The half-loom remained still behind her. Its silence no longer pressed in on her—it waited.
But Ahri did not approach.
Not yet.
Something moved at the edge of the ash horizon. A ripple in stillness. A pulse of... hunger.
The threads around her began to twist, not violently, but deliberately—like they were making room.
And from that parting emerged a figure—tall, draped in a mantle of unravelled sigils. Its face was featureless, like smoke held in shape. But its presence was immediate. Ancient. Neither hostile nor kind.
Just... necessary.
Ahri's breath caught in her throat. "You're not part of the Loom."
"No," it said. "I am what was cast out when the Loom was first formed. The cost of its order. The potential it refused to remember."
Its voice wasn't a sound. It was an agreement. Spoken directly into her understanding.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"To offer what the Loom never will."
It reached into itself, and from its chest pulled a glowing coil—a thread that shimmered like molten shadow.
"This," it said, "is a strand unbound. No memory. No prophecy. No consequence. If you take it, the Pattern will no longer see you. You will be free."
Ahri stared. The thread pulsed with raw autonomy. She could feel its offer slithering into her will like a gentle infection. Power without surveillance. Choice without guilt.
"You would disappear from the Loom's vision," the Entity said. "Your thread would be lost, even to time. You could weave without limitation. Speak without echo."
"And what would I lose?"
The Entity tilted its head.
"Jin."
The name struck her like frost.
"What do you mean?"
"You remain tethered to him. Not by memory. By recognition. The Loom only allows his presence in your pattern because you remain within its sight. Take this thread, and he will no longer know your name. Your face. Your voice. The bond will unravel."
Ahri's grip tightened.
"That's not freedom," she said. "That's erasure."
The Entity did not respond. It simply extended the thread farther.
"Power always costs something," it said. "The Loom demands submission. I demand solitude. There is no creation without sacrifice."
She looked at the glowing thread.
Then at her own—burned, weakened, but still hers.
"You want me to choose between being seen and being sovereign," she murmured.
"Is there a difference?" it asked.
Ahri stepped forward, heart pounding.
"I don't know yet," she said. "But I want to find out without forgetting who I fought for."
She reached out—not to take the thread, but to reject it.
The Entity didn't flinch. The thread curled back into its chest, dissolving.
"You are not the first to refuse," it said.
"Then why offer it?"
"Because one day, you may come back. And next time, you might be ready to let go."
It vanished.
No light, no collapse—just absence, as if it had never been.
The ash whispered again.
Ahri turned back to the half-loom, the thread in her hand pulsing gently.
She was still tethered.
Still remembered.
And for now, that mattered more than power.