The Drifting Realm – 172 floated like a fragment of a dream, tethered to nothing, swaying on unseen currents of the Aster Frontier. Its skies were jagged mosaics of stars that shifted night by night, and its land cracked at the seams where drifting edges sometimes collided with neighboring fragments.
In the little village of Stonehollow, life endured despite the realm's instability. Crooked wooden homes clung to hills, children ran barefoot through the dust, and the air always hummed faintly with unstable mana currents. The people here were tough, shaped by the knowledge that any day, their world might scrape against another drifting shard.
Matthew, now six, lived quietly at the village's edge. His body was small, frail even compared to other children his age, but his dark eyes carried a focus far older. When others saw only wood, stone, or sky, Matthew always glimpsed the faint threads that bound reality together — strands of light, shadow, or sometimes rot, whispering secrets no one else could hear.
He hid that sight carefully. To his mother, he was simply quiet, shy, and observant. To the village children, he was strange.
---
"Hey, quiet mouse!"
Matthew froze, clutching the stick he'd been using to scratch patterns in the dirt. A group of children laughed from the well's side, led by a girl with hair the color of embers. Liora, daughter of the hunter Arkan, stood with her hands on her hips, chin high.
Unlike the others, she already bore signs of a budding blessing: when she grew angry or excited, sparks sometimes danced at her fingertips, and her eyes glowed faintly like banked coals.
"You never talk, you just… stare," she declared, stepping closer. "What are you staring at, huh? Ghosts?"
The other children giggled, emboldened by her. Matthew lowered his gaze, gripping his stick until his knuckles went white. He wanted to answer — but what could he say? Yes, I see threads woven through your body, glowing faintly with fire?
So he said nothing.
"Tch." Liora smirked. "Figures. Weird boy can't even speak."
That day, Matthew walked home alone. Rivalry had been declared.
---
A few days later, Matthew found Liora sitting alone beneath a willow near the riverbank. Her face was streaked with tears, and in her lap lay a broken toy bow. The snapped wood hung by splinters, useless.
She glared when she saw him. "What do you want, quiet mouse?"
Matthew hesitated. Then, before fear could stop him, he knelt and touched the toy. To him, the splintered bow was not merely broken wood. It was a weave — frayed, torn, but repairable. With the gentlest tug, he coaxed the threads back into alignment.
The bow shivered… then straightened, whole again.
Liora gasped, eyes wide. "How—" She grabbed the bow, turning it over in disbelief. "You… fixed it?"
Matthew only shrugged. He didn't dare speak, heart thundering.
For a long time she studied him, suspicion warring with awe. Finally, she muttered, "You're still strange… but maybe not useless."
From that day, their rivalry softened. Liora still teased him, still challenged him in games and races, but her eyes now carried a flicker of curiosity.
---
Through Liora's family, Matthew learned more of Stonehollow's beliefs. Around the fire, her father spoke of Realm Blessings — strange powers children awakened as they aged, said to descend from the drifting stars themselves. Fire-sense, beast-instinct, even sky-hearing.
Every child awaited their blessing with both dread and hope. Some never awakened one, living simple lives. Others bore gifts that marked them as hunters, defenders, or, rarely, dangers.
Yet whispers also haunted the village. Travelers spoke of beasts spilling from fractured rifts — creatures twisted by unstable threads. Worse were the rumors of raiders beyond the frontier, fanatics who worshiped the "dark weave" and sought to unravel realms altogether.
Matthew listened silently, committing every word to memory. Blessings from the sky… or threads I can already see. They don't know what they're touching.
---
One afternoon, while playing near the forest's edge, Liora suddenly peered at him with sharp eyes.
"You always look too hard at things," she accused, crossing her arms. "Like you see more than the rest of us."
Matthew's chest tightened. "I—I don't," he muttered quickly, but the denial felt weak.
She tilted her head, smirking. "Quiet mouse with ghost eyes. Maybe the spirits like you."
Panic surged. Memories of Earth stabbed at him — Eliza's frightened look, her whisper that he wasn't normal. He clenched his fists. Not again. I can't lose anyone else by showing too much.
So he forced a smile, though it looked wrong on his face. "Just… watching."
For once, she let the subject drop, but doubt lingered in her gaze.
---
Later that week, the children played tag near the forest. Shouts and laughter echoed through the trees — until Matthew noticed something wrong.
A massive oak, its trunk riddled with rot, swayed dangerously above the clearing. And threaded through its bark, he saw black strands of decay unraveling.
Before he could think, instinct drove him. He reached for the weave, tugging threads of strength back into the trunk.
Reality shivered. The tree froze mid-fall, hanging impossibly in the air for a heartbeat before snapping upright with a groan, as though time itself had stuttered.
Gasps filled the clearing. Children screamed and scattered. Liora stood rooted, staring at Matthew with wide eyes.
"You… you stopped it." Her voice shook. "That wasn't… a blessing."
Matthew's heart plummeted. He waited for fear, for rejection.
Instead, Liora stepped closer, whispering fiercely: "Don't tell anyone. If they knew, they'd…" She bit her lip. "I'll keep your secret. Just—don't scare me like that again."
For the first time since coming to this realm, Matthew felt something new. Not acceptance… but trust. Fragile, dangerous trust.
---
That night, Matthew sat alone outside his home, staring at the drifting sky. Stars slid across the heavens like ships adrift, colliding and parting in endless silence.
"Others… have blessings," he murmured. "But only I see the loom itself."
A faint hum stirred in his mind.
[New Trait Awakened: Child of the Loom]
[First Bond established – Liora of Stonehollow. The threads of fate begin to entwine.]
Matthew exhaled, small hands tightening on his knees. "If this realm drifts forever… then I'll weave an anchor of my own."
The sky shimmered above him, and somewhere, unseen, the threads of his story tightened.
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