The air outside the Loom Hall was cold, sharp, and biting.
When Luo Tian staggered out of the ancient chamber, his body still ached from the Guardian's blows. Every step felt like his bones might shatter under his weight, but he pressed forward, his jaw clenched. Behind him, the Loom Hall rumbled, collapsing in on itself until the stone doorway sealed shut once more.
It was as though the ancient place had sunk back into timeless slumber—leaving only the golden brand that now pulsed faintly against Luo Tian's chest as proof of what had transpired.
The mark burned with each heartbeat, threads of golden light flickering beneath his skin. He tugged his ragged robes closed, but the faint glow could not be entirely hidden.
"Keep your breathing steady. Don't let them sense how weak you are," Ling Xi murmured from within his consciousness, her voice laced with urgency.
"I don't need to," Luo Tian whispered back. His eyes, sharp despite his exhaustion, swept across the clearing ahead.
Figures were waiting for him.
Five cultivators stood at the edge of the clearing where the path wound down the mountain, their robes unmistakable: the insignia of the Heavenly Silken Sect. His former sect. His hunters.
The leader stepped forward, a man Luo Tian recognized instantly.
Zhao Ren.
An Outer Court enforcer, mid-stage Thread Initiate Realm, and a petty tyrant who had always taken pleasure in tormenting weaker disciples. Zhao Ren's narrow eyes gleamed with malicious delight as they locked onto Luo Tian.
"Well, well," Zhao Ren drawled, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "The rat crawled out of the Loom alive. I was certain you'd be nothing but bones by now."
The others chuckled darkly. One spat to the side. Another rested a hand on the hilt of a blade woven with faint threads of qi.
Luo Tian's fists tightened. "Zhao Ren." His voice was hoarse, but steady.
"Oh, you still remember my name? How touching," Zhao Ren sneered. "But it seems you brought something back with you." His eyes narrowed, and Luo Tian instinctively pulled his robes tighter over the glowing brand on his chest.
Too late.
"I see it," one of the hunters hissed. "A glow… on his chest!"
"That mark—!" another gasped. "The Loom has branded him!"
For a moment, silence fell as the group processed this revelation. Then Zhao Ren's laughter cut through the cold night air, sharp and cruel.
"So the cursed boy was chosen by the Loom itself?" Zhao Ren's eyes glittered with greed. "What a joke. The sect declared him a blight, a mistake that should never have been born. And yet the Loom's legacy clings to him?"
He spread his arms wide, addressing his men. "Brothers, do you know what this means? If we kill him here, the brand will be ours. His death will gift us the very inheritance that would have been wasted on him."
The hunters' expressions twisted with hunger.
Luo Tian's stomach churned, but his gaze never wavered.
"You can try," he said coldly.
Zhao Ren's smile widened. "Oh, we will."
---
The hunters moved as one, spreading out to encircle him. Threads shimmered faintly in the air as they drew upon their cultivation. Silver strands snaked along their arms, forming weapons, blades, and shields.
Luo Tian's body screamed in protest as he forced his weary threads to respond. His silver Life Thread flared weakly, accompanied by the crimson-tinged Resilience Thread. They felt fragile, unstable, like glass about to shatter.
But he had no choice.
The first hunter lunged, blade raised high. Luo Tian sidestepped, dragging his Life Thread across the ground. It snapped up like a whip, tangling the hunter's foot. The man cursed as he stumbled, crashing to the dirt.
The second came immediately, spear thrusting toward Luo Tian's ribs. Luo Tian twisted, weaving both threads together into a crude barrier. The spear struck the lattice of light with a sharp clang, rattling his bones, but the shield held just long enough for him to shove the weapon aside.
Pain seared through his arms. He was too slow, too drained.
"You can't keep this up," Ling Xi urged desperately. "Run, Luo Tian! If you stay, you'll die!"
"No," Luo Tian snarled aloud, parrying another blow by dragging his Resilience Thread across the weapon's shaft. "If I run now, I'll never stop running. I won't live as prey."
Zhao Ren chuckled darkly as he watched from behind his men. "Still defiant, even now? You've always been stubborn, boy. Let's see how long that stubbornness lasts when you're bleeding on the ground."
He gestured sharply. "Kill him. Leave nothing but scraps."
The hunters surged forward.
---
It was chaos. Threads of qi clashed in the moonlit clearing, silver against crimson, weaving against weaving. Luo Tian fought like a cornered beast, every motion driven by instinct rather than skill.
He lashed his Life Thread outward, binding a hunter's arm for a heartbeat before the man tore free. He wove his Resilience Thread into his skin, hardening it just enough to deflect the edge of a blade that would have gutted him. He ducked, rolled, lashed out again, always a breath away from death.
But it wasn't enough.
A fist slammed into his stomach, driving the breath from his lungs. A blade nicked his shoulder, hot blood spilling down his arm. His vision blurred. His threads flickered, unraveling.
One hunter sneered as he raised his weapon high. "Die, cursed rat!"
Time slowed. Luo Tian saw the blade descending. Saw Ling Xi's wide eyes in his mind, her form flickering with panic. Saw Zhao Ren watching, smirking with cruel satisfaction.
And then the brand on his chest flared.
---
Light exploded from within him, a golden pulse that seared the air. The hunters staggered back, shielding their eyes. Zhao Ren cursed, stumbling a step.
The clearing was bathed in brilliance. Threads—countless golden threads—spilled outward from Luo Tian's chest like rays of sunlight. They weren't his. They weren't controlled. They simply were—the legacy of the Loom itself, burning against the night.
Luo Tian gasped, clutching at his chest. The light was overwhelming, blinding, terrifying. For a single heartbeat, he felt himself connected to something vast, something infinite. He saw the hunters not as men, but as tangled webs of threads, fragile and fraying. He saw the world as a tapestry, every star and stone woven together by unseen strands.
And then it was gone.
The light snapped shut, leaving only silence and the sound of his ragged breathing. The golden brand still pulsed faintly, but the threads had vanished.
The hunters stared at him, their expressions a mix of fear and greed.
"What… what was that?" one whispered.
Zhao Ren's smirk returned, though his eyes burned with hunger. "Proof," he said slowly, "that the brand is real. That it holds the Loom's legacy. Which means… it belongs to me."
He raised his hand, threads flaring around him in a brilliant display. "Luo Tian! Tonight, I'll carve that brand from your chest myself!"
Luo Tian straightened, his body battered, his threads flickering weakly. But his eyes… his eyes blazed with defiance.
He had no techniques. No strength left. No certainty of survival.
But he would not kneel.
He raised his trembling hand, his threads unfurling once more, and whispered:
"Then come and take it."
The clearing erupted as Zhao Ren and his hunters charged.