The Frostspire Mountains cut into the sky like a row of broken teeth, their peaks jagged and dusted with snow that glinted under a pale, watery sun. The wind howled, sharp enough to slice through cloaks and skin, carrying flecks of ice that stung like needles. The ground was a mess of loose shale and frozen mud, crunching underfoot, ready to betray a careless step. The air smelled of frost and stone, with a faint, unsettling tang—like blood frozen solid.
Kaelith Varn led the way, her boots slipping on the narrow path. Her cloak was a wreck, patched with scraps from Vaeloria, the shard at her belt pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat struggling to keep time. Her dark hair whipped across her face, half-hiding gray eyes sunken with exhaustion. The heart's power was eating her from the inside, leaving her skin sallow, her hands shaky. Every step felt like a fight, but she gritted her teeth, clutching the scroll from the Verdant Hollow. Its map glowed in her mind: the next anchor, somewhere in these cursed peaks.
Torren Ashkarn stomped behind her, his big frame hunched against the wind. His bandages were soaked red, his tunic barely holding together under a scavenged fur cloak that smelled of wet dog. His scarred hands twitched, itching for riftweaving's fire, but he held it back—barely. His face was a storm of pain and stubbornness, dark eyes scanning the cliffs like he expected them to bite.
Sylvara Ren followed close, her auburn braid tucked under a wool cap, her green eyes wide with worry. Her satchel was gone, lost in the Hollow's collapse, leaving her with just a dagger and a stubborn hope that felt thinner every day. Her patched trousers and jacket were too thin for the cold, and she shivered, rubbing her arms, her breath puffing out in clouds.
Rhydian Thalor brought up the rear, moving like a cat on a fence, his weathered coat flapping. His blue eyes glinted, sharp and restless, his dagger spinning in one hand—a nervous habit. The Weaver tablet was stuffed inside his shirt, its weight a constant nag, like a voice whispering he'd screwed up by coming here. He didn't say it, but his smirk was tighter than usual, his shoulders tense.
They'd been through hell to get here. Kaelith's exile from the Crystal Veil, chasing the Codex's promise of a heart to fix the Tapestry, had dragged her through rifts and ruins. Torren's desertion from the Emberfall Dominion, haunted by the lives he'd burned, had landed him in the Waste, then the Isles, then here. Sylvara's mission from the Verdant Hollow, sparked by dying herbs, had turned her into a fighter, not just a healer. Rhydian, dodging his Riftborn curse in the Sunken Isles, had thrown in with them, his tablet tying their fates. The Weaver's Voice kept dogging them, its taunts of betrayal and doom louder now, especially after the Hollow's map pointed to these mountains.
"Gods, it's freezing," Sylvara muttered, teeth chattering. She hugged herself tighter, her boots skidding on ice. "How's anyone supposed to find anything up here?"
Kaelith didn't look back, her voice clipped. "The scroll said the anchor's in a spire—some kind of Weaver vault. Keep moving. We're close."
"Close to what?" Torren growled, his breath steaming. "Another fight? I'm bleeding through these bandages, Varn. Riftweaving's about to finish me off, and you're chasing ghosts."
Kaelith spun, her eyes flashing. "You wanna stop, Torren? Go ahead. Sit here and freeze. The Tapestry's falling apart, and that anchor's our shot to fix it. Or do you want the Voice to win?"
Torren's jaw tightened, his hand flexing. "I'm not quitting. Just saying we're running on fumes. Look at you—barely standing."
Sylvara stepped between them, her voice sharp. "Knock it off, both of you! We're all beat to hell. Fighting won't help."
Rhydian chuckled, but it was cold. "She's got a point. Save the bickering for when we're not about to fall off a cliff." He nodded at the path, which dropped into a steep ravine. "That looks fun."
Kaelith glared but turned back, gripping the scroll like a lifeline. "Stay tight. One slip, and you're gone."
The path wound down, the walls closing in, ice-slick and treacherous. Sylvara's foot skidded, and Torren grabbed her arm, yanking her back before she could tumble. "Careful, Ren," he grunted, his face pale from the effort.
"Thanks," she gasped, her heart pounding. "This place hates us."
"Don't take it personal," Rhydian said, hopping over a crack. "It hates everyone."
A low rumble stopped them cold. The ground shook, pebbles raining from above. Kaelith raised a hand, the shard glowing brighter. "Quiet," she hissed. "Something's here."
Before anyone could answer, the ravine erupted. A rift tore open ahead, its violet light blinding, its hum a scream that rattled their skulls. Spawn spilled out—beasts of ice and bone, their bodies spiked with frost, eyes like shattered glass. One lunged, its claws slashing the air.
"Move!" Kaelith shouted, diving aside. The shard flared, and she wove a barrier, its golden light flickering as a spawn's claw raked it.
Torren roared, his sword out, riftweaving igniting in a crimson blaze. He hacked at a spawn, its icy hide cracking, but another tackled him, pinning him to the ground. "Get off!" he bellowed, flames bursting from his hands, searing the beast. Blood poured from his nose, his body shaking.
Sylvara slashed with her dagger, aiming for a spawn's eyes. It screeched, swiping at her, but she ducked, rolling behind a boulder. "Torren, hold on!" she yelled, her voice cracking.
Rhydian moved like a shadow, his dagger sinking into a spawn's neck. He twisted, warping the air to crush another, but blood trickled from his ears, his face gray. "Varn, close it!" he gasped, dodging a claw.
Kaelith's barrier buckled, her knees hitting the ground. "I'm trying!" she snarled, the shard burning her hand. The Tapestry's threads were a mess, twisting like snakes, fighting her every move. "There's too many!"
Sylvara scrambled to Torren, dragging him free as his flames died. "Stay with me!" she pleaded, her dagger slashing a spawn's leg. It howled, lunging, but she shoved Torren aside, taking a graze across her arm. Blood soaked her sleeve, but she gritted her teeth, standing over him.
Rhydian's powers faltered, a spawn knocking him flat. He cursed, rolling away, his dagger lost in the snow. "Anytime, Varn!" he shouted, blood staining his lips.
The Weaver's Voice appeared, its shadow looming over the rift, rippling like oil. "You chase anchors," it crooned, its voice a chorus of knives, "but you are the fracture. Submit, and be free."
"Shut up!" Kaelith screamed, her shard blinding. She wove harder, threads snapping into place, but the Voice laughed, its shadow slamming her barrier. She fell, gasping, gold ichor dripping from her nose.
Torren staggered up, shoving Sylvara back. "I've got this," he rasped, riftweaving flaring. He charged the Voice, flames exploding, but it swatted him down, blood spraying. He hit the ground, still.
"No!" Sylvara cried, lunging at the Voice with her dagger. It flickered, dodging, its laughter shaking the ravine.
Rhydian grabbed Kaelith's arm, hauling her up. "Together!" he yelled, his powers surging, a weak shield bolstering her weave. "Do it!"
Kaelith nodded, tears mixing with blood, and poured everything into the shard. The heart's fire burned her veins, threads aligning, the rift shrinking. Sylvara slashed a spawn, giving them space, her arm bleeding freely.
The rift snapped shut, the Voice vanishing, its whisper lingering: "You break yourselves."
The spawn dissolved, leaving silence. Kaelith collapsed, the shard dim. Sylvara dropped beside Torren, shaking him. "Wake up, you idiot!" she sobbed, her hands bloody as she checked his pulse. He groaned, eyes fluttering, and she sagged with relief.
Rhydian retrieved his dagger, wiping blood from his face. "That was too close," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "We're falling apart."
Kaelith crawled to the scroll, its map glowing brighter. "The vault's up there," she rasped, pointing to a spire wreathed in mist. "We're not done."
They climbed, battered and bleeding, the path steeper now, the wind a relentless foe. Sylvara supported Torren, his arm slung over her shoulder. "You're heavier than you look," she teased, her voice shaky but warm.
"Blame the muscles," he mumbled, managing a weak grin.
Rhydian scouted ahead, his dagger ready. "This spire's got bad vibes," he called back. "Like the Waste, but colder."
Kaelith's shard pulsed, guiding her to a cave mouth carved into the spire's base. Runes glowed along its edges, flickering like dying stars. "Here," she said, stepping inside.
The vault was a frozen crypt, its walls of ice and stone etched with Weaver runes that shimmered blue. At its center stood a pedestal, a crystal orb atop it, pulsing with golden light—an anchor, like the heart but smaller, its threads visible, weaving into the air.
"It's beautiful," Sylvara whispered, her breath misting.
"It's dangerous," Torren said, leaning against the wall, his face gray.
Rhydian circled it, his eyes narrow. "Another piece of the puzzle. But what's it do?"
Kaelith touched the orb, the shard flaring. Visions hit her—Weavers splitting the heart, scattering anchors to hold the Tapestry, each one tied to a sacrifice. "It's part of the heart," she said, her voice trembling. "It's keeping the Tapestry together—but it's failing."
Sylvara's hand tightened on her dagger. "Can we fix it?"
Kaelith shook her head. "Not fix. Redirect. The scroll said we're anchors too. We can… channel it, maybe. Heal the weave."
"Or cut it," Torren said, his voice grim. "Free us."
Rhydian's grin was gone. "Cut it, and what? The Tapestry collapses? We're gambling blind."
A rumble shook the vault, ice cracking above. The Voice returned, its shadow filling the cave. "You cannot mend what is meant to break," it hissed. "The anchors are mine."
Kaelith spun, her shard blazing. "Not today!" She wove, the orb's light merging with hers, threads surging.
Torren pushed off the wall, flames sparking. "Back me up!" he shouted, slashing a spawn that lunged from the shadows.
Sylvara dove for cover, her dagger flashing, cutting a spawn's leg. "Kaelith, hurry!" she yelled, dodging claws.
Rhydian's powers crushed a spawn, his blood streaming. "Finish it, Varn!"
Kaelith channeled the orb, the heart's fire roaring. The threads aligned, the anchor stabilizing, but the Voice struck, its shadow shattering her weave. She screamed, falling, the orb dimming.
Sylvara tackled a spawn, saving Torren. "Get up!" she cried, her voice raw.
Rhydian grabbed Kaelith, his eyes fierce. "One more time!"
Kaelith wove, the orb blazing, the anchor's light flooding the vault. The rift closed, the Voice gone, its whisper fading: "You only delay."
They slumped, bloody and spent. Kaelith clutched the scroll, its map shifting—pointing south, to the Sea of Whispers. "Another anchor," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Sylvara bandaged Torren, her hands steady despite tears. "We're still here," she said, her voice soft but fierce.
Rhydian wiped blood from his dagger, his voice low. "For now. But we're running out of fight."
Kaelith stood, swaying, her eyes hard. "Then we find more. The Sea's next. We end this."
They left the vault, the wind howling, the anchor's light fading behind them. The Tapestry held—for now—but the Voice's shadow loomed, and their strength was a thread stretched to snapping.