The air in the alleyway felt colder now, charged with a current of tension that made Corin's skin prickle. He was standing at the edge of something far larger than himself, the weight of it pressing down on him as he faced the Threadborn woman—her masked face contorted with malice, her fingers weaving the air into dark, glowing strands.
Vermielle stepped forward, her posture steady but her eyes narrowed, as if calculating her next move. "Corin, stay back," she ordered, her voice low, almost a growl.
Corin nodded instinctively, taking a step back, his hands still trembling slightly from his earlier encounter. His fingers brushed the dagger at his side, but his mind swirled with doubt. What could he do? The Threads were alive, and he had barely learned how to control them. He wasn't ready for this.
But something in him stirred—an ember of defiance, burning faintly within his chest. He wasn't helpless. Not anymore.
The woman's figure loomed larger in front of Vermielle, her form bending and twisting as the threads swirled around her. They were dark, ominous, like snakes, slithering through the air, their forms barely visible against the gloom. A surge of power rippled through the alley as the woman twisted her hands into an intricate knot, and Corin could feel the air itself tremble.
"Another puppet who believes she controls the Loom," the Threadborn hissed, her voice layered with a thousand echoes. "We are the children of chaos, not your orderly threads."
Vermielle's eyes flashed, and Corin saw the shift in her—her usual calm demeanor cracked slightly, revealing a glimpse of something darker beneath. "You still don't understand," she said, her voice like the grinding of ancient stones. "The Loom isn't chaos. It is the pattern beneath all things. It is the flow that keeps everything together."
The woman laughed—a sound that made Corin's blood run cold. "The Loom is nothing but a cage. And you're all trapped inside it."
With a sudden, fluid motion, the Threadborn thrust her hand forward, sending a whip of dark threads crackling through the air toward Vermielle. The air seemed to warp, bending under the sheer force of the attack. Vermielle barely moved, a faint glow emanating from her hands as she reached out, manipulating the threads in midair, countering the attack with a surge of her own power. The two forces collided with a thunderous boom, sending a shockwave of energy rippling through the alley, cracking the ground beneath their feet.
Corin stumbled backward, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of the power on display. His pulse raced as he watched the fight unfold before him—Vermielle, a veteran Threadweaver, battling this rogue Threadborn with skill and precision. The sheer control she exhibited over the threads was a reminder of how much he still had to learn. But there was something else too—the way the threads themselves seemed to writhe with a life of their own, hungry and twisted, almost like they were alive, feeding off the chaos.
He glanced at the woman—the Threadborn—who was now laughing again, her mask shifting, as though it was alive, melding and warping with each new burst of power.
"Do you see?" the woman taunted, her voice dripping with venom. "The Loom was never meant to be controlled. It was meant to be freed. And when we tear it apart, there will be no more puppets. Only weavers."
Vermielle didn't respond with words. Instead, her hands moved in a fluid arc, summoning the threads into a massive shield of radiant light that deflected another brutal attack from the woman. The impact created a burst of sound that made Corin's ears ring, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
"This madness has to stop," Vermielle muttered, a hard edge to her voice. "Your kind… you've thrown away everything the Loom was meant to protect. You've corrupted its very essence."
The woman's expression twisted behind her mask, her glowing eyes narrowing. "Protect? Protect what? The suffocating rules of a system built on lies? You're the ones who have corrupted it. The Loom doesn't care about you or your precious order. It only cares about one thing—power."
Corin's heart thudded in his chest, the woman's words rattling something deep inside him. He had felt the pull of the Loom, yes. But to think of it as something so… amoral, so unstable, unsettled him. He wasn't ready to believe that yet. The Loom had always been a part of him, a force that had shaped his very being.
But was it really as pure as they claimed? Was the structure, the order he was taught to uphold, really what it seemed?
Vermielle's eyes flicked to Corin for a brief moment, a subtle warning. "Stay focused. This is far from over."
With a sharp motion, Vermielle gathered the threads around her, weaving them into an intricate pattern that pulsed with light. The woman lunged again, her threads trailing behind her like serpents, ready to strike.
In that instant, something shifted in Corin. The words of the Threadborn echoed in his mind: "You've been trained to control the Loom, but you don't understand it. Not yet." What did that mean? How could he even begin to understand something that seemed to thrive on chaos, on the very breaking of order?
Before he could fully process the thought, the battle before him escalated further.
The Threadborn raised her arms, and with a screech that rattled the very air, the dark threads she controlled began to shift and twist into something new. It was an unholy knot, a twisting mass of energy and darkness that crackled with destructive force. The threads turned black, soaked in malice, and seemed to pulse with hunger.
Corin's blood ran cold as he realized what she was doing.
"She's trying to shatter the Loom," he whispered, his heart pounding. "She's going to unravel it."
Vermielle's face hardened, her expression like stone. "She won't succeed," she said, stepping forward with renewed determination. She raised her arms high, and the threads around her shimmered with a fierce, golden light.
But Corin felt it—a vibration in the air, a hum that seemed to resonate from deep within the ground, within his very bones. The Loom. He could feel it, not just around him, but inside him. The threads that had woven through him from the beginning—they were calling out. Their energy, their life force, was connected to the world. To everything.
He took a deep breath, his pulse quickening. The Loom wasn't just something external to be controlled. It wasn't a tool. It was a force, something alive that could be shaped, yes, but it also shaped him. And it was more than just a prison or a cage.
It was freedom—and chaos—woven together.
In that instant, Corin felt something within him snap into focus. He stretched out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached out to the Loom. He didn't try to control it, didn't try to bend it to his will. Instead, he embraced it—the raw, untamed energy of the Loom.
The threads responded.
The air around him crackled, the dark threads retreating for just a moment as the light of his Memory Threads flared bright. The darkness the woman had summoned faltered, if only for a heartbeat.
"Corin!" Vermielle shouted, her voice tinged with both disbelief and urgency.
But it was too late. The energy Corin had tapped into surged forward, blinding in its brilliance, as he began to weave the Threads inward, tightening the strands around him and the world itself. This was no longer about control. This was about understanding the true nature of the Loom.
The woman let out a shriek of fury as the threads she had summoned began to unravel around her, torn apart by the sheer force of the threads Corin now controlled.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then, the world shifted again.