Moonlight flooded the Meridian Pavilion's courtyard, where the Moonlit Loom stood propped against the cherry blossom tree—its wooden frame repaired with oak, its rotted threads replaced with moonlight silk and frost threads, woven together in the interlocking lotus pattern. Lin Wan knelt beside it, fitting the final gear (the one from her mother's needle case) into its socket. The gear clicked into place, and the loom hummed, its metal parts glowing silver, as if waking from a century-long sleep.
Shen Yan stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders—his frost threads had stabilized the loom's wobbly legs, their cold touch a quiet counterbalance to the loom's warm light. "Eira's message said the loom needs a 'memory anchor,'" he said, nodding at the journal open on the stone bench nearby. "Something to ground it to the weavers' original purpose."
Lin Wan picked up the silver needle, threading it with a strand of her mother's old moonlight silk. "I know what to use." She reached into her pouch, pulling out the locket—the one with her mother and Shen Yan's grandmother's photograph. She hung it from the loom's central beam, and the locket's glow merged with the loom's light, casting the courtyard in a soft, gold-silver hue.
A rustle in the pavilion's doorway made them turn. Eira stood there, her coat torn at the sleeve (a souvenir from fighting Mr. Hale), her hands stained with black thread. "He's gathering what's left of the Thorn Weavers," she said, her voice tight. "They want to destroy the loom before we can use it. They think the thread-eater's hunger is the only way to 'purify' memories."
Lila and Elara emerged from the pavilion, their embroidery hoops in hand—Lila's swan now had frost-thread wings, Elara's lullaby stitches woven with moonlight silk. "We're ready," Elara said, her jaw set.
Lin Wan nodded, stepping back from the loom. Its threads were now moving, slow and steady, weaving an invisible pattern in the air. "The loom doesn't just mend memories," she said, watching the threads dance. "It separates the pain from the memory—lets people keep the love, lose the hurt. That's what mother wanted. That's what we're going to do."
The first attack came at midnight. Mr. Hale led three men, their bodies wrapped in black thread, their faces hidden behind masks stitched with the spiral thorn. They burst into the courtyard, black threads flying like whips—but Lila's swan pattern erupted first, its wings slamming into the men, pinning them against the wall. Elara's lullaby stitches followed, wrapping around the threads, cutting them like blades.
Mr. Hale roared, breaking free of the swan's wings. He lunged for the loom, his hands glowing with black thread—but Eira stepped in front of him, her loom thread coiling around his wrists. "It's over, Elias," she said (Lin Wan realized "Mr. Hale" was a fake name). "The thread-eater isn't the answer."
Elias laughed, a bitter sound. "You always were weak, Eira. The weavers were meant to be gods—not nurses." He wrenched free, driving his hand into the loom's threads. The loom shrieked, its light dimming, and the air filled with the thread-eater's hunger—a low, gnawing vibration that made Lin Wan's teeth ache.
"The thread-eater's tied to the loom!" Eira shouted. "He's using it to wake what's left of it!"
Lin Wan grabbed her silver needle, driving it into the loom's central gear. The needle glowed, merging with the loom's light, and the locket's photograph flared—her mother's voice echoing through the courtyard: "Choose love over control. Choose mending over destruction."
The loom's threads erupted in a burst of gold and silver. The black thread around Elias's hand dissolved, and the thread-eater's remaining essence— a wisp of red-black smoke—rose from the loom, screaming. But instead of attacking, the smoke was pulled into the loom's threads, where it split: the red (pain) dissolving into ash, the black (hunger) fading into nothing. What was left was a soft, white light— the memory of the thread-eater, before it turned cruel: a weaver's tool, meant to heal.
Elias collapsed to his knees, staring at his empty hands. "It's gone," he whispered. "All the anger… the hunger… it's gone."
Lin Wan stepped forward, her silver needle now cool in her hand. "The loom didn't destroy it," she said. "It fixed it. Like it fixes memories."
The courtyard fell quiet. The loom's threads slowed, now weaving a pattern of lotus and swan, lullaby and frost— a tapestry of all the memories they'd mended, all the people they'd helped. Eira knelt beside Elias, her hand on his shoulder. "We can start over," she said. "No more Thorn Weavers. No more control. Just mending."
Elias nodded, tears streaming down his face.
As dawn broke, the loom's light faded to a soft glow. Lin Wan took the locket from the beam, opening it to look at her mother's smile. She hadn't just mended the loom— she'd mended the broken promise between her mother and Eira, between the weavers who'd fought for control and those who'd fought for healing.
Shen Yan stood beside her, his gray eyes warm. "What now?"
Lin Wan smiled, tucking the locket into her pouch. "We keep mending. The Meridian Pavilion isn't just a shop anymore. It's a place for people to leave their pain, keep their love. That's our legacy."
Lila and Elara cheered, high-fiving each other. Eira and Elias began repairing the courtyard's damaged cherry blossom tree, their hands moving in sync— weavers, once enemies, now working together.
Lin Wan picked up her silver needle, threading it with moonlight silk. The loom's final thread had woven itself into her sleeve: a tiny interlocking lotus, glowing faintly. She knew there would be more memories to mend, more people to help—but for the first time, she didn't feel the weight of her mother's legacy. She felt its warmth.
As the sun rose, painting the sky pink and gold, Lin Wan began to stitch: a new pattern, one of hope, woven into the fabric of the pavilion's curtains. Outside, the world woke up—but inside, something even brighter had awakened: a legacy of mending, of choice, of love stitched into every thread.