Felix couldn't sleep—no matter how hard he tried.
His body was tired, sore in places he didn't even realize he'd used. But his mind wouldn't shut up. It kept looping the same thoughts over and over: what Madison had said, what could be waiting in Nythra's Cradle, and most of all… whether he'd make it back out the next time.
So far, the future looked dark.
With a quiet sigh, he sat up in bed, rubbing the side of his face. If sleep wasn't coming, then he might as well be productive.
He pulled on his training clothes and made his way to the gym.
To his surprise, the training hall wasn't empty. Not even close.
Nearly all of the remaining Thirteen were here, scattered across the space in small, silent pockets. The overhead lights were dim, casting long shadows on the floor, but there was enough glow to see movement—training dummies being struck, objects being flung or manipulated, and, in one corner, a girl meditating so still she looked like a statue.
Guess I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep.
No one was talking. No music. No noise. Just the soft hum of ability use, grunts of effort, and the occasional sound of something breaking.
Felix passed a guy hammering away at a heavy bag. At first it seemed normal—until Felix noticed the places where the bag was melting. Wherever the guy's fists hit, the canvas sizzled and smoked, like it was being dissolved from the inside out.
Felix winced.
Definitely don't want to get punched by him.
A sharp grunt echoed from behind him, not the kind of grunt that came from exertion—this one sounded more like pain.
He turned.
It was William.
Felix started to step forward—then stopped. William had a knife in one hand. He'd drawn a clean line across his forearm. Blood welled up… but almost instantly, the wound began to seal. Skin knitted back together in seconds, leaving behind only a faint mark.
William hissed through his teeth and clenched his jaw.
Felix approached. "That's some power, huh?"
William looked up, a little breathless. "Oh. Yeah. I guess so. At least I won't go down easy if some monster jumps me."
Felix eyed the faint scar. "Does it hurt when it heals?"
"Yeah," William said, flexing his fingers. "Unfortunately, quite a bit. It's like… burning. On the inside."
He sat down on a bench, breathing through the lingering sting.
William glanced up again. "What about you? What can you do?"
Felix hesitated, then raised his hand toward the water bottle sitting beside William on the bench. He focused. A thread extended from his fingertip—thin and nearly invisible in the dim light—and latched onto the bottle's cap.
He glanced at William.
No reaction.
"…Quick question," Felix asked, brow furrowing. "Can you see this?"
William blinked. "See what?"
"…Never mind."
So, others couldn't see the threads. Good to know.
Felix gave the thread a slight tug. The water bottle floated into the air and hovered between them.
William's eyes widened. "Woah. So what—you've got telekinesis?"
Felix hesitated again.
That wasn't exactly right. But he wasn't ready to explain the thread in full detail—not yet. Hell, he didn't even understand it yet. It could lift and move things, sure. But it had quirks. Limits. And maybe, if his instincts were right, some potential he hadn't even scratched yet.
For now, it was easier to let people assume.
"Yeah," Felix said, playing it casual. "Something like that. Can't lift anything too heavy, though. And sometimes it just… fizzles out."
William leaned forward, eyeing the water bottle as it floated down to the bench again.
"Well," he said, "better than just healing. You've got offense and utility. Mine's just pain in reverse."
Felix shrugged and moved on.
Over the next couple of hours, Felix stuck to a light regimen—weights, cardio, and occasionally threading small objects just to keep the reflex sharp. William had moved on to practicing combat maneuvers with a few of the others, but Felix kept to himself. He wasn't interested in sparring—not yet. Not until he had better control.
Eventually, sweat-soaked and exhausted, he waved goodbye to William and headed back to his room.
Now, it was time for the real training.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, letting his thoughts drift back—to the dream, to the demon domain, to the Coward.
Felix hadn't seen much of what his demon could truly do. He knew it involved those strange threads—strings he could manipulate, like the Coward's puppets. But unlike the Coward, Felix had no puppets of his own. And he was nowhere near skilled enough to create them from scratch.
His eyes scanned his room, searching for something—anything—that could serve as a substitute. That's when his gaze landed on a hoodie draped over the back of his desk chair. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
He grabbed the hoodie and laid it flat on the floor, then took a step back. Stretching out his hand, he closed his eyes and focused. He imagined the thread forming between him and the fabric. Moments later, a shimmer of energy appeared, the first thread taking shape.
Carefully, he wove it into the hoodie.
He didn't just want to lift it—he'd done that plenty of times. This time, he wanted to control it, make it move with purpose. Something beyond levitation. A real task.
Felix pictured the hoodie lifting one of its sleeves. At first, there was nothing. Then, a faint twitch. The sleeve jerked slightly, like it was resisting sleep.
Frustrated, he clenched his jaw and tried to summon a second thread. It took effort, more than he expected, but eventually it flickered into being. He weaved the second thread in, intertwining it with the fabric alongside the first.
Two threads. Twice the power—at least, he hoped.
Again, he focused on the sleeve. This time, with effort, it slowly lifted from the ground.
"Yes!" he grinned. "Alright, now... how about you get up?"
Felix sent out a mental command, visualizing the hoodie rising on its own. Slowly, the fabric began to shift. The torso puffed outward as though filled by an invisible body. The sleeves moved to the floor for support, and with a soft rustle, the hoodie sat itself upright.
Felix let out a breathless laugh. "This is great... So the threads work as well as the object can function. If I link to something with a defined purpose... maybe I can make it do that purpose."
Eyes narrowing with focus, he withdrew his threads from the hoodie and turned to his bow, resting nearby. With a breath of anticipation, he extended a new thread and attached it to the bow.
He pictured the bowstring pulling back.
Sure enough, the string began to draw back on its own, taut with invisible force.
Felix stared, a mix of awe and thrill building in his chest.
"This'll be great."Felix muttered a grin forming.
He froze mid-thought. I've only ever tried objects… but what about people? Or beasts?
The idea itched at him, dangerous and thrilling. Not tonight, though. That experiment would have to wait.
There was something else he wanted to test.
Felix raised his hand, palm up, and pictured the familiar pull of a thread unfurling from his fingertip. Then he set his knife across his palm, commanding the strand to coil around the blade. The connection was sluggish, unstable. He pushed harder, forcing a second thread to join the first—then a third, gritting his teeth with the effort.
At last, the steel shimmered faintly, its edges veined in pale light as the threads wrapped tight around it. The knife no longer looked like ordinary metal; to Felix's eyes, it had become something ghostly, humming with hidden potential.
"What does this even do?" he muttered.
He gave the metal desk a casual strike, expecting nothing. The clang echoed through the room—followed by the sharp crunch of dented steel. Felix stepped back, staring at the warped surface where his knife had landed.
He blinked. Then he laughed under his breath. "Oh, shit. So it does have an effect after all."
Excitement surged through him. If threads could enhance objects… what about himself?
He pulled them free of the knife and redirected them to his arm. The filaments coiled along his hand and forearm like spectral bandages, glowing faintly as they tightened. Felix flexed, willing strength into the fibers. The sensation was there—an edge of power—but the reach was pitiful, barely covering half his arm.
With a sigh, he released them. "Not there yet. But close."
Still, the discovery lit a spark in him. Threads weren't just tools for pulling and lifting; they could reinforce, empower, transform.
Felix sat back, sweaty and buzzing, already plotting his next steps. For now, he would focus on control—how long he could maintain the threads, how many he could weave at once. If he pushed hard enough, by the time he stepped into Nythra's Cradle… five threads would feel like child's play.