THE LAST STARWEAVER : THE AWAKENING DARK
Chapter 2: The First Door
The dream field was vast.
Zephyra stood at its center, the ash cold beneath her bare feet, the sky red and burning above her. The door loomed before her—massive and ancient, its surface covered in symbols that writhed and shifted like living things. Its edges bled darkness into the world, thick and slow, like blood from a wound.
And standing before the door, waiting for her, was the woman.
She was tall and thin, her silver hair flowing like water, her gown of shadow shimmering with every breath. Her eyes were the color of the void—depthless, ancient, hungry. But her face was not cruel. It was sad.
“Hello, Starweaver,” she said again. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Zephyra’s hand went to the knife at her belt.
“You’re the First Door.”
“I am the First Door. I am the beginning. I am the end. I am the darkness that the Starweavers tried to contain.”
“You’re not a door. You’re a person.”
The woman smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“I was a person. Once. A long time ago. Before the Starweavers bound me to this place.”
“Who were you?”
The woman looked at the sky.
At the red, burning sky.
“I was the first Starweaver. The one who came before Seraphina. The one who built the door. The one who became it.”
Zephyra’s blood went cold.
“You’re a Starweaver?”
“I was the first. I sang the first star into existence. I wove the first light into the sky. I was the most powerful mage the world has ever known.”
“What happened?”
The woman looked at the door.
At the symbols.
At the darkness.
“I grew tired. I grew lonely. I grew afraid. I opened the door to find something more. Something greater. Something that would make me feel less alone.”
“What did you find?”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“I found the void. The emptiness. The hunger. It consumed me. It bound me to this door. It made me part of the darkness.”
“And the other Starweavers?”
“They tried to seal me. To contain me. To save the world. They built a second door—the one you sealed. But they could not destroy the first. They could only hold it back.”
“For ten thousand years.”
“For ten thousand years.”
Zephyra stepped closer.
The darkness pressed against her, but she did not stop.
“Why are you calling me?”
The woman looked at her.
Her void-dark eyes were wet.
“Because I want to be free.”
“Free to destroy the world?”
“Free to die.”
Zephyra’s heart stopped.
“What?”
“I have been trapped in this door for ten thousand years. I have been hungry for ten thousand years. I have been alone for ten thousand years. I want it to end.”
“Then let me seal you.”
The woman shook her head.
“You cannot seal me. I am the door. The door is me. To seal me is to kill me.”
“Then I’ll kill you.”
The woman smiled.
It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of hope.
“Thank you.”
The dream ended.
Zephyra woke with a gasp.
Theron was beside her.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I saw her. The first Starweaver. The one who became the First Door.”
“She spoke to you?”
“She wants to die.”
Theron’s face went pale.
“That’s not possible. She is the door. The door cannot die.”
“Then we’ll find a way.”
“How?”
Zephyra looked at the mountain.
At the peak.
At the darkness.
“I don’t know. But I have to try.”
They climbed.
The mountain grew steeper, the air colder, the darkness thicker. Zephyra’s legs ached. Her lungs burned. Her eyes stung.
But she kept climbing.
She could not stop.
The First Door was calling her.
Come, it whispered. Come and free me. Come and kill me. Come and end my suffering.
And the darkness was waiting.
She could feel it.
Behind her.
Below her.
Inside her.
On the fifth day, they reached the summit.
The door was before them.
Massive and ancient, its surface covered in symbols that writhed and shifted like living things. Its edges bled darkness into the world, thick and slow, like blood from a wound.
And standing before the door, waiting for them, was the woman.
She was different now. Smaller. Weaker. Her silver hair was thin, her gown of shadow was torn, her void-dark eyes were dim.
“Hello, Starweaver,” she said. “You came.”
“I came.”
“You’re here to kill me.”
“I’m here to free you.”
The woman smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“Same thing.”
Zephyra walked to the door.
She placed her hands on its surface.
The darkness was cold.
“How do I do this?”
The woman stood beside her.
“You pour your power into the door. Your light. Your hope. Your love. You push back the darkness. You break the bindings. You set me free.”
“That will kill me.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
The woman looked at her.
“Starweavers have a habit of surviving things they shouldn’t.”
Zephyra closed her eyes.
She took a deep breath.
She poured her power into the door.
The light exploded from her—not the cold light of the stars, not the warm light of the sun. A different light. A light that was everything.
The door screamed.
The darkness screamed.
The world screamed.
And then—
Silence.
The door was gone.
The woman was gone.
The darkness was gone.
Zephyra stood alone on the mountaintop.
Theron ran to her.
She was alive.
Barely.
Her eyes were closed. Her breath was shallow. Her hands were cold.
“Zephyra,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes.
They were brown.
One brown. One silver.
“Theron,” she said.
“I’m here.”
“I did it.”
“You did it.”
“Is it over?”
Theron looked at the sky.
At the stars.
At the light.
“For now.”