The Weaver of Shattered Moons

CHAPTER FOUR

The Stitch of Betrayal

The golden thread felt like liquid fire in Lyra’s hands. As she pulled the needle through the air, anchoring the memory of the sun-gardens to Alaric’s chest, the chamber began to dissolve. She wasn't just standing in the Lunar Palace anymore; she was seeing through the Prince’s eyes.

She saw a woman with hair like spun wheat laughing in a field of yellow lilies. But as Lyra’s needle pierced deeper into the light, the image flickered and curdled. The golden lilies turned to ash. The woman’s laugh became a distorted, metallic scream.

"Something is wrong," Lyra gasped, her hands shaking. "The memory... it’s a cage, not a gift."

Kaelen stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Keep weaving, Seamstress. If you stop now, the feedback will shatter his mind and yours."

Lyra ignored him, focusing on the dark knot she had found at the center of the golden shard. It wasn't a natural part of the Prince’s spirit. It was a "Void-Stitch"—a high-level piece of forbidden sorcery designed to look like a precious memory while slowly draining the host's life.

She realized with a jolt of horror that the Prince wasn't born hollow. He was being hollowed out, day by day, by the very magic intended to "save" him.

"Alaric, look at me!" she cried out.

The Prince’s eyes snapped to hers. The vacant grey was being replaced by a terrifying, oily blackness as the Void-Stitch reacted to her interference. The shadows coiling around his feet surged upward, wrapping around his throat like a noose.

"Stop!" Kaelen shouted, drawing his blade. "You’re killing him!"

"I’m trying to free him!" Lyra screamed back.

With a desperate surge of will, she didn't use the golden thread to mend. Instead, she used her bone needle like a dagger. She plunged it into the center of the golden light, seeking the dark knot.

A shockwave of cold energy threw her backward. She hit the stone floor hard, the breath leaving her lungs in a painful rush. The golden light vanished, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.

When the spots cleared from her eyes, she saw Alaric slumped on the floor. He wasn't moving. Kaelen was already over him, his face pale with fury as he turned toward Lyra.

"You fool," Kaelen hissed. "You’ve destroyed the only piece of himself he had left."

But then, a sound broke the silence. A sharp, clear gasp.

Alaric sat up, his movements no longer sluggish or heavy. He looked at his hands, then at Lyra. His eyes were no longer grey or black. They were a piercing, vibrant violet—the color of a moon that had never been broken.

"It's gone," the Prince whispered, his voice vibrating with a power that made the palace walls tremble. "The hunger... for the first time in twenty years, the hunger is silent."

He looked at Lyra, not as a tool or a thief, but with a terrifyingly intense gratitude. "Who are you?"

Before she could answer, the bells of the High Temple began to toll—not the slow rhythm of the night, but the frantic, clanging alarm of a coup. Someone knew the Void-Stitch had been broken.