The temple's silence lingered in Ahri's ears like an echo after thunder.
She stepped slowly out of the hidden chamber beneath the temple, her heart still racing from what she'd seen: visions of a burning tree entwined with glowing threads, a fox spirit whispering from behind a veil of smoke, and symbols etched in starlight on stone walls that hadn't seen daylight in centuries.
Beside her, Jin's lantern flickered as they emerged into the moonlight that spilled through the cracks in the temple walls. Neither spoke. Something sacred had stirred—an old memory or a force older than memory—and it clung to their skin like cold mist.
As they reached the main courtyard, the sound of something shifting caught Ahri's ear. She turned—and froze.
A woman in tattered black robes stood at the center of the courtyard, her back to them. Crimson and black threads drifted from her sleeves like smoke. In her pale hand she held a single charm—a fox mask, cracked down the center.
Jin stepped protectively in front of Ahri, hand brushing the edge of her robe where she kept her protective talismans.
But before either could speak, the woman turned her head. Not fully—just enough for Ahri to see a sliver of her face beneath the mask. There was no emotion in her expression, only recognition.
"You've touched the threads," the woman said softly. "You're not ready."
Then she vanished—dispersed like mist unraveling at sunrise.
Ahri ran to where she had stood. In her place, the charm had fallen to the ground. The broken fox mask glowed faintly with an eerie, cold light.
Jin knelt and picked it up with trembling fingers. "This isn't just any mask. It's a symbol... I've seen it before in the Elder's forbidden scrolls. It belongs to a faction of soul weavers exiled for heresy. They called themselves the Severed."
Ahri's eyes remained locked on the mask, her fingers brushing the golden thread around her wrist. It pulsed, once—twice—then flared with a flicker of violet. A jolt ran up her arm, and in that instant, her vision blurred.
She saw the same mask—but worn by a different face, flickering in and out of shadow. A temple burning. A sky cracked in half. And a fox spirit standing among the ruins, watching her with narrowed eyes.
She gasped and stumbled back.
Jin caught her. "What did you see?"
"It's... connected," Ahri whispered. "The fox spirit. The mask. The Severed. They're all threads in the same story."
A voice rang out across the courtyard—calm but commanding.
"The Severed don't just cut fate," said the Elder, stepping into view from the archway. His robes were still dusted with ink from his scrollwork, and his eyes were heavy with knowing. "They unravel it. Twist it. Rewrite it."
He took the mask from Jin and examined the crack.
"This one left it behind for a reason," he said. "Either a warning… or a lure."
Ahri turned to him. "Why now? Why here?"
"Because you're awakening," he said, his voice low. "And they feel it. You're a beacon they cannot ignore."
That night, Ahri couldn't sleep. She sat by the temple's ancient well, watching the reflection of the moon shimmer across the water. Her fingers traced the golden thread, still pulsing faintly, now and then glowing with that strange violet hue.
A breeze stirred the trees. And then... a whisper.
You're not alone, child of threads.
Ahri's breath caught. The whisper wasn't from within the temple. It came from the thread.
She turned. A flicker of movement—just beyond the trees. Fox eyes gleamed, watching.
But when she blinked, they were gone.
Back in the training hall, the Elder lit incense and began the lesson.
"Control comes not from will, but understanding," he said. "You must feel the threads, not command them. They respond not to strength—but to harmony."
Ahri steadied her breath, fingers extended as strands of golden light unfurled before her, weaving between her fingers like silk. She concentrated, trying to shape them into a sigil, but the strands danced away, wild and shifting.
Jin stepped beside her, weaving with grace. Her silver-blue threads curved into a pattern that glowed softly—a protective seal.
"You're forcing them," Jin said gently. "Let them move with you, not against you."
Ahri gritted her teeth. "They're tied to me. Shouldn't they obey?"
"Even destiny has free will," the Elder murmured. "And some threads… carry spirits of their own."
Ahri looked down at her hands. The golden thread coiled loosely now, waiting. A faint violet spark pulsed at its core.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the tiled roofs, casting golden light over the courtyard, Ahri sat beneath the temple bell. Her journal lay open on her lap, filled with sketches of her visions, scribbled names, and fragments of things the Elder wouldn't yet explain.
Suddenly, the bell rang once—loud, jarring, and unexpected.
Footsteps echoed down the stone path. She looked up.
At the gate stood three figures, cloaked and waiting.
Not enemies. Not yet allies.
But as Ahri stared, the golden thread around her wrist pulled taut—toward them.
A warning? A summons?
Or a new beginning?