The skies above the Lotus Veins were a tapestry of clouds, high and drifting like ripples of silver silk. Below them, veins of jade-colored rivers twisted across the marshlands, glinting like threads in the sun. The Mistborn Archives lay hidden somewhere within that land—a place of forbidden memory and resonance, if the Serpent-Eyed were to be believed.
"We've been walking for four hours," Xiao Wu muttered, brushing damp strands of hair off her forehead. The humidity clung to her like a second skin. "Still nothing but trees, mud, and more trees."
"You're the one who said the Axis called it a trial," Ning Rongrong said, not unkindly. Her pagoda floated above her left shoulder, dim but pulsing.
"That doesn't mean I enjoy being sweaty," Xiao Wu grumbled.
Li Wei, leading the way, was silent. He held the serpent-scale scroll tightly in one hand. Every now and then, the faint sigils on its surface shimmered—but the moment he tried to open it, the script would dissolve into fog. It only meant one thing: they weren't at the right place yet. Not exactly.
"We're being watched again," Meng Yiran said, her voice barely above a whisper. The Eight Spider Lances slid into partial view from her back. "Familiar signatures. Maybe the Serpent-Eyed never left."
"Or others have taken interest," Zhu Zhuqing murmured beside Li Wei. "Ever since we harmonized, we've attracted more than whispers."
Li Wei suddenly stopped. The path in front of them bent sharply into a crescent-shaped hill—and at the top stood a lone structure, half-swallowed by vines and overgrowth. A temple, or maybe a shrine, with broken marble pillars and a sunken altar at its center.
The scroll in Li Wei's hand ignited. Not in flame—but in light.
"This is it," he said. The light should be the indication of the place that they need to go.
They stepped into the ruined shrine cautiously. Despite its decay, the area felt untouched. Like it had been waiting for them.
At the altar's heart stood a loom.
Ancient, metallic, blackened with time—yet intact. Threads of every color stretched taut from its frame into the air, suspended like rivers caught mid-flow.
"What is this?" Xiao Wu whispered.
Ning Rongrong stepped forward, reaching out toward one of the glowing threads. But before she could touch it, the space around them distorted. A ripple, like a heartbeat across dimensions.
Then—voices.
Soft. Whispers. Not words, but meanings.
Li Wei heard them all at once:
[Unweaving begins in ignorance. Weaving begins in pain."]
[Loomwalkers. Prove your thread.]
[One soul, one choice.]
[Reveal your bond.]
The loom shimmered, and in an instant, all five of them were separated. Each stood alone in a different fragment of the shrine—isolated dimensions formed by the threads themselves.
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Zhu Zhuqing Trial
She stood in a field of endless shadows, where every movement she made was followed by ten thousand copies.
A voice asked:
[Do you fight alone because you fear others will slow you down? Or because you fear you will break them if you fall?]
A mirror rose from the ground. In it, she saw herself not as she was—but as a child, trembling, hunted, alone.
Then she saw Li Wei behind her, silent.
[You cannot walk ahead while fearing footsteps beside you. Prove your harmony.]
She stepped forward—not alone, but with the thought of those threads beside her. The mirror shattered.
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Ning Rongrong Trial
She stood on a cliff above a battlefield, watching an army of faceless warriors chant her name. Praise. Adoration. Dependence.
Then—they burned. One by one.
[Do you uplift others to feel needed? Or because you fear being left behind?]
Her spirit pagoda hovered, glowing but dimming.
She clenched her fists. "I lift them because I believe in them. Because their light feeds mine. Not the other way around."
The battlefield turned into a garden.
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Xiao Wu Trial
She was in a room with Tang San.
Except he didn't see her. Not anymore.
He looked through her. Past her.
[You love him deeply, but lose yourself. Must your heart break before you remember it belongs to you first?]
Xiao Wu put her hand on her chest.
"Even if he forgets, I won't forget myself. Now I already found someone that matter to me by my own will. And I won't forget those who see the me now."
The room dissolved into starlight.
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Meng Yiran Trial
She was surrounded by coiled serpents.
Each hissed a name. Her name. Her grandmother. Her grandfather. Her mother. Her father.
[Do you become strong to prove yourself worthy of your lineage? Or to outrun it?]
Meng Yiran looked them in the eye.
"I walk forward because my strength is mine. Not inherited. Not owed." Meng Yiran remember someone that he treat like her big brother and the one that she love right now. Oscar.
The snakes bowed.
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Li Wei Trial
He stood before a grave.
His own.
On the headstone, a question:
[Did you shape the world, or only resist it? Did your threads connect, or did you cut them to feel free?]
Li Wei didn't answer.
Instead, he raised the Diendriver, pressed it to the grave—and whispered: "I don't exist to be alone. Not anymore."
The grave cracked, and flowers grew through it.
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When they returned to the real shrine, the loom glowed gold.
The threads they touched had changed color. Crimson. Violet. White. Silver. Azure.
Each one bound to their souls.
Above them, in the unseen space where the Axis observed, another whisper passed.
"They walk the loom. Let the next convergence unfurl."
And from the horizon, new threads were already beginning to move.