Thread 1: Rin's Confrontation
Rin stood before the open box, her heart beating a little too fast.
The coat — the one that hadn't belonged to her but had fit her perfectly — was gone. But the weight of it lingered in the air, woven into the threads of the past. She could still feel the faint touch of its fabric against her skin, the way it had draped across her shoulders.
She reached into the box and let her fingers trace the edges of the nameplate, feeling the faint grooves of the engraving:
To the one who always walked ahead.
From the one who was left behind.
A tremor ran through her. She didn't remember who it was from, but she knew it was someone she had never expected to leave behind.
Her breath caught, and a flash of an image flooded her mind — a hallway. The sound of fire alarms, the smell of smoke. Someone — not Aro, not anyone familiar — shouting her name. She saw herself, a younger version of her, running down the hall toward a door. She didn't hesitate; she didn't look back. The door opened to chaos, and before she could step inside, someone wrapped the coat around her.
She didn't see their face, but their voice echoed in her mind:
"Live. If not for yourself, then for the story that still needs you."
Rin staggered back, her hands trembling. She'd never heard that voice before. Not in this lifetime, at least. But she knew it.
The memory wasn't just hers.
She turned the nameplate over in her hands, reading the words again, and then something clicked.
It wasn't just about me.
This was about all of us.
The threads of memory unraveled and rewove themselves in her mind, as the weight of the coat faded and the realization that she was not alone in this came crashing down.
Rin couldn't help but whisper to the still air:
"Who was that?"
She didn't expect an answer. The silence that followed was thick and deep.
Thread 2: Aro and the Others
Somewhere, across the Academy grounds, Aro stood alone on the edge of the garden.
The air around him felt heavier than it should. The night sky above was clear, but the stars felt… distant. Like they had pulled away, leaving him with a deep, unshakable emptiness.
His fingers brushed the fabric of his scarf, pulling it tighter around his neck. Something felt wrong. A presence, not familiar, yet so undeniably close.
He wasn't the only one who felt it.
Aro (murmuring to himself):
"Rin…"
He looked up, his eyes scanning the horizon, as if searching for something — someone.
That was when he saw them.
First, Selene, stepping out of the shadows near the willow tree, her royal attire gleaming faintly under the moonlight, though there was no mistaking the weight of authority in her steps.
Next was Iris, leaning against a pillar, the ever-present mischief in her smile but something deeper behind her eyes. She caught Aro's gaze and nodded in silent acknowledgment.
And then there was Alin, standing still but unmistakably present. Her uniform was crisp, and though she was no longer the same girl who had once walked beside him as a student, Aro could still feel the connection. Her gaze met his for a moment, lingering.
They were all here.
Selene walked toward him, her voice quiet but firm:
"We felt it. All of us."
Aro nodded, his throat tight.
Aro:
"The shift?"
Selene's expression darkened, but she didn't answer immediately. It was Iris who spoke next, her voice uncharacteristically serious:
Iris:
"We've been feeling it for days. Stray thoughts. Faint memories. At first, I thought it was just me, but…" she glanced toward Alin, who nodded solemnly, confirming her own suspicions.
Iris:
"And now it's louder. We're not imagining it."
Alin (quietly):
"We never imagined it. Not from the start."
Aro turned to them, his brow furrowed.
Aro:
"I don't know what's happening, but I feel like I've already lived through this moment."
"Like I've been waiting for it."
Alin took a step forward, her voice steady as she answered:
Alin:
"We've all been waiting, Aro. Not just for you… but for all of us. This isn't a mistake. It's a shift."
Selene:
"The story isn't ours anymore."
Thread 3: The Weavers' Council
Far beneath the surface, beyond the comprehension of most, the Council of Weavers convened in a silent chamber. The walls flickered with forgotten light as their forms gathered around a central holographic display.
Lyra:
"The frequencies are intensifying. The pattern is fracturing."
Kio (nodding, but with a certain unease):
"It's him. The Threadwriter. He's reaching out."
Lyra:
"We were meant to guide, to observe. Not to become part of his story."
Kio:
"But we are. Whether we like it or not."
The flickering image of the Threadwriter's symbolic thread hovered in the air between them. Unraveling.
Ene (leaning forward):
"It's not enough anymore to contain it. We're seeing him grow — more than just exist. He's rewriting paths."
"We've been living in his shadow for far too long."
Lyra:
"You think we're at the end of this? No. The end is just beginning."
Kio's gaze shifted away, his voice a whisper barely audible even to the others:
Kio:
"What if we're not here to stop him, but to witness the change?"
Ene stared at the projection of the Thread. The lines that had once seemed controlled, now felt like a map to an unknown destination.
Ene (darkly):
"And what if we are the ones who are lost?"