A strange warmth coursed through me, strange threads brushing against my consciousness. Pain faded into clarity, terror into focus. Somewhere deep inside, a system was waking.
[System Activated: Severed Fate Interface][User: Kael Ardyn][Status: Threadless → Severed Awakening][New Skill Acquired: Thread Theft Level 1][Experience: 0/100][Objective: Survive. Discover your path.]
Black threads shimmered faintly in the void, writhing as though alive. They flowed from the Wraith, stitched themselves into me, and pulsed with a power I had never known. I was no longer merely a boy abandoned by the Loom. I had power.
[A thread taken. Your fate begins.][Tip: Use Threads to manipulate objects, enhance reflexes, or defend yourself. Experimentation required.]
When I awoke, the alley was empty, silent except for the distant cries of the docks. The air smelled of salt, blood, and smoke. My lungs burned with each shallow breath, my chest heaving as if my heart had forgotten how to beat normally. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the broken cobblestones beneath me.
My hands tingled faintly, blackened with the first stolen Threads. They writhed subtly around my fingers, invisible yet tangible, like water sliding through a crack. A shard of glass from the earlier fight caught a crooked beam of moonlight, and I found I could lift it without touching it, feeling the strange tug of the Threads obeying my will.
A shiver ran down my spine. The Abyss had noticed me. Somehow, some part of me had survived the Wraith's attack, not by strength, skill, or luck, but by something new. Something terrifying.
I flexed my fingers experimentally. The threads twined tighter, pulsing as if alive. A piece of rubble nearby scraped against the wall. I thought of it moving, and it shifted. Small, jerky at first, but undeniably moving at my command. My heart hammered, equal parts fear and exhilaration.
So much had changed. I was still alone, still hunted, still Threadless in the eyes of the world, but now I had a weapon, a tool that no one could understand. And yet, I did not feel victorious. The Abyss was not friendly. It had given me a gift only to mark me, to draw attention. I could feel it watching, hungry, waiting for me to make a mistake.
I pressed my back against the alley wall, knees pulled to my chest, staring at my trembling hands. I had survived Rolan, survived the mob, survived the Wraith, but survival alone was no longer enough. The system hummed faintly in my mind, a subtle rhythm that promised growth, guidance, and danger in equal measure.
[Objective Updated: Explore new abilities. Avoid detection. Survive.]
I exhaled shakily. The threads wriggled around my fingers one last time, settling like coiled serpents. I did not understand them. I did not trust them. And yet, for the first time in my life, I felt something I had never known: possibility.
Possibility and the weight of a power that could very well destroy me before I learned to control it.
The morning brought no peace. By the time I dared to leave the alley, the docks were a maelstrom of whispers, shouts, and pointed fingers. Word had traveled fast. Someone had seen. Someone had screamed. And now the rumor had taken shape, twisting itself into something larger, something monstrous.
"Did you hear? A boy killed Rolan last night!" a fishmonger shouted, slamming his hands on a crate. "A monster! Right here in the docks!"
Children ran past, faces pale, eyes wide as they whispered to one another. Merchants drew shutters, merchants who had once ignored me now looked with fear as I passed, muttering prayers and crossing themselves. Even the sailors, usually drunk and loud, spoke in hushed tones, glancing over shoulders at shadows that weren't there.
The guards were worse. They patrolled the docks with a heavy step, armor clinking, halberds raised, and voices barking orders. "Clear the alleys! Check every corner! Do not approach alone!" Their fear was contagious. It spread faster than fire through dry reeds, igniting the whole town.
I tried to slip between crates, keeping low, hoping to move unseen, but the threads within me twitched nervously, as though warning me. I couldn't stay. If someone saw the black shimmer in my hands, the world would come down on me.
Everywhere I turned, there were faces pressed to windows, heads peeking around corners. Mothers held children close, sailors muttered protective charms, and men who had spat on me days ago now crossed themselves as I passed. The label "Threadless" had been replaced by another, heavier one: Monster.
Rumors spread in waves. A boy capable of ripping life from another with a shard of glass. A cursed child who had survived the Wraith. Some claimed the Abyss itself had touched him. Others whispered of dark threads glimmering like black fire around his hands. None of it was entirely true. But truth mattered little when fear was involved.
I ducked into a narrow side street, heart hammering, lungs burning. Even the wind seemed to whisper warnings, carrying the frightened murmurs of the docks far into the alleys. Somewhere close, I could hear the clatter of guards boots and the sharp voices of merchants urging townsfolk to flee. Chaos was spreading, and I was at the center of it.
I stopped beneath the shadow of a crumbling archway, pressed my back to the wall, and let the fear wash over me. Threads twitched in my hands, coiling and writhing as though sensing the dread around me. I was no longer just a boy who survived; I was something feared, hunted, a mark of the Abyss itself.
For the first time, I understood what it meant to be truly alone.
[Objective Updated: Hide identity. Avoid detection. Survive.]
The docks were alive with rumors and panic, but I was alive too, and somehow, the black threads pulsing beneath my skin reminded me that I had power no one could understand. And that power, terrifying as it was, would have to be enough.
The alley smelled of salt, blood, and rotting fish. Even as I crept back toward the center of the docks, I could feel the weight of the previous night pressing on every plank and stone. The morning sun was weak, struggling through a haze of smoke and mist, casting a sickly light over the wreckage.
Crates lay shattered like splintered bones across the cobblestones. Fishmongers' stalls had been overturned, barrels rolling into each other and leaking brine into the gutters. A cart, once stacked high with produce, had been flung against the wall, the remnants of vegetables scattered like a grotesque confetti. The boards were gouged, broken, and smeared with crimson where I had fought.
I moved carefully, keeping low. Even empty crates cast shadows that might hide a pair of eyes. The few townsfolk I saw hurried past, whispers trailing like smoke behind them. Monster, cursed, the Abyss. Their words scraped against the air, each one sharpening the edges of my unease.
Closer to where I had collapsed, the alley bore the marks of the Wraith's presence. Scorch-like streaks marred the walls. Splinters of wood hung from beams at impossible angles. A faint, oily residue shimmered where its claws had touched. My stomach churned. I had survived, but the echoes of its attack lingered. Something had been here, something beyond life and death, and I had felt it reach into me.
I crouched behind a toppled barrel, peering through the shadows. The docks were slowly coming to life again, but fear clung to every person like a second skin. Guards inspected each alley, their faces hard but tense. Rumors had spread. I knew the stories were already growing with each retelling. And yet, I could not shake the thought of the threads, the black pulse that had reached into me, still there, still alive.
I pressed my hands against my knees, trying to steady my breathing. My fingers tingled faintly, the remnants of the Wraith's power thrumming beneath my skin. It was small, faint, almost imperceptible. But it was there, a reminder that I had survived not just by chance but because something inside me had awakened.
Once I was sure the crowd had thinned and the guards had moved on, I slipped into a narrow side alley I had claimed as a temporary hiding spot. The air was damp and smelled of mold and saltwater. Crates and barrels formed a crude barricade, shielding me from prying eyes. Here, I could think, experiment, and if I was careful, practice.
I lifted my hands slowly. The black threads beneath my skin coiled instinctively, almost sentient. I focused on a shard of glass from the earlier fight, lying several feet away. Tentatively, I reached out with my mind rather than my fingers.
It moved.
A small, jerky motion, but undeniable. The shard tilted, spun once, then wobbled to the side. I gasped, backing away as the threads pulsed, humming faintly. I could move it without touching it.
Encouraged, I tried something else, a thin rope binding a stack of crates. Concentrating, I imagined it snapping. It twanged and frayed under my attention before finally giving way. A crate toppled, splintering on the cobblestone. My hands shook, the threads writhing in response to my thoughts.
A thrill mixed with fear coursed through me. I had power, yes, but it was wild, unpredictable. I could manipulate objects, but each attempt drained a small part of me, leaving a jittery, hollow feeling in my chest. It demanded focus, demanded respect.
I experimented cautiously, moving small pebbles, tugging at bits of rope, shifting crates by mere thought. Each success bolstered my confidence, but each failure reminded me of the danger. If anyone saw this, they would call me a monster. Worse, if I misjudged the threads, I could attract something far worse than human guards.
The alley was silent except for my ragged breathing and the faint pulsing of the threads beneath my skin. For the first time in my life, I realized that survival was no longer just about avoiding blows or hiding from the world. It was about learning to wield this new, terrifying gift, mastering it before it consumed me, or before the world consumed me for it.
[Objective Updated: Master Thread Manipulation. Remain undetected.]
The shards of glass and broken wood around me were no longer just debris. They were tools, weapons, and keys. And I was beginning to understand that the Abyss had not merely touched me last night, it had marked me for something far larger. Something inevitable.