Corin's breath came in jagged gasps as he stood over the smoldering remnants of the Threadborn. The mist around him thickened, curling like tendrils of smoke, leaving him feeling uneasy and disoriented. His hands were still trembling, fingers twitching involuntarily from the surge of power he had just unleashed.
The air had an electric charge to it now—charged with something darker, something dangerous. The Threadborn's twisted threads were gone, but Corin could still feel them. The residue of its power clung to the ground, the walls, even to him.
He wiped his forehead, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The golden Memory Threads inside him pulsed weakly, almost as though they, too, were exhausted.
"Well done," a voice called from behind him.
Corin spun around to see Vermielle, standing a few feet away, her eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Her posture was relaxed, but Corin could feel the weight of her gaze. She wasn't impressed—no, not by him, anyway—but by the situation. There was something deeper in her eyes.
"We'll need to move. The Threadborn won't be the only threat lurking in these shadows," Vermielle said, her tone firm, almost… resigned.
Corin nodded, but his mind raced. He had just faced something far beyond his experience, and it had been a close call. The Threadborn had been unlike anything he had imagined—a person twisted and lost, their connection to the Loom severed and corrupted. A being of power, yes, but power unhinged. Unpredictable.
"Why did it attack?" Corin asked, his voice hoarse.
Vermielle gave him a sideways glance. "Threadborn don't need a reason. They do what they want, and they do it because they can. What's worse, some of them have found ways to bind more Threads to their will. Others are on the way."
Corin frowned. "But… the Loom—why does it matter to them? I thought we were the only ones who could manipulate the Threads."
The older woman's face hardened. "The Loom's power doesn't belong to the Loomguard alone. The Threadborn want to reshape the world, tear it apart, and reweave it in their own image. They think they can control the flow of time, of life itself. The Loom, the Threads, are not just tools. They are the key to everything."
Corin couldn't help but shiver. He had never fully understood the weight of the Loom, only that it was something that could both empower and destroy. The Threads had been inside him since he had Bound—woven into his very being. But to think of them as something alive, something that could reshape reality itself, was a terrifying thought.
"We need to head back to base," Vermielle added. "But first, we need to ensure there's no more activity in the district. You're still too green, too raw. We'll scout, and then we'll move. Understood?"
Corin nodded. His head was still spinning, but there was no time for hesitation. He had learned that the hard way in the last few hours.
It didn't take long for the city's darkness to close in on them.
As they moved deeper into the ruined districts, the streets became narrow and cluttered. The once-grand structures now lay in decay, their surfaces crawling with the twisted threads of whatever had corrupted this place. Corin could see them—spindly, faint threads creeping from cracks in the walls, snaking down the cobblestones, disappearing into shadows. It was like the city itself had been infected.
Vermielle moved with purpose, her steps silent and swift. Corin tried to match her pace, though the tension in his chest made it hard to focus. The air felt heavier here. The threads tugged at him, almost as if they knew he was one of their own.
"This place feels wrong," Corin muttered.
Vermielle's eyes narrowed. "It is wrong. The Threadborn have tainted it."
Before Corin could respond, a rustling sound came from an alleyway ahead. Vermielle's hand shot out to stop him.
"Stay behind me," she whispered.
Corin nodded, his hand instinctively going to the dagger at his side. He could feel the pull of the Threads inside him, urging him to reach deeper, to tap into the power he had just begun to understand. But he held back. He was still unrefined, still reckless.
They approached the alley cautiously, their footsteps barely audible against the wet stones. As they reached the corner, Vermielle crouched, signaling for Corin to follow her lead. She peered around the corner, her eyes flicking back to Corin.
"I'll handle this," she said softly.
Corin hesitated for a moment but then nodded.
Vermielle stepped into the alley, moving swiftly and silently. The alleyway was dark, but Corin could see the faint glow of threads wrapping around objects, hanging loosely in the air. The deeper they went, the stronger the pull became. He could feel his memory threads starting to hum—a warning.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
It was another Threadborn—but this one was different. It was a woman, her eyes glowing with an eerie, unnatural light. Her face was hidden by a mask of interwoven threads, but Corin could still see the twisted expressions of madness reflected in her posture. She held her hands out in front of her, strands of thread swirling around her fingers like serpents.
"Another puppet, then," she hissed, her voice distorted and cold. "A new weaver."
Vermielle took a step forward, her hand outstretched as though to summon something from the air itself. The air crackled with tension.
Corin's breath quickened. This wasn't a fight. This was something deeper. The Threads… they weren't just tools anymore. They were alive. Corrupt. And he was standing in the middle of it.
The Threadborn woman's fingers twitched, and the world seemed to twist.