Mage - Soduru Kanthi

Now he wanders the ash-fields of the lower slopes, a broken mage with half a hand and a terrible knowledge: the Sleeper is waking. And worse—every thread he ever pulled is pulling back. The generals he humbled now lead armies of ghosts. The kings he unseated dream of his face. The mages who took up pottery have suddenly remembered their fireballs.

He must knot them all back together—starting with his own. mage soduru kanthi

The thread was not his to touch. It belonged to the Sleeper Below—the primordial magma-beast whose dreaming pulses kept the volcano dormant. For centuries, the Triarchy had fed it subtle lies through the Loom, making it believe it was still free in the outer dark. But Soduru’s touch was too precise, too honest. He didn’t just tug. He saw . Now he wanders the ash-fields of the lower

The volcano shuddered. Towers cracked. And Soduru Kanthi’s left hand—the Thread-hand—turned to black glass, then shattered. The kings he unseated dream of his face