The Threadgrave lay still.
Too still.
The rotlight flickered weakly, like embers suffocating in ash. The cracks in the sky had sealed—mostly—but thin veins of white shimmered faintly, scars of a battle not yet over.
The Executioner was gone.
The system was silent.
But Elian… knew.
This wasn't victory.
This was an eye closing… so a bigger one could open.
He stood at the edge of a shattered overlook, gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Griefblade hung loose at his side, its hum more like a breath now—quiet, but alive.
Behind him, the girl and the rotborne woman whispered in tense voices.
"It's too quiet," the girl muttered, hugging herself.
"The system doesn't pause," the rotborne woman added, eyes narrowed. "It recalibrates."
Elian said nothing.
His eyes were locked on the black line where sky met earth—a place that now shimmered faintly. A flicker of motion. A thread.
[Threadmaker Status: Anomaly – Active]
[Griefblade Sync: 93%]
[Interference Detected: Unknown Signal]
[Classification: Impossible]
[Warning: Signature does not match any known system thread.]
The glyph on Elian's forearm pulsed sharply, and for the first time in hours, his expression changed.
He frowned.
Brows furrowing.
A chill slid across his spine—not fear. Not confusion.
Recognition.
Of something that shouldn't exist.
He turned his head slightly, voice low.
"There's something out there."
The girl crept closer. "What is it?"
Elian pointed into the distance, toward the faint shimmer now pulsing at the horizon like a heartbeat under dying skin.
"A thread," he muttered.
"But it's… wrong."
He took a slow breath, narrowing his eyes.
"It's not theirs."
The glyph flared.
And then, clear and sharp, it came:
A whisper.
Not in sound.
In memory.
Like a hand sliding cold fingers across his thoughts.
"Soulfrail…"
"…the fracture calls you…"
"…return to what you lost…"
Elian's jaw tightened.
His grip on Griefblade flexed.
"That's impossible."
[Signal Detected: Fracture's Edge]
[Zone: Forbidden – System Memory Erased]
[Note: Location is classified as non-existent. Entry risk: Catastrophic.]
The rotborne woman snarled quietly.
"It's a trap."
Elian's eyes never left the flicker on the horizon.
"Every thread is a trap."
He smiled thinly.
"The trick is making sure it snaps around their neck instead of yours."
He turned to the girl.
"Stay here."
She shook her head, voice small but defiant.
"Elian—this feels… wrong."
His gaze softened just a fraction.
"Everything worth chasing does."
The rotborne woman's claws twitched. "You don't know what's waiting out there."
Elian's smile sharpened.
"Neither do they."
He stepped forward, Griefblade pulsing softly as if hungry.
The glyph on his arm brightened, leading him like a compass of contradiction.
As he moved, the world seemed to shrink away from him.
The rot twisted.
Threadlines frayed.
Even the ground seemed hesitant to stay beneath his feet.
[Objective: Investigate Fracture's Edge]
[System Control: None]
[Warning: You are entering a zone the system chose to forget.]
The girl watched him disappear into the dark, her fists clenched.
The rotborne woman muttered under her breath, eyes locked on the distance.
"We're watching the last thread of the world… unravel."
Far above, high in the fractured sky, something unseen whispered:
"He steps into what even gods sealed away."
"And if he survives…"
A pause.
A shiver through the universe.
"We won't."