Chapter 26: Threads in Motion
They will come for it.
But not yet.
Now… we prepare.
The Hollow Vault sleeps beneath us, bound by the ring, held in place by the quiet hum of sealed power. But it's not dormant. It waits—watching, listening. I feel its pulse through my veins even as I step away from the pedestal.
Lira hasn't said a word since.
She stays close. Guarded. But present.
The seal-bearers—Calin, Thorne, Marrow, Yvenna—linger nearby, shaken but bound. Their loyalty forged in the Vault's awakening.
But we're not enough.
We need more.
---
I send word through the tethered threads of the city—those still loyal, still unknown.
Sov answers first. He emerges from a chasm beneath the Silkbone Dens, dirt on his coat, blood not his own.
"You called?"
I nod. "I need you to shadow the Southern Threadless. Every trade, every whisper, every coin moved. They'll try to reposition before they strike."
"Easy," he says. "I'll be their shadow's shadow."
---
Kett arrives next, bruised but grinning. "Heard you cracked open the Vault. Felt it in my teeth."
"You'll infiltrate the Tally Guilds," I tell her. "The Threadless fund half their plans through false trades and crooked ledgers. Unravel their purse strings."
"I always did like math," she smirks, and vanishes into the smoke.
---
Narth returns from the grave-road, hands still shaking from his last assignment. But he bows his head. "Where?"
"The Archive Rot. Threadless records go there to die. I want them dug back up. Names. Locations. Codewords. Bring it all."
He nods and limps into the shadows. One step at a time.
---
Branvel doesn't speak when he arrives. He just kneels.
"Watch the high seats," I tell him. "The ones who pretend neutrality. There's rot in their silence."
He nods once. Already gone before I blink.
---
The four vanish into the folds of the city like smoke into cracks.
And still, the Vault murmurs.
---
Lira leans beside the pedestal. "They're risking everything for you."
"No," I correct. "They're risking it for what's waking."
She doesn't reply.
But her hand stays near her blade.
---
Later, when the others sleep, I sit before the pedestal again.
I don't touch it.
I just listen.
And it answers.
Not in words.
But images. Feelings. Concepts.
*The Vault is more than a prison.*
It's a *loom.* A place where reality has thinned, where thread and will can be shaped.
If I learn to weave with it…
I could heal the city.
Or unmake it.
---
But power like that won't stay secret long.
And the Threadless?
They're already moving.
---
In the dark above, fires light the horizon.
Rumors bloom like disease.
The Masked One has claimed the forgotten heart of the city.
And the city… is listening.
---
Let them listen.
Let them fear.
My threads are moving.
And I don't need a throne to rule—
Only enough string to pull.