(CONTINUED FROM CHAPTER 8)
It was another day at the Mounagiri Gakuen. Rain poured down heavily as if the sky were weeping for the Gakuen. Thunder roared across the sky.
The new boy, Eiroh, adjusted the silver contacts in his eyes as he descended the rust-slicked staircase below Sector 7G. The walls dripped with condensation, mold blooming all around. In his gloved palm, a crimson thread pulsed. He raised a thin, obsidian comm-sigil to his neck.
EIROH (flatly): "This is Eiroh, reporting, sir. Target confirmed. Tamara of House Anukan. One of the Five Nobles."
A pause, deep silence ensued. Then a voice cracked through the sigil—slow, glacial, reverent.
COMMANDER (distorted but cold): "Do not engage. She is storm-blooded. Even her memory scars operatives."
Eiroh flinched. The crimson threads hissed, as if they had heard too much.
COMMANDER (low, cold): "They said the Five lines of Saradzkuri were lost. They were wrong. One spark remains, and it remembers the storm." EIROH stammered, "Yes, Commander. She will unravel more than just threads." COMMANDER (with authority): "I repeat—do not engage. Just don't let her out of your sight. Failure is not tolerated." EIROH (weakly, trembling): "Yes… Yes, Commander. Understood."
He slipped the threads into his sleeve. Around him, the walls wept rust and mold.
Tamara walked through the golden threadlantern-lit 11A class corridor with a book clenched in her hand. Again, the students were mesmerized by her sheer beauty. Tamara Idol Club member Rick approached with a bouquet and fell on one knee, "Oh Megami-sama, accept my bouquet and my unconditional love for you! My heart beats your name the whole day!"
But Tamara's wrist tingled, shook with resonance. She looked down and scanned the area around her—no loose string. But something felt wrong. She felt as if someone was watching her. She ran past Rick, making everyone laugh at him. Rick stood up, consoled by his fellow idol member Kim, who muttered that Tamara might accept his proposal later.
Tamara quickened her pace. A whisper of her name reached her—not aloud, but through Thread Echo. She passed the display case holding the Founders' Tapestry. The threads were vibrating—not from footsteps, not from wind.
Something was reminding her. Tamara pressed her hand briefly to the frame. She closed her eyes and let her golden-green threads expand gently.
ANUKAN. THE HOUSE OF EMPATHY.
Her throat swelled. The bloodline that senses storms before they arrive. She let out a sob, and tears rolled from her sunken eyes. She missed her house. The longing folded over her like a soft shroud.
Her golden threads began to pulse with tremors of memory. They weren't just threads—they were empathic filaments, tuned to the emotions etched deep within her mind. They started playing a mini movie in her mind.
She remembered her mother, singing under the moonlight to Tamara while she lay carefree in her bed, her mother's face kissed with gentle luminance. Her father, who commanded the House of Empathy with golden threads that radiated calmness, soothing even conflict zones into stillness. Tamara slowly lowered herself to the floor, sat against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head buried.
Beneath the tiles, Eiroh's eye twitched. He grinned cunningly and let out a cruel laugh. He sent Crimson Bindings surging through the corridor. Static threads throbbed along the floor. One by one, they slithered into the mind of an unsuspecting classmate from 11A. The boy's eyes glazed. His threads dulled. Something had hijacked his thread resonance.
Meanwhile, Tamara stood up, wiping her eyes. She took a deep breath and let it out. Her golden threads shimmered gently now. Suddenly, A classmate smiled at her across the corridor—polite, familiar. She was a little startled, but her golden threads pulsed gently, steadying her.
She noticed that his threads were too perfect. It tensed, hissed, and moved like melted wax. Tamara's spine tensed. That wasn't him. That was a Crimson Possession.
The bell rang. Students shuffled into classrooms, unaware of the silent war unfolding. Near the Founders' tapestry, the classmate blinked once. His thread signature flickered.
Something was wearing him. Tamara stepped forward with her golden threads unfurled—not as weapons, but as resonant lifelines. She moved slowly, extending her threads into his mind, not to dominate, but to resonate with his mind. Her golden threads detected the calamity- a storm of black-crimson threads— binding, suppressing, overwriting his identity.
She realised the classmate was in grave danger. If she forced and cut them, it could damage her classmate's mind.
Instead, Tamara activated a rare empathic move: Thread Resonance Amplification.
She whispered through her gentle golden threads: "It's okay. Everything is alright. I am here."Her threads pulsed not with force, but with memory—echoing safety, warmth, and identity.
Inside the boy's mind, his dormant golden threads—his true self—shimmered.
A spark. Then a flare.
The boy's inner threads self-ignited, pushing back the crimson bindings. A quiet psychic scream echoed through the corridor. The classmate collapsed, his mind overloaded from the conflict.
Far away, Eiroh let out a shriek. His tether had snapped. Burns enveloped his hands. He remembered the commander's warning—and yet his grin returned.
Eiroh (grinning): "Her memories scar operatives, alright. Still pulsing as radiant as ever. But this is far from over, Princess." As he let out a wild laughter, echoing in Sector 7G.
Kodo turned and realised Tamara had not returned. He was concerned and left the classroom in a hurry. He sensed Tamara's golden threads, ran through the corridor. He sighed in massive relief when he saw her kneeling beside the fallen classmate. He helped her lift him. The tension between them said everything. No words needed. Together, they walked back to the classroom.
Quiet. Watchful. But they knew this wasn't the end. The black threads had only just begun to stir.