The moment Kael passed the Crucible, the world felt it.
Across the fractured remnants of the known continent, woven magic stirred like disturbed water. Threads snapped. Old spells broke. Some Sigils dimmed. Others flared.
And the factions watched.
The Dominion of Arx Solari
High atop the Radiant Spire, bathed in the eternal light of the Ascendant Flame, the ruling class of Arx Solari convened in the Sanctum of Veils. Each wore gilded robes embroidered with runic fire, their skin marked with solar-etched Sigils designed for supremacy and order.
Arch-Warden Cyria Vale, one of the most feared Sigil-bound warlords in history, stood before a radiant tapestry that depicted the Loom's pulse.
She stared at the distortion with narrowed eyes.
"It wasn't a storm. It was a rebirth."
A lesser Warden spoke, voice trembling. "We believe the Inheritor passed into the Tribunal's Crucible and… survived."
Cyria turned slowly.
"Then he is no longer an Inheritor. He is something worse—unwritten."
The Fractured Choir
In the sunken cathedrals beneath the Sea of Glass, the fractured prophets stirred. Composed of mad visionaries and cursed Seers, the Choir sang only when threads twisted violently in the Loom.
Now, they wailed in perfect harmony.
A single line repeated in their song, over and over, carried through blood and mirrorlight:
"The bound becomes the unbound. The unbound becomes the thread."
Their leader, Mother Anex, wept black tears. "The Loom trembles because it remembers him. Kael is no longer deviation. He is convergence."
The Hollow Pact
Deep beneath the scorched wastes, in the Obsidian Hollow, the forgers of artificial Sigils—twisted engineers and life-binders—watched Kael's awakening like hawks.
Vyrrek, the Sigil Leech, scraped a finger across a living map of echo frequencies.
"He survived the Tribunal," he muttered. "The original patterns responded to him. If we can capture a residue—harvest even a sliver—we could rewrite the false Sigils. End the dependency. Become gods."
His followers hissed in unison.
"Then let the hunt begin."
The Ember Fold
In the quiet monastery of the Fold, where neutral Sigil monks preserved the balance and history of all known Sigil lore, the bells rang for the first time in decades.
Elder Rensha, ancient and blind, rose from meditation.
She whispered to her acolytes:
"The next weave has begun."
Unknown Faction – The One Who Waits
Far beyond the borders of the known world, past the Sea of Broken Wings and into the Veilstorm Wastes, a hidden figure stood atop a spire of bone. Wrapped in silence, face hidden beneath layers of ever-shifting mask, The One Who Waits stirred for the first time in centuries.
He smiled beneath the mask.
"Ah. So the Threadwalker lives."