Once, stars obeyed no one.
They burned and danced to their own music—until the world grew quiet, and darkness learned to whisper.
Eira’s grandmother, the last Elder Weaver, said the stars were stitched to fate itself. If they vanished, so would hope.
But when Eira was born, a comet crossed the sky backward, and the looms of night began to hum again.
“she’ll wave more than cloth,” her grandmother whispered. “She’ll weave destiny.”
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