The wind carried the faint scent of lotus and woodsmoke as dusk fell across the mountaintop temple. Shadows lengthened across the stone courtyard, stretching like the threads Ahri had begun to see more clearly with each passing day. Some glowed gold, some silver-blue. Others shimmered faintly, as if unsure whether to exist at all.
She sat cross-legged beneath a withered ginkgo tree, its leaves fluttering like quiet thoughts overhead. In her palms, a set of delicate threads floated midair—warm, golden, and alive. Her fingers moved slowly, attempting a basic weave the Elder had taught her.
But the threads refused to listen.
They twisted out of sync, collapsing into a tangle that snapped back with a faint sting. Ahri winced.
From across the courtyard, Jin watched quietly, kneeling beside a moss-lined fountain etched with old symbols. Her grey eyes flickered with calm understanding.
"You're forcing them again," Jin said gently. "Threads respond to balance, not will."
Ahri sighed and let her hands drop into her lap. "I'm trying not to. They just... they hum too loudly when I think about the visions."
Jin tilted her head, listening to the wind, or perhaps to something else entirely. "The fox spirit?"
Ahri hesitated. She hadn't told Jin everything—the sly grin beneath the broken moon, the way the fox had whispered her name like it already knew her story. But she nodded anyway. "It's watching me. I don't know why, but it's there in every thread I touch."
Before Jin could respond, the Elder's voice echoed across the temple steps.
"Then it is time you met what lives beneath the surface."
Ahri stood, startled. The Elder stood in the open doorway to the temple's inner sanctum, his long robes rustling like dry parchment. A lantern swayed gently in his hand, casting flickers of ochre light along the walls.
"You've learned to see threads, Ahri. Now, you must see where they come from."
She followed him in silence, Jin close behind.
The hallway inside the temple sloped downward, lit only by dim candle niches carved into stone. The air turned cooler, thick with the scent of incense and damp earth. Symbols covered the walls—some were language, others were maps of fate itself, sketched in looping forms that resembled constellations tangled together.
After a long descent, they reached a circular chamber. At its center was a shallow pool of still water. Suspended above it was a massive loom, ancient and breathing with quiet energy. Threads spilled from it in all directions—some disappearing into the ceiling, others trailing into the floor, vanishing into darkness.
"The Loom of Yūgen," the Elder said, his voice reverent. "This is the heart of what we protect. Every soul has a thread here. Every path, a pattern."
Ahri stepped closer. Her golden thread pulsed at her wrist, almost drawn toward the loom like a compass needle pulled to its true north.
"The Severed want to cut these threads," the Elder said. "But Miran... she wants something worse. She wants to unravel the loom itself—to break the very laws that keep the spirit world connected to ours."
Jin inhaled sharply. "She's after the root stories."
The Elder nodded. "The origin tales. The ones our entire world is built upon."
Ahri stared at the pool's reflection. For a moment, she saw the fox spirit again—its eyes twin embers, watching from a branch of fate far beyond her reach.
And then a whisper slipped through the chamber. Not a sound, exactly—but a feeling. Cold. Curious. Amused.
She turned sharply, but no one was there.
"Did you hear that?" she asked.
Jin looked at her. "No... but something's shifted."
The Elder stepped forward and placed a hand on Ahri's shoulder. "You are not just a threadseer. The golden thread chose you because your story crosses boundaries. Between the past and what's to come."
Ahri met his eyes. "Then tell me what's coming next."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A test. One that begins tonight."
Above them, the loom groaned softly—as if sensing the weave was starting to fray.