The night after destroying the cursed loom, Nyra hardly slept. The silver thread in her satchel pulsed softly, like a heartbeat. Each time her eyes drifted shut, she swore she heard whispers—fragments of patterns, voices tugging her toward something unseen. When dawn came, Button was already standing watch, his button eyes reflecting the pale light. He rumbled low, as though he, too, had felt it.
The group left Luthra at first light. The townsfolk blessed them with cloth charms and fresh supplies, but fear lingered in their eyes. Some had seen Nyra's thread drink the curse, and though grateful, they whispered as if she were something both savior and danger.
Nyra kept her gaze forward, hand brushing the satchel at her side. Tovan noticed. "Still thinking about the loom?"
She nodded. "It wasn't just destroyed. The curse was… woven into me. I can feel it."
"That's not exactly comforting." Tovan adjusted his sword strap, frowning. "And you're sure you're alright?"
Nyra hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I'm still me. Just… more."
Puff puffed up indignantly. "More snack power!"
Biscuit cackled. "More bite!"
Sprout hissed. "More dangerous."
Button rumbled in agreement, his gaze steady on Nyra, protective but wary.
By midday, they reached the edge of the Blackpine Woods. The forest was thick, air damp with moss and resin. But it wasn't natural silence that met them—it was muffled, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.
They passed an abandoned hamlet where doorframes hung with unraveling cloth. Curtains shredded themselves, threads crawling like worms before falling to dust. A child's doll lay in the road, seams gnawed open by unseen hands. Nyra picked it up gently, her silver thread humming at the touch.
"It's the same magic," she whispered. "But sharper. Crueler."
Tovan's jaw tightened. "Then we're close."
That night they camped in the forest clearing. As Nyra mended Tovan's cloak by firelight, her stitches glowed brighter than before, threads weaving themselves at a gesture before she could even thread her needle. Tovan watched, troubled. "You didn't even touch it that time."
Nyra froze, staring at her glowing fingers. "I didn't mean to."
Button placed a massive paw over her hands, grounding her. His steady rumble soothed the wild energy, and the glow dimmed.
"Feels like it's teaching you," Tovan muttered. "But to what end?"
Nyra didn't answer.
They didn't get much rest. Just before dawn, shapes crawled from the treeline—small stitched horrors, patchwork things of fur and bone, their seams glowing black. Dozens of them.
"Company," Tovan muttered, drawing his sword.
Nyra stood, silver thread already spilling between her fingers. The creatures lunged, but Button intercepted, batting three into the ground with one massive paw. Puff spat fire, Biscuit flung himself like a dart, and Sprout lashed vines in all directions.
Nyra's eyes flashed. "No—watch this." She lifted her hands, silver threads unraveling mid-air. The cursed seams on the creatures snapped, black cords unraveling like smoke in wind. One by one, the horrors collapsed into piles of harmless scraps.
Tovan froze, lowering his blade. "You didn't even touch them."
"I don't need to anymore," Nyra whispered, her voice trembling with awe and fear. "The thread listens to me."
But even as the last creature fell, she swayed, dizzy. Button caught her in one arm, steadying her. His button eyes glowed faintly red, protective—and wary.
Puff squeaked nervously. "She's glowing too bright."
Biscuit tilted his head, trying to look serious. "What if she unravels herself?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Nyra said, forcing a smile. "I'm fine." Yet her fingers trembled as the light faded.
Sprout slithered closer and muttered, "Threads cut both ways. Be careful, mistress."
When the battle ended, Nyra noticed a single thread drifting in the air. Black, thin, humming with the same cursed energy as the loom. It didn't vanish like the others. Instead, it stretched east, tugging faintly, as though pointing the way.
Nyra reached out, and the silver thread in her satchel pulsed in response. The black cord tugged harder.
Tovan stepped up beside her. "A trail."
Nyra nodded, determination settling in her eyes. "The one who made the loom… they're out there. And they're waiting."
She tucked the black strand into her satchel, the silver thread thrumming violently in answer. For a moment, her hand shook—until Button covered it again, steady and warm. She looked up at him, and he gave a single slow nod.
That night, as they prepared to follow the cursed thread's direction, Nyra sat apart from the fire, watching her hands glow faintly in the dark. She whispered softly, almost to herself: "Am I weaving life… or unraveling it?"
The fox cub curled against her side. Puff climbed into her lap. Even Sprout slithered closer, hissing like a lullaby. And for now, surrounded by her stitched family, Nyra let the question fade into the night.
But long after the others slept, she woke again to the whisper of threads. They stretched across her vision like constellations, patterns she had never learned yet somehow understood. She saw faces in the weave—smiling, screaming, fading into ash. When she gasped, the vision snapped away, and she found Button's shadow looming over her, his paw steady on her shoulder.
"Still me," she whispered to him, voice shaking. "I promise."
Button's eyes narrowed, glowing faintly in the firelight. He rumbled deep, as though to say: Then hold on to that.
Neither Nyra nor Tovan knew it, but beyond the ring of trees, someone else was watching. A cloaked figure lingered in the dark, their hands moving idly as black thread coiled between their fingers like smoke. Their eyes gleamed faintly—studying Nyra, the way her silver thread pulsed like a heartbeat, the way she nearly lost herself to it.
The figure tilted their head, whispering to themselves. "The weave answers her already. So much power, but no control. She could become… anything." Their voice was almost tender, almost cruel. With one hand they tugged the black thread taut and images shimmered across it—scenes of Nyra's fight, the glow of her stitches, even the look on Button's face as he steadied her.
"The bond with the bear holds her together. For now." The figure chuckled softly. "But what happens when bonds fray?"
They smiled thinly and whispered, "She's learning faster than expected." Then, with a flick, they vanished into the shadows, leaving the forest unnervingly still, as if the trees themselves feared the hand that wove such darkness.