The shrine was broken. Stones cracked. The roof collapsed inward. No prayers lingered here—only wind and moss. But it was quiet.
Kael needed quiet.
He sat with his back against the cold wall, knees pulled up, cloak draped over him like a fading shadow. His hands trembled, not from fear or cold, but from exhaustion of a kind that went deeper than the body.
The threads weren't gone.
They pressed against the edges of his vision, still dancing behind every blink, every breath. But here, in this crumbling shelter of forgotten faith, they didn't scream. They simply… existed.
For now, it was enough.
He opened the Loom Interface with a whisper of thought. The black tapestry returned, threads spanning in every direction, luminous and silent.
And there—at the very center—was his thread.
A single strand of silver, dim and frayed at both ends. It didn't pulse. It didn't anchor to anything. It just floated, like a tetherless line waiting to be caught… or cut.
[Identity Thread: Freeform Drift]
No Predetermined Fate Detected.
Self-Direction Enabled.
Anchor Bonds: None.
Kael stared.
So this was it.
No destiny. No future. No purpose. He wasn't defying fate anymore.
He was just outside it.
And for a moment, he wasn't sure if that was freedom… or death.
The Soul Map flared open next. A web of glowing lines rippled outward from his central knot — some reaching, others fading. But none touched. None returned. His web shifted with every thought.
No one was bound to him.
No one had ever been.
He closed the interface with a breath. Let his head fall back. His eyes stared at the fractured ceiling above, but his mind sank somewhere deeper, to places he rarely let himself go.
He was nine the first time he felt fate.
A servant girl in the palace gardens had dropped to her knees, crying over her brother.
Kael had stood nearby, unnoticed, watching.
He didn't see a thread. Not clearly.
But in that moment, he knew the boy was already gone.
The feeling settled in his chest like ash.
He was twelve when he first acted.
A runaway horse in the courtyard. A girl frozen in its path.
Kael raised his hand, not knowing why, and the horse's rider crumpled mid-gallop.
He hadn't seen a thread. But he felt the cut.
His father called him a liar.
His brothers stopped training with him.
And Kael learned to stay quiet. To let the feeling pass. To do nothing.
"If you know how people die," one of them said, "why don't you stop it?"
He had.
That's what made them afraid.
Now he was alone.
Branded. Threadless. Exiled.
And worse than all of that, he was changing.
[Fragment Ledger – Active Fragments: 2]
Halren Theris – Ruthless Preemption
"Strike before struck. Threats do not wait to bloom."
Effect: +2 Resolve, -2 Empathy**
Corruption Load: 4%
Unnamed Raider – Urgent Violence
"The urge to act before the wound begins. The need to strike first, always."
Effect: +1 Dominance, +1 Scheming**
Corruption Load: 4%
[Soul Weave Parameters – Current]
Empathy: +1
Resolve: +4
Trust: +1
Scheming: +1
Dominance: +2
Mercy: +3
Clarity: +5Total Corruption Load: 8%
Kael exhaled slowly.
The numbers didn't seem dangerous. The stats looked like any system's. Clean. Precise.
But beneath them, he felt the tilt. The subtle shift of balance. His emotions came slower. His thoughts faster. When danger appeared, his first instinct wasn't fear — it was: Where's the thread I need to cut?
Not long ago, that instinct would have horrified him.
Now it felt… normal.
Too normal.
He pressed a fist to his chest. The weight of the fragments pulsed like heat beneath his ribs.
If I keep cutting… who will I become?
But he already knew the answer.
Someone necessary.
The wind outside was still. He rose, slowly, cloak dragging behind him like shed skin.
Beyond the trees, just over the rise, he could see it again: the void space. That place without threads.
No paths.
No pain.
No fate.
He didn't know what waited there.
But for the first time since exile, the world was quiet.
And something was calling.
Kael stepped into the morning, walking toward the place untouched by destiny.