The forge roared like a caged beast, its heat pressing against Kael’s skin as he worked the iron. Each swing of his hammer sent showers of sparks scattering into the dim workshop, lighting the air with fleeting bursts of orange and gold. Outside, twilight had draped the village of Greystone in shades of lavender and silver, but within the forge, it might as well have been high noon.

Kael wiped his brow with the back of his soot-streaked hand, the motion only spreading the grime further. His arms ached, and the heavy clang of his hammer reverberated through his bones, yet he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“You’re rushing again,” a gravelly voice barked from behind him.

Kael sighed and turned to face Master Orin, the blacksmith of Greystone and his mentor. Orin’s broad frame filled the doorway, his arms crossed over a leather apron darkened by years of labor. His gray beard bristled like wire as he frowned.

“I’m not rushing,” Kael replied, though he knew the argument would be futile. “I’m just... trying to finish before the festival.”

Orin stepped closer, his heavy boots thudding against the stone floor. He picked up the blade Kael had been working on and inspected it. “Trying doesn’t count for much if the blade’s brittle. You forge with patience, or you don’t forge at all.”

Kael clenched his fists but said nothing. Orin wasn’t wrong, but the old man didn’t understand the urgency gnawing at him. The Festival of Unity was more than just a celebration—it was the first time nobles from the capital would visit their sleepy village in decades. Rumor had it that even a Luminae Knight might attend, their armor gleaming with shards of crystalline magic.

Kael had dreamed of leaving Greystone his whole life, of becoming something more than just a blacksmith’s apprentice. Perhaps, he thought, if the right eyes saw his work, he could finally take that first step.

But as Orin placed the blade back on the anvil with a disappointed grunt, Kael’s hopes dimmed.

“Do it again,” Orin said simply, turning to leave.

Kael opened his mouth to protest but stopped short. The words wouldn’t change anything. Instead, he grabbed the tongs and plunged the blade back into the forge, watching the metal glow red-hot once more.

As the heat enveloped him, Kael let his mind wander.

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The night of the festival arrived with a vibrancy Greystone hadn’t seen in years. Lanterns hung from every tree and post, their golden light spilling across cobblestone streets. Merchants peddled their wares, musicians played lively tunes, and children darted through the crowd with carefree laughter.

Kael stood at the edge of the square, his stomach tied in knots. In his hands, he held the blade he had reforged—sleek, balanced, and polished to a mirror shine. He had worked through the night to perfect it, ignoring Orin’s warnings to pace himself. Now, as the crowd buzzed with anticipation, he waited for his chance to present it.

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His chance came sooner than expected.

A sudden hush fell over the square as a figure emerged from the shadows. The Luminae Knight was impossible to miss—an imposing figure clad in radiant silver armor inlaid with glowing shards of blue crystal. The crowd parted like ripples on water, all eyes fixed on the knight as they strode to the center of the square.

Kael’s breath caught in his throat. The stories didn’t do them justice. The Luminae Knight radiated an aura of power, each step deliberate and resonant.

“People of Greystone,” the knight said, their voice carrying over the crowd like a clear bell. “I come bearing grave news.”

Murmurs swept through the villagers. Kael frowned, his earlier excitement replaced by unease.

“The Crystal of Time has shattered,” the knight continued, their expression grim beneath their helm. “And the world as we know it is unraveling.”

A collective gasp rippled through the square.

Kael blinked, unsure he had heard correctly. The Crystal of Time? The ancient artifact said to govern the flow of existence itself? Broken?

“What does this mean?” someone shouted from the crowd.

The knight hesitated, their gaze sweeping across the gathered faces. “It means chaos,” they said at last. “Rifts are opening between moments, spilling the past and future into our present. If the Crystal is not restored, time itself will collapse.”

Kael’s heart pounded. The words felt too large, too impossible to grasp. But even as the knight spoke, a strange sensation prickled at the edge of his senses—a faint pull, like a thread tugging at his soul.

Then, it happened.

A crackling noise filled the air, sharp and unnatural. A rift, shimmering like broken glass, tore through the square. Gasps turned to screams as the crowd scrambled to escape the jagged anomaly. Kael stood frozen, his eyes locked on the rift as images swirled within—scenes of battles, ancient forests, and towers that stretched into the heavens.

And from the rift, a figure emerged.

Cloaked in flowing black and silver, their face hidden beneath a hood, the figure moved with an eerie grace. The air around them seemed to shimmer, as though reality itself recoiled from their presence.

The Luminae Knight drew their sword, its crystalline blade blazing with light. “Weaver,” they growled.

The figure chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Kael’s spine. “Oh, come now. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

The crowd watched in terrified silence as the Weaver stepped forward, their voice dripping with mockery. “I merely came to admire my handiwork. Tell me, how does it feel to watch your precious order crumble?”

The knight lunged, their blade slashing through the air. But before the strike could land, the Weaver raised a hand. Time itself seemed to stutter as the knight froze mid-swing, their body locked in place.

Kael’s blood ran cold.

“You should all be thanking me,” the Weaver said, turning to address the villagers. “I’ve given you freedom. No more ticking clocks, no more linear chains. Isn’t that what you mortals always wanted?”

The knight struggled against the invisible bonds, their voice strained. “You’ll destroy everything.”

“Perhaps,” the Weaver said, their tone indifferent. “Or perhaps I’ll make something better.”

Their gaze swept over the crowd, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked with Kael’s. A spark of recognition flickered in the Weaver’s expression, and they tilted their head.

“Ah,” they murmured, almost to themselves. “How interesting.”

Before Kael could process the words, the Weaver raised a hand and vanished into the rift. The anomaly collapsed in on itself, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Kael’s knees felt weak, his mind reeling. Who was the Weaver? And why had they looked at him as though he mattered?

The knight finally moved, their body trembling with effort. They sheathed their blade and turned to the crowd.

“The fight is far from over,” they said. “But we’ll need more than warriors to restore the Crystal. We’ll need those who are willing to face the unknown.”

Their eyes fell on Kael, and this time, he knew it wasn’t a coincidence