Capítulo 1778: Story 1778: The Loomchild’s Stand
The vault blazed with chaotic light as the Hollow surged forward, its imnse silhouette twisting through the widening tear. The air rippled under the pressure of its presence—like reality itself was being squeezed, folded, rewritten.
Erian tightened his stance, Dreamfire blazing gold. Marra darted ahead in a blur of violet steel. Lun’s glow expanded outward, forming a barrier of shimring radiance. Tovin stumbled behind them, clutching a borrowed arc-staff with fingers that trembled—but refused to let go.
At the center of it all stood the Loomchild—small, fragile, radiant. Threads of pure creation spiraled around them, forming runes, sigils, and fragnts of worlds yet unborn.
“Hold the line,” they whispered, palms lifting.
“While I bind what was never ant to be unbound.”
The Hollowborn fragnts lunged first—shadowy forms collapsing into smoke and reforming mid-air. Marra spun between them, blades tracing arcs of violet fire. Each strike scattered fragnts, but they re-ford faster, stronger.
“These things are learning!” she shouted.
“They feed on disruption!” Lun replied, pressing both hands outward. A pulse of silver light erupted, stunning the Hollowborn long enough for Erian to slice through them with blazing precision.
But behind the fragnts ca sothing worse.
A tendril of the Hollow—thick, jagged, oozing with void-light—shot out from the tear and slamd into the floor, cracking the stone like brittle glass. Another tendril followed, then another, each one anchoring the massive entity as it pulled itself closer.
Tovin gasped. “It—It’s trying to fully enter our world!”
Erian gritted his teeth. “Then we don’t let it!”
He charged, Dreamfire flashing in sweeping arcs. The blade t the tendril—and for a mont, the room exploded with golden and black light. Erian was hurled backward, crashing into a pillar and sliding to the ground, coughing.
The Hollow’s voice seeped into their minds:
“Children of the Weave…
You fight inevitability.”
The Loomchild’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing is inevitable if the Weave still breathes.”
They raised both hands.
Dozens of luminous threads shot into the air, weaving themselves into a massive sigil spanning the entire chamber. Rings of light spun around it, locking into place like celestial gears.
Lun gasped softly. “They’re reshaping the boundary… right here, right now.”
Marra cut down another wave of Hollowborn, panting. “Yeah, but how long can they hold? This thing’s huge!”
The Hollow roared—not with sound, but with a psychic force that rattled bones and split stone. Several tendrils lashed forward, striking at the Loomchild.
Erian leapt in front of the first. Lun absorbed the second. Marra severed the third—but the fourth was aid directly at Tovin.
He froze.
The hit never ca.
A wall of shimring thread materialized between him and the void-tendril, deflecting the blow like a steel plate.
The Loomchild looked back at him.
“You are part of this Weave too, Tovin. Stand.”
He swallowed, nodded, and raised the arc-staff with shaking resolve.
The tear in the world widened once more.
The Hollow strained forward.
The Loomchild’s sigil blazed brighter, brighter, brighter—
And the vault shook with the collision of creation and void.
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