I didn't trust him.
Not really.
But I followed him anyway.
Riven led me through the rain, down twisting alleys and silent streets until we reached an abandoned church near the riverfront. Ivy crawled over shattered stained glass. A bell tower leaned sideways like it had given up centuries ago.
"This is where you live?" I asked.
"Not quite." He stepped forward and pressed his hand against a cracked wall covered in carvings.
For a second—nothing.
Then the wall shimmered and dissolved, revealing a spiral staircase lit by tiny glowing threads floating in the air.
"Okay, that's new," I whispered.
He didn't answer, just motioned for me to follow. As we descended, the air thickened—not with dust, but with… energy. It buzzed against my skin, warm and sharp like a static shock that wouldn't go away.
At the bottom was a circular room, hollowed out like a nest. Dozens of glowing threads floated in the air, connecting scrolls to shelves, books to lanterns, mirrors to nothing at all. Some threads were gold. Others, silver. But one—just one—was deep, pulsing red.
It was mine.
"This is a Weaving Cell," Riven explained quietly. "Each Threadweaver has one. Hidden, protected. Built into places the world has forgotten."
He moved around the space like he belonged there—adjusting an orb here, brushing a thread there. I stood still, afraid I'd accidentally snap something and break the whole world.
"Sit," he said gently.
I did.
Riven pulled up a second chair and finally looked at me, really looked.
"You weren't supposed to awaken yet."
"You keep saying that."
He nodded. "Most hybrids—people like you—don't start seeing threads until they're trained or triggered. But you saw the Desire Thread first. That's... rare. And dangerous."
I crossed my arms. "Why is everyone acting like this thread is going to end the world?"
He hesitated. For the first time, he looked unsure of himself.
"Desire Threads don't just bind people. They rewrite them. Thoughts, memories, feelings—twisted, amplified. It starts as attraction. Then obsession. Then fate takes over."
I swallowed hard. "So… what? This thread is making me like you?"
His eyes flicked to mine. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just making what's already there louder."
Silence.
The thread between us shimmered again—stretching like a flame in slow motion.
I looked away. "So what do we do?"
"We train you. Fast. Before others find out." He stood. "And before the Council demands I cut the thread."
My head snapped toward him. "Cut it? As in… kill it?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and drew a thin blade with a transparent edge, almost invisible except for the faint pulse of violet light along its surface.
"This is made from fateglass," he said softly. "It's the only thing that can sever a living thread."
"And if you do that?"
Riven looked at me—and for the first time, I saw real pain in his face.
"Then you forget me," he whispered. "And I forget you. The thread dies, and we go back to who we were before."
Something cold twisted in my stomach.
I didn't even know him. Not really. But the thought of forgetting him hurt more than it should've.
"So," I said, my voice barely steady, "what happens if we don't cut it?"
He stared at the thread between us.
"Then we burn the whole world down".