Prologue: The First Disturbance

  The Weave trembled long before the world took notice.

  High above the mortal planes, upon a formless plateau where time refused to touch and wind dared not blow, the Lady in Black stood motionless. She did not need to be summoned. She had already arrived.

  The Red Weave, that great lattice of fate and soul, pulsed beneath the void like veins beneath skin. And on this night, it shifted—distorted by something ancient, something inevitable.

  In the center of the plane stood one cloaked not in garments but in purpose. Their gaze, unblinking and absolute, was fixed on the threads unraveling at the edge of what should never fray. A single gesture was given, subtle and sovereign, and the Lady in Black stepped beside them.

  She was more than a myth. More than a whisper. Her presence was silence shaped into form. The void knew her name, as did the stars, though neither dared speak it. She arrived not to observe—but to act.

  From the celestial horizon, two beings approached.

  One descended in radiant stillness. Cloaked in light, she walked not on ground but upon certainty, her every step a hymn of divine order. She needed no introduction—she was the first warmth, the morning that never faltered.

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  The other moved in perfect counterbalance. Wrapped in shifting darkness, he emerged like dusk made flesh. His presence carried the weight of endings and the quiet grace of inevitability.

  They came not as challengers, but as kin.

  The one who had called them—who had stood with the Lady in Black before the others arrived—spoke only once, voice steady, absolute:

  "The Weave has begun to shift. What stirs now will ripple outward, unseen by the eyes of the living. But we are not the living. We are the anchors. The binders. And I choose my voice."

  The Lady in Black stepped forward. Her veil lifted just enough to reveal the glint of knowing in her eyes. She moved with no sound, no hesitation, and when she spoke, even the Red threads paused to listen.

  "You of light. You of dark. You’ve known me by many names. But today, I do not speak for myself. I speak for the one who weaves. I move on their behalf. Their will becomes my breath, their truth my path. I am the shadow they cast, the hand they guide."

  The figure of light softened, her radiance folding like wings at rest. The figure of darkness bowed his head, shadows trailing like mist.

  The cloaked one stepped back. And the Lady in Black remained.

  The threads beneath her twisted, aligning like dancers awaiting a cue.

  Her voice, now resonant and sovereign, broke across the silence:

  "The Red Weave stirs. The stage is set. The story begins. It is by her will that we exist. By my hand, you will move."

  And the first true ripple spread across the world below.