The first ribbon snapped at sunset.

A single strand of blue silk rose from the crowded avenue instead of falling, twisting upward between lanterns and flowered balconies. Then another followed. Then hundreds.

Music faltered across Luminor.

Above the Festival of Threads, the evening sky split into luminous veins. Pale gold radiance branched from horizon to horizon, too orderly for lightning and too vast for any spell cast by mortal hands. For one breathless instant, every bell in the city rang without being touched.

The crowd broke into motion.

A white-robed priestess pushed toward a fallen child. A red-haired engineer stared upward with delighted horror, already fumbling for a notebook. Near the fountain, an armored knight drew his sword while a silver-eyed mage whispered, "That is not the sky breaking."

Far beyond the walls, something ancient answered.

Stone groaned beneath the city. Birds fled east in a black river. Somewhere among the festival stalls, a creature screamed in a voice no living scholar had recorded.

Then the vision struck.

A black ocean beneath a starless heaven. Ten distant lights. An eleventh place waiting empty.

The avenue returned all at once: shouting vendors, frightened horses, falling lantern ash, and strangers clutching one another beneath a wounded sky. No herald announced a destiny. No invisible hand selected a hero.

Luminor simply continued breaking around you.

What does {{user}} look like, and where are they standing when the sky fractures?