Elias sat on the floor of his bedroom, legs crossed, the window cracked open to the night. The feather rested beside him, pale and still. He hadn't told Jamie. He couldn't explain it yet. The sensation was still too raw, too strange.
He had returned to the fountain three times that day, trying to recapture the moment—the pulse, the thread, the world beneath the world. But it had slipped through his grasp each time. Like trying to fall asleep on purpose.
Now, he focused on his breath. Slow. Deeper. Down past the lungs, past the heart. He pressed his palm to the notebook page where the looping sigil still glowed faintly under moonlight.
And slowly, something opened.
The rhythm returned—not loud, not grand. Just there. A low vibration in the base of his spine. A warm coil rising behind his sternum. It didn't feel like power. It felt like listening.
Elias didn't know it yet, but this was his first step into internal cultivation. And the moment he touched that thread again—
something ancient noticed.
---
Somewhere Unseen — Where the Council Waits
No one knows where the Council gathers. Their sanctums do not obey geography. Some float on broken time. Some are buried under cities that no longer exist.
But tonight, in one such chamber, a bell tolled without sound.
A ripple moved through the void, and five shadows answered.
They arrived without footfall, their presence folding into the air like old truths remembered.
Vaelen, the Wordless Voice, stood at the center, robed in ivory silk, face obscured. They never spoke aloud, yet all heard their message as if whispered behind the eyes:
> "The thread has awakened. Untrained. Unclaimed."
To Vaelen's left, Inquisitor Sael stirred—a figure in a black iron mask, robes lined with scorched silver. She carried a curved blade known to have ended dozens of rogue awakenings.
> "Unclaimed power corrodes the weave. We should sever the thread before it twists."
At the far edge of the chamber, Archivist Lirien flicked ink from his fingers, eyes half-lidded in thought. Scrolls and floating glyphs circled him like moons.
> "The boy's name is Elias Tran. His pattern touches myth-lines we buried. If he survives, he may offer insight. If he falls… even his ruin will be worth studying."
In the dimmest corner, silent as breath, stood Master Nara. He wore no ornament, no color—only greys so dull they seemed unfinished. He nodded once, slow and solemn. Everyone knew what it meant:
He would find the boy.
Between flickers of space, Ashari of the Veins drifted in and out of visibility, her form tethered to timelines the others couldn't touch. Her voice came like layered harmony—soft, sharp, and many.
> "There is more than one thread at play. The girl watches him. The spiral sings again."
Vaelen turned slowly, mask gleaming like bone.
> "Then we observe. For now."
> "Let the boy walk the thread blind. Let the world remember what it tried to forget."
The five said nothing more. But deep below the surface of the waking world, a mark etched itself into the pattern of Elias Tran's life—a silent eye. A watcher's seal.
And the Council began to wait.
---
Mira – Rooftop
She felt the mark.
Her breath caught.
Elias had crossed a threshold no one returned from. She had seen what came next before. It didn't always end in ascension.
Sometimes it ended in ruin.
But Elias wasn't just another spark.
And this time, he wasn't alone.
She drew a sigil into the night, and the lines shimmered faintly around her fingers.
> "Guide him, Jamie," she whispered. "Because soon, they'll come testing."
---
Elias – Apartment
He opened his eyes with a sharp breath.
He couldn't explain what he'd just seen—what he'd felt. But something was different now. The rhythm was still humming in his chest, soft but steady.
He reached for the feather. It felt warm.
From somewhere unseen, a distant voice—quiet and vast—echoed just behind thought:
> "Step carefully, Elias Tran.
The Council never forgets.
And threads do not unwind without cost."