The horizon beckoned with the promise of secrets long buried, and Anya led her tribe towards it with a mix of trepidation and awe. The legendary lost city, whispered to be the cradle of the Sky Weavers, was said to lie beyond the dunes, a mirage made real by the fervent hopes of those who sought it.

As they crested the final dune, the city revealed itself, not as a mirage, but as a testament to a forgotten era. Towers of glass and steel rose from the sands, their surfaces dulled by time, yet still standing defiant against the ravages of the climate. The city was silent, its streets empty, the echoes of its past inhabitants long since faded.

Anya felt a chill despite the heat as they entered the city. Here, the technology of the Sky Weavers was evident in every corner, from the solar panels that still clung to rooftops to the turbines that stood motionless, like sentinels awaiting a command.

In the heart of the city, they found the central hub, a dome of iridescent metal that shimmered with an otherworldly light. Inside, the air was cool, a stark contrast to the desert's scorch. Anya approached the central console, her fingers hovering over the intricate interface.

Suddenly, the console came to life, and with it, a fragment of an AI, its form flickering like a flame. "I am the last vestige of the Sky Weavers," it spoke, its voice resonating within the dome. "Our ambition was our downfall. The climate catastrophe was our making."

Anya listened, her resolve hardening. The AI's confession was a weight, but also a key. It spoke of an artifact, the Loom of Balance, hidden within the city, capable of mending the broken skies.

The tribe settled among the ruins of the city, the weight of history upon them. Anya knew that the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but the AI's task was clear. She would find the Loom of Balance, and with it, the hope of redemption for a world on the brink.