---
The air split with a scream not made of sound, but of will.
Kael's blade sparked to life, its edge gleaming with mirrored light from the swirling portal. His eyes locked on the fiery version of Ayame stepping out of the mirror—the one crowned with horns, with shadows coiling at her fingertips like eager snakes.
Ayame staggered, caught in the gravity of her own reflection.
"I didn't know I had... that in me," she murmured.
Yui, clutching her spellstaff, barked, "You don't. That's not you. It's what you could've been if fate curved wrong."
Fire-Ayame sneered. "Or maybe I'm what she still *will* be. The Loom doesn't erase possibilities, little seer—it *multiplies* them."
Behind her, the mirror cracked. More figures pressed to the surface—reflections of Kael, Ayame, and even Yui. One Kael wore armor soaked in blood. One Ayame floated in chains of crystal. One Yui stood with a thousand eyes blinking across her arms.
Kael gritted his teeth. "I'm gonna regret asking this, but how do we stop them?"
"The Loom must reject them," Yui said. "But Ayame's grip on the threads is unstable. She's still choosing who she is. So they're bleeding through."
Fire-Ayame took another step forward. "You hesitate because you know the truth. I was born from your *rage*, Ayame. The day you watched Kael disappear. I'm the power you buried."
Ayame trembled.
It *was* true.
She had screamed at the stars when he vanished. She had whispered wishes to burn worlds just to find him. This version of her had bloomed in those darkest thoughts—fed on grief, grown on silence.
But then Kael spoke.
"You're not her."
His hand found Ayame's.
"You're *you*. The girl who stayed awake to watch constellations because she believed one might blink back. The girl who saved a world and still apologized for stepping on a flower. You are not this... thing."
Ayame met his gaze.
The field quieted.
"I know who I am," she said.
Her palm flared with light—the woven threads inside her pulsing, responding. The Loom behind her spun wildly as if cheering.
But Fire-Ayame lunged.
Kael moved first.
Blade met flame.
The clash lit the air with sparks, but it wasn't enough. Fire-Ayame absorbed the blow, laughing. "He fights for you," she said, circling, "but I *was* made from you. That means I *know* you. Every fear. Every flaw. Every moment you doubted—"
"Shut up," Ayame whispered.
The air trembled.
"No more echoes pretending to be me."
She threw out her hand, and the loom's threads twisted with her motion, warping reality in an instant.
Fire-Ayame gasped as her own body began to unravel, flames sputtering into stardust. "You *can't*! I'm you!"
Ayame stepped forward, gaze steady. "No. You're a *maybe*. And I choose *not you*."
The thread snapped.
Fire-Ayame shattered like glass, her scream sucked into the mirror which cracked—then crumbled—into dust.
But the peace lasted seconds.
Yui screamed.
Behind them, one of the other mirrors burst. A Kael stepped through. This one wore silver armor with a cruel grin, dragging a black blade behind him like a tail.
"Right," Kael muttered. "Of course evil-me has worse taste in swords."
Silver-Kael raised the blade. "I didn't come to fight. I came to *replace*."
The Loom flared again—panicked now.
Ayame turned to Yui. "Can we close it?"
"No," she said. "But we can stabilize it—if we find *your true thread*. The original one. The you that started this."
Ayame's heart clenched. "But... I'm right here."
Yui shook her head. "No. The *child*. The Ayame from the beginning. The one who first met Kael under the meteor shower."
Ayame gasped.
The Loom flashed—and an image burned into the sky above: a tiny version of her, maybe six years old, crouched beneath a tree, staring at a night sky full of falling stars.
"She's trapped in the Root Thread," Yui said. "If we don't protect her... all versions become unstable."
Kael pointed at the rising storm of reflections. "Then let's find her fast. Because the gallery of 'What Ifs' is getting crowded."
Dozens of portals flared open.
Some twisted.
Some cried.
Some *laughed*.
And from each… someone stepped forward.
Ayame took Kael's hand. "One more thread to pull."
He squeezed it back. "Just promise this doesn't involve me turning into a llama again."
She gave him a grin—wobbly, but real.
"No promises."
And they ran—toward the beginning, toward the thread that mattered most.
---