As Akhon reached out, the glowing thread descended like a curious serpent from the stars above. It hovered just above his palm, pulsing softly. When his fingers finally brushed it, the entire chamber went silent — the visions on the walls faded, the echoes vanished, even the distant hum of divinity ceased.
Then the thread twitched.
Not away from him — into him.
It slid between his fingers, wrapping around his wrist like a sentient tether. Light exploded in his mind's eye, a cascade of memories and impressions not his own: silver scissors clashing, rivers turning against their flow, hands weaving timelines with trembling fingers. A scream of defiance, not pain. And three voices, calling not for help… but for witness.
Akhon gasped.
When his eyes opened again, he was no longer in the chamber.
