Frost Edge (Metal) × The Starweaver
Out of a thousand dreams, keep only the one that can actually land.
The Starweaver dreams at the horizon, three years out, where the thing does not exist yet. Metal lays a sieve over that wide drift and pulls the haze into one bright point. So you are the only Starweaver on the chart who arrives carrying a single dream, the rest pared off, the one that survived sharp enough to build. The vision floats far away, and a cold blade has already cut it down to what can land.
Most dreamers keep a thousand maybes and chase none of them clean. You take the whole sprawling daydream and shear it to one plan a person could actually raise, brick by brick, edge by edge. That is your rarest move, turning a fog of wanting into a single buildable line. The New Moon hangs invisible at the start of the cycle, all potential, nothing showing yet. You read the dark sky and quietly carve away everything that is not the one dream worth keeping.
Here is where the blade turns on you. You cut so hard that the dream loses its softness, the open edges and the room to wander sheared off with the rest. Vega is the weaver star, threading light no one has measured. Some seasons the thing you keep trimming is the part that was supposed to stay a little wild.
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A mirror, not a prophecy. It reflects you as you are right now. How you walk is still yours to choose.