--
The square still smelled of ash.
What was left of the stag had blown away on the wind, leaving only faint scorch-marks where its body had collapsed. Yet the villagers still gathered there at dawn, staring at the empty space as if its shadow lingered. Their gazes kept sliding toward Matthew.
Some bowed their heads when he passed. Others crossed themselves with charms or spat to ward off evil. To them, he was both savior and curse—the boy who had driven back corruption, and the boy who had nearly let it consume him.
Matthew kept his hood low, shoulders hunched. Every step made the black veins in his arm throb, as if they remembered the fight better than he did.
Liora stayed close, her hand hovering near her knife. She didn't speak, but the set of her jaw said plainly: anyone who tried to touch Matthew would answer to her.
Bren lingered further back, his mouth a hard line, his eyes darting between Matthew and the villagers. Mira trailed beside him, pale and restless, her hands clasped tight at her chest.
-
By midmorning, the elders summoned him and his mother to the longhouse. The air inside was thick with incense smoke and louder with voices raised in argument.
"The Loom has chosen him," said Elder Fariel, striking his staff against the floor. "He weaves threads no mortal hand should touch. That is not corruption—that is destiny!"
Elder Dareth shot back, "Destiny? I saw black fire crawling over his skin. He carries the rot inside him! Do you want to invite the black star into our homes?"
His mother stood trembling by the door, her hands clenched. "He's just a boy," she whispered. "My boy. Whatever power he has, it doesn't make him less my son."
Liora stepped forward, voice firm: "Without him, we'd all be dead. Would you rather the beast had trampled your children instead?"
Dareth's face flushed. "Better a beast in the square than a corruption vessel living among us!"
The arguments tangled together—half the council insisting Matthew be trained and shielded, the other half demanding he be cast out before the next starfall.
Matthew said nothing. He only stared at the floor, fighting the heat building under his skin. The black splinter pulsed, whispering that all of this could be ended if he just… pulled. Unravel them. Tear the threads of their voices. Silence would be so easy.
He dug his nails into his palms until blood ran between his fingers.
-
When the meeting ended, the longhouse emptied into a heavy silence.
Villagers avoided him as if he were already half-shadow. Mothers pulled children aside. Some whispered blessings over him, as though he were a prophet. Others muttered curses under their breath.
Bren was the first to break the silence. His voice was low, almost accusing. "What are you, Matthew? You moved like no human should. If you're dangerous, we deserve to know."
The words stung more than Matthew wanted to admit.
Liora bristled, stepping between them. "He saved us. And this is how you thank him?"
"He saved us this time," Bren shot back. "What about next time, when the black veins climb higher and he can't stop them?"
Mira's voice trembled. "Please… don't fight. Can't you see he's hurting already?"
Matthew forced a smile for her sake, though it felt brittle. "I'm fine," he lied. His insides twisted with the opposite truth.
-
Far above, in the Origin Realm, Kai lounged on his star-forged throne, watching the scene unfold on a rippling screen of light. A bowl of fruit sat at his side, half-eaten.
"Classic," he mused with a grin. "The savior-or-monster dilemma. Humans never disappoint."
Ema's tone was sharper, more cautious. "The Shadow Hunger grows bolder when bonds around him fray. If those closest to him abandon him, the whispers will win."
Kai popped another piece of fruit into his mouth, unfazed. "Then this'll be fun. Let's see if the boy can keep his friendships stitched together. That'll be his real trial."
That night, Matthew slipped away to the willow grove. Moonlight spilled across the clearing, silver and soft, but he felt no peace. His hands shook as he summoned the threads again, golden strands weaving faintly through the air.
The splinter inside him pulsed harder. The whispers surged: Unravel. Break. All things must return to nothing.
His knees buckled. For a moment, he nearly gave in, nearly tore apart the threads of the willow tree just to feel the release.
But then—he remembered Liora's torch in the square, Mira's tears, his mother's hand clutching his sleeve, refusing to let him go.
"No," he whispered, his voice shaking. "If I'm cursed, then I'll make this curse serve life. Not destruction."
Instead of pulling the threads apart, he forced himself to push them together. He wove the strands of dirt and root, binding them into a shield that hummed with quiet strength. His body screamed in protest, but the shield held.
He sank to his knees, sweat dripping, golden light fading slowly from his fingertips. A single black filament writhed faintly in his chest, a reminder of what lurked inside. But for the first time, he felt it bend—if only slightly—under his will.
Matthew clenched his fists, his vow echoing in the night.
I'll weave to protect. Whatever it takes.