THE LAST STARWEAVER : THE SUNDERING
Chapter 5: The First Starweaver
The field of stars stretched to infinity.
Zephyra stood at its center, her bare feet pressed against grass that glowed with pale light, her heart pounding in her chest. The woman before her was tall and thin, her silver hair flowing like water, her gown of starlight shimmering with every breath. Her eyes were the color of the void—depthless, ancient, hungry.
But her face was kind.
Her voice was gentle.
“You are my heir,” the woman said. “My blood. My hope.”
Zephyra’s throat tightened.
“I don’t even know your name.”
The woman smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“My name is Seraphina. I was the first Starweaver. The one who sang the first star into existence. The one who taught the others.”
“How long ago?”
Seraphina looked at the stars.
At the light.
At the darkness beyond.
“Ten thousand years. Maybe more. Time has no meaning here, in the place between worlds.”
“Why are you here?”
Seraphina looked at her.
Her void-dark eyes were soft.
“Because I have been waiting for you. For ten thousand years, I have been waiting. Watching. Hoping.”
“Waiting for what?”
Seraphina stepped closer.
Her bare feet left no prints on the glowing grass.
“Waiting for someone to finish what I started.”
Zephyra’s blood went cold.
“Finish what?”
Seraphina looked at the stars.
At the light.
At the darkness.
“I opened the door. The door to the void. The door to the darkness. I thought I could control it. I thought I could use its power to save the world.”
“What happened?”
Seraphina’s eyes filled with tears.
“The darkness consumed me. It consumed the other Starweavers. It consumed the world. The Starfall was my fault. The dying stars. The fading sun. The hunger in the sky.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
Zephyra wanted to run.
She wanted to wake up.
She wanted to forget.
But she could not.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Seraphina took her hands.
Her skin was cold.
“Because you are the last. The only one who can close the door. The only one who can undo what I did.”
“How?”
Seraphina looked at the stars.
At the light.
At the darkness.
“The Trials of the Starweaver. Three tests. Three sacrifices. Three chances to prove that you are worthy of the power that sleeps in your blood.”
“What are the trials?”
Seraphina was silent for a long moment.
“The first trial is the Trial of the Broken Star. You must go to the place where the first star fell. You must find its heart. You must claim its power.”
“Where is that?”
Seraphina pointed at the horizon.
At the darkness.
At the hunger.
“In the Sundered Lands. In the heart of the shadow. In the place where the darkness is strongest.”
Zephyra’s hands began to shake.
“That sounds like suicide.”
“It is. The first trial kills most who attempt it.”
“Then why would I try?”
Seraphina looked at her.
Her void-dark eyes were wet.
“Because if you don’t, the darkness will consume everything. Everyone you have ever loved. Everyone you have ever hated. Everyone who has ever lived.”
The field began to fade.
The stars dimmed. The grass wilted. The light died.
“Wait,” Zephyra said. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re never ready. No one is.”
“Will I see you again?”
Seraphina smiled.
It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of love.
“Every time you dream,” she said. “Every time you hope. Every time you love. I’ll be there. Watching. Waiting. Hoping.”
She reached out and touched Zephyra’s face.
“Now wake, Starweaver. The world needs you.”
Zephyra opened her eyes.
She was in a small room.
A bed. A window. A candle burning on a table.
Theron sat in a chair by the door, his gray eyes fixed on her.
“You were screaming,” he said.
“I was dreaming.”
“Same thing.”
Zephyra sat up.
Her body ached.
“I saw her. The first Starweaver. Seraphina.”
Theron’s face went pale.
“She spoke to you?”
“She told me about the trials. About the door. About the darkness.”
“What else?”
Zephyra looked at him.
“She told me that you failed her.”
Theron was silent for a long moment.
His hands were shaking.
“I did fail her. I was supposed to protect her. I was supposed to keep her safe. But I couldn’t. The darkness was too strong. Too fast. Too hungry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. I was there. I could have done something. I should have done something.”
“What could you have done?”
Theron looked at the candle.
At the flame.
At the light.
“I could have died with her.”
The room was silent.
The candle flickered.
The shadows danced.
“I’m not going to let you die,” Zephyra said.
Theron looked at her.
His gray eyes were wet.
“You can’t control that. No one can.”
“Then I’ll try.”
“That’s all any of us can do.”
The sun rose over Havenwood.
Zephyra stood at the edge of the village, watching the light spread across the valley. The flowers were blooming. The birds were singing. The people were waking.
Theron stood beside her.
“The Sundered Lands are three days’ journey,” he said. “The trail is dangerous. The creatures that live there are hungry.”
“And the trial?”
Theron was silent for a long moment.
“The trial will find you. You don’t need to find it.”
They left at midday.
The people of Havenwood gathered to see them off. They brought food and water and warm cloaks. They whispered blessings and pressed tokens into Zephyra’s hands.
Elara stood at the front.
The old woman’s pale eyes were wet.
“Come back to us,” she said.
Zephyra took her hands.
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
Zephyra looked at the sky.
At the sun.
At the light.
“I promise.”
They walked into the wilderness.
The path was narrow, winding through hills and forests and fields of wildflowers. The sun was warm on Zephyra’s face, the wind soft in her hair.
But she could feel it.
The darkness.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hungry.
“Are you afraid?” Theron asked.
Zephyra looked at the horizon.
At the shadows.
At the unknown.
“Terrified.”
“Good. Fear will keep you alive.”
“Will it keep you alive?”
Theron looked at her.
His gray eyes were steady.
“I’m already dead. I’ve been dead for a thousand years. I just forgot to stop breathing.”