator descendants—were hunted by the silver faction. I joined the Weavers to survive, to protect what the creators built. But you… you're the key they feared."
Before Kael could respond, the silver faction's leader unleashed a barrage of threads, silver strands slicing through the outpost, collapsing walls. Kael and Lira wove together, violet and gold threads merging in a dazzling display, redirecting the attack to crush a wave of drones. The effort drained Kael, his nose bleeding harder, his body trembling, but Lira steadied him, their hand on his shoulder—a gesture both foreign and familiar.
Ryn, Mira, and Vren fought to protect fleeing scavengers, guiding them through the weakened lockdown. Ryn slipped into a hidden slum tunnel, her scavenger instincts kicking in, and stumbled upon a creator cache—a buried chamber of ancient tech, its walls etched with glowing threads, a crystalline map at its center. "Kael!" she called, her voice echoing through the tunnel. "You need to see this!"
The group regrouped in the cache, the map revealing a lost Loom in Weaver-controlled territory, capable of resetting reality—balancing chaos and order, as the creators intended. But the silver faction closed in, their threads breaching the tunnel, forcing a desperate fight. Kael's glitchweaving grew stronger, violet threads tearing through enemies, but the Voidborn's influence returned, its voice a whisper in his mind: "Child of creators… see what we see…"
A vision unfolded—the creators' fall, a war between chaos and order, the Voidborn imprisoned as the Looms were built. The creators had split, some becoming Weavers, others hiding their bloodline, like Kael's parents. The vision ended with a warning: the Looms were failing, and only a creator descendant could restore them—or destroy them.
Kael snapped back, gasping, the shard fragments burning in his pocket. Lira's eyes met his, a shared understanding—they were the last of their kind, and the slums' survival depended on them.
To be continued…