Chapter 23: Echoes and Ash
The willow bent low over the water, its roots curling down into the riverbank like old hands sunk into soil. Beneath it crouched the root cellar, little more than stone blocks half buried and sealed with a timber door. Moss clung to the cracks, but the hinges were oiled, and the path swept clean, the kind of place you could tell someone kept alive out of stubbornness more than need.
Elvi knocked a rhythm. Two taps, pause, three taps, pause, two again. The door opened a finger's width, and a pair of eyes peered out, sharp despite the wrinkles around them.
"I brought you weeds once," the old woman rasped. "What do you bring now?"
"More stubborn weeds," Elvi said. "Ones the Choir tried to cut."
The door opened without another word.
The two children clung tight to her cloak, but Elvi crouched to meet their eyes. "This is safer than following us," she said. "She's meaner than any Warden." The old woman snorted, but didn't deny it.
Hale gave the smallest nod, and the squad let the transfer happen. Small hands passed from Noll's awkward grip to Elvi's steady one, then from Elvi to the old woman. She had them inside before anyone breathed again, the door closing with a thump that sounded final.
Silence hung under the willow. The river whispered against stone, low and endless.
Elias sat back on his heels, hands resting on his thighs, eyes stuck on the door. His chest ached like someone had stuffed a stone inside. Ava's laugh came sharp in memory, paint smeared across her cheek, hair wild from running, her tiny hands holding out a crooked drawing. His throat caught on air, and for a moment the weight of this world pressed hard.
He scrubbed at his eyes before anyone noticed, muttered, "Good hands. Better than we could give."
Lysera's gaze lingered on him a breath too long, but she said nothing. Rook pressed close at his leg, silver eyes catching the willow's sway, tail thumping once as if to agree.
Hale turned to the group. "We've done what we can here. Thornveil won't stay quiet. We move."
They crossed the river by a fallen trunk, the wood slick with moss. Elvi ghosted first, her balance light, Noll following with arms out like a rope walker. Thorek grumbled the whole way, boots skidding, hammer slung heavy on his back. Elias brought up the rear, spear balanced across his shoulders, the damp air clinging to every scar.
The path bent west into deeper Thornveil. The forest swallowed them again, fog weaving around trunks like it had a mind. Every step crunched damp leaves, every breath drew the metallic taste of threads vibrating faintly beneath the earth. Elias's Resonance Sense twitched at the constant hum, not sharp like battle, but present, as if the world were remembering them.
Hours passed in that dim twilight. No horns. No Wardens. Just the weight of Thornveil pressing. When they reached the broken arches of the old temple, the squad moved like they were finally breathing again.
The temple stood quiet, veils of moss hiding cracks in its stone. Once it might have sung with prayers, now only the forest answered. But it was theirs, hidden, strong enough to keep them safe, and patient enough to let them return.
Inside, the firepit still held embers from before. Noll bent quickly to feed it, coaxing sparks into flame. Shadows leapt against the pillars, warm and restless.
Elias dropped down onto one of the broken steps, rolling his shoulder until scar tissue popped. His ribs no longer screamed, but they still ached when he laughed. He hadn't laughed much since coming here. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at the fire until the smoke blurred his vision.
Thorek stomped in behind, hammer ringing against stone as he set it down. "Forge is waiting," he muttered. "Got iron enough to start shaping something proper tomorrow." His eyes gleamed with the promise of fire.
"About time," Elvi said, stretching her bowstring across her knee. "Maybe then you'll stop whining about using spit and twine."
Thorek snorted. "You try shaping miracles with spit. You'd whine louder."
For once Elias didn't bite at the banter. He let it wash around him, his thoughts still circling the willow, the children, Ava. His hand drifted unconsciously to the folded scrap of cloth in his pocket, the only piece of her he'd carried across worlds.
Lysera leaned against a pillar, arms folded, eyes sharp in the firelight. She was watching him again, not unkind, but with that same searching look she always carried.
"You left a piece of yourself there," she said quietly.
Elias didn't answer at first. The fire cracked. He rubbed his thumb across the spear shaft, then muttered, "Better a piece than the whole." His jaw tightened. "If saving them honors her, it's worth the ache."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was steady, like stone accepting a weight it already knew.
Rook settled at his feet, muzzle on paws, eyes half lidded but alert. The cub had grown thicker in the weeks, muscles tightening under fur, silver streaks catching more light. He watched Elias like a mirror might, calm, steady, waiting.
The fire rose higher, and with it, something else. A question Elias had carried since the temple, since the mural. He looked up, meeting the eyes of the others, Hale, Elvi, Noll, Thorek, Lysera, each one scarred and stubborn in their own way.
"I need to know something," he said. His voice cut through the crackle, steady, sharp. "Tell me about Saint Caelus. The story your Church tells."
Hale frowned, shifting forward. Elvi raised a brow. Thorek muttered a curse under his breath. Even Noll stilled, firelight catching the nervous twitch in his jaw.
Lysera didn't speak, but her gaze sharpened.
Elias leaned in, eyes steady on Hale first. "I've seen what your priests call him. I've seen what they carved in stone. Now I want to hear the tale they fed you, so I know what they'll do to me."
The words dropped like stones into water, rippling outward.
The fire popped again. The night held its breath.
And one by one, the squad began to speak.
Hale's face shifted in the firelight. He leaned his elbows on his knees, voice low, steady, like he was reciting something memorized too long ago.
"They say Saint Caelus was born in Elandor. A farmer's son. Nothing special, until the Loom touched him." His jaw tightened. "He stood against the first demons when they clawed their way through the Veil. He cut their weaves apart like they were threadbare cloaks, and he became the first and last of his kind. The Threadcutter. Chosen by the Loom itself."
Elias felt the hum in his chest stir at the word. Threadcutter. The way Hale said it sounded final, absolute, like no other could exist.
Elvi shifted next, her bow across her lap. "They told us he brought peace. That he carved harmony out of chaos. My grandmother used to pray his name when storms came. Said he was proof that the Loom weaves a perfect pattern, if only we obey." She spat into the fire, bitter. "Didn't stop her from being taken by a Choir."
Thorek grunted, rubbing soot blackened fingers across his beard. "Every forge tale paints him taller than mountains, with a spear that sang like a hammer. Said he fought in the Sundering, held back demons with nothing but his will and the Loom at his shoulder. I grew up thinking if I built one thing half as strong as his spear, I'd die a proud dwarf." His grin didn't reach his eyes. "Then I saw priests use his name to burn villages that wouldn't bend."
Noll hesitated. His voice cracked at first, but steadied as he spoke. "The Wardens said Caelus fought so boys like me would kneel. That if we didn't, we were spitting on his grave." He clenched his fists. "They used him to make us small. To make us afraid."
The fire popped. Sparks drifted into the dark like tiny stars.
Elias let their words settle, let the silence breathe. Then he spoke, rough as gravel. "The mural I saw in the temple told a different story. Not a saint. Not some god born savior." He looked at Lysera. "Tell them."
Lysera's eyes glinted, cold and sharp. She didn't flinch from the others' stares.
"The Church has twisted the truth," she said. "Saint Caelus was no child of Elandor. He wasn't born here at all. He was an Outsider. Like him." She tilted her chin toward Elias.
Noll blinked, confusion etched on his face. "Outsider? You mean"
"Yes." Lysera's tone cut like a blade. "The Church burned records, erased stories, destroyed proof. But fragments remain. What you call Caelus was a man carried into this world by the Loom itself. He was no farmer's son. He came from beyond."
Thorek's brow furrowed, beard bristling. "That's heresy."
"That's truth," Lysera snapped. "And it's why Elias is in danger. If the Church learns he can cut Threads, they won't just hunt him. They'll bury him under a thousand lies before they let the world see another Outsider Threadcutter."
The words sat heavy.
Elias leaned back, staring into the flames. He thought of the mural, the carved figure, faceless but familiar, spear in hand, child lifted high. Not a saint. A soldier. Like him. A protector who died saving a life.
He muttered, "So if they twisted his story to fit their pattern, what do you think they'll do to me?"
Lysera's gaze sharpened. "Exactly."
The others shifted uneasily. Hale's jaw flexed. Elvi's eyes burned, hard and quiet. Thorek muttered curses under his breath. Noll looked from face to face, as if hoping someone would say it wasn't true.
But none of them did.
Rook raised his head from where he'd been curled at Elias's feet, silver eyes catching the firelight. His ears twitched, as if even he understood the weight of the words.
Finally, Hale broke the silence. His voice was iron, tempered but weary. "Then we don't let the Church know. Not until we're ready. Not until the world's ready. They can't kill what they can't see."
Elvi nodded, fingers brushing the worn wood of her bow. "And if they come too close, we make them regret it."
Thorek thumped his hammer against stone, sparks ringing. "By the Forge, I'll burn every Warden from here to Velros before I let priests stitch another lie into my beard."
Noll swallowed hard, then squared his shoulders. "If he can stand against them, so can I."
The firelight carved their faces into sharp relief, stubborn, scarred, unyielding. For a moment, Elias saw not rebels and outcasts, but something more. A knot being tied, tighter with each word.
He drew a slow breath, feeling the hum of the Loom in his chest, steady and insistent. The mural's faceless man lingered in his mind, shadowed by the truth he'd just heard. A protector. An Outsider. A Threadcutter.
A kindred spirit.
The silence stretched again, heavy but not hopeless. And Elias found himself speaking words he hadn't planned.
"Then we'll cut our own path. Not theirs. Not the Church's. Ours."
Rook's tail thumped once against stone, like a drumbeat.
And for the first time since waking in this world, Elias felt the faint edge of something sharper than survival. Purpose.
The fire burned low, shadows stretching long across the temple floor. Nobody spoke for a while, not even Thorek, and that silence carried weight.
Elias rose first. His ribs still pulled when he moved, but weeks of training had hardened him. The others watched him stand, waiting.
"I need to show you something," he said. His voice carried no flourish, only the bluntness of a man with little patience left for half truths.
Lysera's gaze flicked sharp to him, then away. She understood, but she didn't stop him.
"What is it?" Elvi asked, brows arched.
Elias nodded toward the rear of the ruin. "Come with me. You'll see."
They followed him, weapons close at hand, boots crunching over gravel and old leaves. The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew. The hum of the Loom pressed against Elias's skin, steady but insistent, like a heartbeat not his own. Rook padded at his heel, ears twitching, every muscle taut as if he sensed what waited.
The temple's back wall loomed ahead, choked in moss and vines. It looked like nothing more than damp stone half eaten by years.
Lysera moved forward. She laid her palm against the wall, fingers pressing through threads Elias couldn't quite see but could feel. The vines shivered, then unraveled, peeling back as if tugged by invisible hands. Moss withered into dust, and the stone beneath brightened, cut with faint grooves.
A mural bloomed into view.
The others drew in sharp breaths.
Figures carved in relief stretched across the wall, worn by centuries but not erased. A man stood at the center, spear braced, shoulders squared, a child lifted high in his other arm. Around him, the Threads of the Loom burned like rivers of light, carved in sweeping arcs. And where those Threads frayed, his spear cut them apart with a single clean stroke.
But he was no saint. His face was bare of halos or divine crowns. His armor was plain, utilitarian, nothing of Elandor's design. His stance was not holy but disciplined, the posture of a soldier.
Hale frowned, jaw tight. "That's him. Caelus. The Church says this was his first miracle. But this" He shook his head. "This doesn't look like a miracle. This looks like war."
Thorek stepped closer, beard brushing the carvings. His rough fingers traced the spear etched into stone. "Forge steel, aye, but not ours. This is old, older than anything I've ever seen. He wasn't born here. You're saying"
Elvi finished the thought, voice flat but edged. "He wasn't ours at all."
Lysera nodded, eyes cold. "The Church lied. They made him a saint of Elandor to bind the world to their song. But he was an Outsider, like Elias."
Noll's eyes widened. His hand hovered above the carving of the child, small and fragile in the soldier's grip. "Why hide this? Why cover it with moss and veils?"
"Because," Lysera said, voice sharp, "truth like this would tear the Church apart. If people knew their Saint Caelus was not born of the Loom but brought here from beyond it, their creed would unravel. Better a unifying lie than a chaotic truth."
Elias stared at the mural, the hum in his chest rising until his ribs ached. He remembered Ava's laughter, the fire, the weight of a child in his arms that he couldn't save. The carving burned against his vision, a mirror of his own life, centuries removed.
He swallowed hard. "That's no saint. That's a soldier. Like me."
The words landed heavy.
Elvi looked at him sharply. "And if the Church ever finds out you can cut Threads like him"
"They'll come for me," Elias finished. His voice was steady, but his hand on the spear at his back was tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "They'll make sure I vanish before anyone sees what I can do."
Rook huffed low, pressing his flank against Elias's leg as if grounding him.
Hale's eyes narrowed. "Then this doesn't leave us. Not until we decide how to use it. We keep it close. If the Wardens knew this mural was here, they'd tear this ruin apart stone by stone."
"More than that," Lysera said. Her hand hovered over the carving, not touching but close. "If the Church knew Elias had seen it, they'd burn the Thornveil itself to ash just to bury him with it."
The silence stretched again, taut as a drawn bow.
At last, Thorek broke it, his voice a rough rumble. "By the Forge, if the priests want him gone, that's reason enough to keep him. Any bastard they hate this much must be worth keeping alive."
Elvi snorted, but there was no heat in it. "That's the closest thing to a compliment you'll get, Elias."
Noll straightened, earnest fire in his eyes. "You're not alone in this. If they come, they'll have to go through me too."
Elias looked at each of them in turn, Hale's steady iron, Elvi's sharp calm, Thorek's dangerous grin, Noll's stubborn defiance, Lysera's cold fire. The knot tightened in his chest, stronger than any oath.
"Then we keep this between us," Elias said. "We train. We fight. And when the Church comes, we'll be ready."
The mural loomed behind them, the soldier forever frozen mid strike, a child in his hand, Threads fraying around him.
Not a saint. Not a miracle. A man. An Outsider.
And maybe, just maybe, a kindred spirit.