The forest loomed around Luo Tian like a silent prison. Every step through the mist-laden undergrowth pressed down on him, his breath growing heavier with each passing hour. His wounds burned, but he refused to slow. He had learned quickly that hesitation was death; in these mountains, the hunters would never stop pursuing him.
Beside him, Ling Xi walked with quiet grace, her delicate figure draped in pale robes that shimmered faintly with the soft light of her Life Thread. She kept close to him, watching every flicker of his expression. Her thread pulsed in rhythm with his, mending torn flesh and easing the pain gnawing at his body.
But even with her care, Luo Tian felt hollow. His two threads—the silver glow of Life and the crimson-tinged silver of Resilience—were too weak. He knew it in the marrow of his bones: if stronger enemies came, he wouldn't survive.
The weight of the sect's decree still lingered. Cursed. Doomed to die young. A failed vessel of fate. Those words carved themselves into his heart like a wound that never healed.
Yet beneath the despair, a spark burned. A whisper that told him he would not die so easily.
---
They traveled in silence until the sun climbed high above the canopy, though the light barely pierced the heavy mist. It was Ling Xi who broke the quiet first.
"Luo Tian…" Her voice was gentle, hesitant. "We've gone far from the sect's borders. No one should pursue us this deep. Perhaps… we should rest?"
Luo Tian slowed, leaning briefly on a twisted tree. His chest rose and fell heavily, his robes still stained from old blood. But his eyes hardened.
"If we stop moving, they'll catch us sooner or later," he said flatly. "The sect doesn't leave loose ends. They'll send more hunters."
Ling Xi bit her lip. She wanted to argue, to plead for him to rest, but she saw the fire in his gaze—the fire of someone who refused to crawl. She lowered her eyes and walked beside him without another word.
---
The landscape began to shift as they pressed onward. The trees grew taller and darker, their bark twisted with strange markings that seemed to pulse faintly in the mist. Some bore long scars, as though carved by hands long since turned to dust.
Luo Tian paused, narrowing his eyes at one such mark. "This isn't natural."
Ling Xi moved closer, her fingers brushing the glyph lightly. A ripple of qi answered her touch. She gasped softly. "I've read of these. Ancient sigils… They're from a sect that existed long before ours. The Thread Weavers."
"The Thread Weavers?" Luo Tian repeated, his brow furrowing.
Ling Xi nodded, her expression tinged with awe. "They say the Weavers were the first to glimpse the truth of threads. Not just threads of life or death, but the very strands that make up the heavens themselves. But they vanished ages ago, leaving only scattered ruins."
A chill ran through Luo Tian's spine. He looked deeper into the forest where the glyphs seemed to point. A pull, faint yet undeniable, tugged at his chest. His threads responded—not with strength, but with unease.
"Then maybe we've found where they fell," he murmured.
---
The glyphs guided them until the trees parted into a clearing. Luo Tian froze at the sight before him.
A colossal stone loom towered from the earth, half-buried under vines and moss. Its frame was cracked, weathered by time, yet its presence dominated the clearing. Ancient spindles jutted out like broken teeth, and faint streams of light—ghostly threads—still shimmered between them.
Ling Xi's eyes widened, her lips parting in wonder. "A… divine loom…"
The air was thick with ancient qi, stagnant yet potent, as if the very earth remembered the Weavers' power. Luo Tian stepped closer, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. He felt it the moment his palm brushed the stone: a pulse that resonated with his own threads.
The world around him shifted.
---
Darkness swallowed his sight, and suddenly he stood in an endless void.
Threads stretched across infinity—threads of light and shadow, weaving together stars, rivers, and lives. Some shone brilliantly; others hung limp, severed and frayed. Each thread pulsed with stories, destinies, and fates that hummed in a chorus beyond comprehension.
Luo Tian staggered, clutching his chest. His two threads—Life and Resilience—flared in panic, flickering like candles against a storm.
Then came the voice. Deep, resonant, ancient.
"Who dares touch the Loom of Eternity?"
The sound reverberated through the void, rattling his soul. Luo Tian forced his spine straight, though sweat trickled down his back.
"I am Luo Tian," he declared, voice raw but steady. "They call me cursed, doomed to die. But I refuse to accept their fate."
The void trembled, threads vibrating with the weight of his words.
"Defiance…" The voice rumbled like thunder. "Always the spark of those who weave anew. Yet your threads are weak. Two strands against eternity… can you endure?"
Pain surged through him as countless phantom threads coiled around his body, digging into flesh, piercing his soul. He gasped, knees buckling under the pressure.
Visions assaulted him: his exile, the jeers of the sect, Ling Xi's tears, the hunters' laughter. Each vision tore at his heart, threatening to unravel the fragile cords within him.
And then—he felt it.
A shadow.
A thread, darker than night yet sharp as a blade, hovering just beyond his grasp. It thrummed with the essence of rebellion, the refusal to bow to heaven or fate.
The Third Thread.
His hand twitched toward it, desperate to seize it—but the moment he reached, searing pain ripped through his chest. His vision fractured. The voice roared.
"Not yet, cursed child. To wield Defiance is to challenge all that binds existence. Your heart is not ready. Your tapestry is still torn."
The phantom thread slipped away, dissolving back into the void.
Luo Tian fell to his knees, gasping, blood trickling from the corner of his lips. His threads flickered weakly, but they still held.
---
When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the clearing. His palm rested against the cold stone loom. The air smelled of moss and earth, yet his chest still burned with the memory of that phantom thread.
Ling Xi rushed forward, gripping his shoulders. "Tian ge! What happened? Your aura—your threads were trembling like they were about to snap!"
He exhaled heavily, eyes blazing with something new. Not power, not yet—but knowledge.
"I… saw something," he said hoarsely. "Another thread. One that doesn't belong to heaven, nor to fate. A thread that defies everything."
Ling Xi's breath caught, her eyes widening. "The… Third Thread?"
He nodded slowly. "But it isn't mine yet. The Loom rejected me. Said I wasn't ready."
Ling Xi squeezed his arm, worry and relief warring in her gaze. "Then don't force it. You've already come so far, Tian ge. Two threads when the sect called you a failure—that is already a miracle."
But Luo Tian's gaze lingered on the ruined loom, on the faint ghost-threads still dancing between its spindles. He clenched his fists, resolve hardening.
"Miracle isn't enough," he muttered. "If I stop here, I'll die. I have to claim that third thread… no matter the cost."
---
The ground rumbled beneath their feet. Luo Tian's eyes snapped toward the stone loom. From its base, threads of shadow began to coil, writhing like snakes. A figure emerged—neither man nor beast, but a twisted construct of broken strands. Its form shifted endlessly, faces screaming and dissolving within its frame.
A guardian. Or perhaps a curse left behind by the Weavers.
Ling Xi clutched his sleeve, fear flashing in her eyes. "Tian ge…"
Luo Tian straightened despite the weakness still gnawing at him. His chest burned with the memory of the Third Thread, but he could not touch it yet. He only had two threads—but they would have to be enough.
He took a step forward, silver and crimson flaring in his chest. "Then let this thing test me. If I can't cut it down… I don't deserve the thread I seek."
The guardian screeched, lunging forward, threads whipping like blades.
The battle for survival began anew.