The cave was cold.
Water dripped from the jagged ceiling, the sound echoing like the beat of a heart in the darkness. Outside, the forest hissed with insects and whispered with the occasional growl of beasts. The flickering fire Mei Yue had built cast long shadows against the stone walls, turning them into writhing phantoms.
Luo Tian sat cross-legged by the flames, his breathing ragged. Blood stained the corners of his mouth, each inhale rattling through his lungs like gravel. His chest glowed faintly where the golden brand seared his skin—the Legacy's mark refusing to let him fall. Threads of silver and crimson coiled weakly around him, frayed and unstable, threatening to unravel with each pulse of qi.
Mei Yue leaned silently against the cave wall, her abyssal eyes half-lidded. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her black threads writhed lazily at her fingertips, more like snakes at rest than weapons. She hadn't spoken since the last battle. She hadn't needed to—her disapproval hung in the air as sharply as her killing intent.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"You should be dead."
Luo Tian's eyes cracked open. They burned with exhaustion, but behind the weariness smoldered a fire that would not die.
"Maybe," he said hoarsely. "But I'm not."
Her gaze sharpened, unreadable. "You forced two threads to fuse with nothing but raw will. That should have torn your soul apart. Any other cultivator would be ash right now."
He smirked faintly, though the motion pulled at his wounds. "I told you before. I'm not like other cultivators."
Mei Yue's lips twitched. Whether it was disdain or amusement, Luo Tian couldn't tell. She turned away, staring into the firelight. "That arrogance of yours will strangle you one day."
"Then let it," Luo Tian murmured. "Better strangled by my own defiance than bound by their leash."
A soft glow shimmered at Luo Tian's side. Ling Xi appeared, her translucent figure like moonlight distilled into human form. She knelt gracefully beside him, her long hair spilling like ink over her shoulders, her eyes clear pools of spring water.
Her gaze was gentle but stern. "Tian ge, you can't keep forcing your threads like this. Your soul is fragile. Every time you fuse them so recklessly, you risk breaking beyond repair."
Luo Tian closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. "If I stop, I fall behind. Wei Chen is out there, closing in. If I don't grow stronger now, there won't be a 'later.'"
Ling Xi shook her head softly. "Strength isn't born from desperation alone. You're trying to weave your threads like the sect does—rigid, structured, bound to tradition. But your threads aren't theirs. They're broken, cursed, different. You can't force them into someone else's loom."
Her voice dropped, almost a whisper. "You need to embrace them for what they are. Only then will the next thread awaken."
Luo Tian's eyes flickered open. "The next thread?"
Ling Xi's lips curved faintly, sorrowful yet hopeful. "It waits for you. The thread of your defiance. But it won't answer unless you stand unyielding before death itself."
Far away, under the scarlet moon, Wei Chen stood at the center of his camp. Flames from a hundred torches danced across his sharp features, casting his shadow long and terrible. His one visible eye gleamed with cruel delight as his men knelt before him.
The survivor of the last skirmish trembled at his feet, recounting what had happened. "H-he used fused threads, Senior Brother. Crude, unstable, but… it destroyed our net. If we hadn't retreated, none of us would have survived."
Wei Chen's lip curled in contempt. "Pathetic."
He lifted his hand. Six condensed threads unfurled behind him, each gleaming with the flawless brilliance of the Thread Condensation Realm. The sheer pressure forced the survivor to collapse, his forehead slamming into the dirt.
"Do you see this?" Wei Chen hissed, his voice like silk over steel. "This is what real threads look like. Not the frayed strings of a cripple."
The disciples bowed deeper, their bodies trembling.
Wei Chen's smirk widened. "Good. Let the stray run. Let him struggle. Herd him into the abyss, deeper and deeper, until he has nowhere left to flee. I want him desperate. I want him to believe he's climbing… before I rip the ground from under him."
His hand dropped, severing the survivor's life thread without a second glance. The man's body collapsed silently to the dirt, his thread dissipating into smoke.
The camp trembled. No one dared breathe.
Wei Chen sheathed his blade and turned his gaze north. "Run, Luo Tian. Run as far as you can. The higher you reach, the sweeter your fall will be."
Back in the wilderness, Luo Tian meditated in silence. His breaths slowed, his mind sinking deeper into the Loom's whispers. Threads stretched in every direction, shimmering faintly—each strand a life, a destiny, a chain.
He reached out, trying to weave. His silver and crimson strands flickered, bending together. For a heartbeat, they aligned—then snapped apart, sending pain lancing through his chest.
Blood dripped from his lips. His vision swam.
"You fool," Mei Yue's cold voice cut through the haze. She rose from the shadows, her black threads unfurling like wings. "You'll kill yourself before Wei Chen even arrives."
Her words were cut short by a snarl from the treeline.
A wolf emerged, its fur shimmering with faint golden threads. Its eyes glowed with unnatural light, its body larger than any natural beast. Qi pulsed from it like heat from a forge—the mark of a Thread Beast, a creature whose destiny had woven too tightly with the Loom.
It lunged.
Luo Tian staggered to his feet, summoning his unstable threads. Silver and crimson lashed out, striking the beast's flank. Sparks flew, but the wolf only roared louder, its threads hard as steel.
Its claws raked across his chest, tearing through cloth and flesh. Luo Tian staggered back, his vision blurring. His threads writhed violently, threatening to snap.
Mei Yue moved before he fell. Her black silk shot forward, wrapping around the wolf's throat. With a single twist, the beast's thread snapped. Its body collapsed in silence, its golden strands fading into the night.
She turned on him, her abyssal eyes blazing. "Pathetic. If you can't stand against a beast, how will you ever face Wei Chen?"
Her words struck deeper than the wolf's claws. Luo Tian clenched his fists, his breath ragged, shame and fury warring in his chest.
That night, when Mei Yue finally fell into a light, watchful rest, Luo Tian sank once more into meditation.
The Loom awaited him.
Threads stretched into infinity, an ocean of light and shadow. Silver, crimson, gold—each line humming with the weight of destiny. And within that tapestry, he saw his own broken strands—frayed, jagged, trembling like dying embers.
He reached for them. They writhed against his touch, cutting into his soul. Pain seared through him, and blood poured from his nose in the waking world.
Then he saw it.
Amidst the broken strands, one thread burned black-crimson, jagged and wild. It pulsed with defiance, untamed, unbound.
It called to him.
Luo Tian reached out. His hand closed around it—
And agony exploded through him. His vision went white, his soul screaming as though it were being torn apart. The thread writhed violently, searing his palm. He cried out, collapsing to the cave floor, blood pooling beneath him.
In the Loom, the black-crimson strand hissed like a serpent and vanished into the depths.
Mei Yue's Judgment
Luo Tian gasped awake, his body trembling, his chest aflame. Mei Yue knelt above him, her cold hand pressing against his forehead.
"You're a fool," she said softly, though her voice carried no true anger. "You nearly killed yourself."
Luo Tian's eyes burned with stubborn fire even as blood dripped from his lips. "It was there… the next thread. I almost had it."
Her abyssal eyes searched his face for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. "The thread you seek will not come to you through desperation. Only when you stand unyielding before death itself will it answer."
Luo Tian's gaze hardened. "Then I'll stand. Even if the heavens themselves demand I kneel, I'll spit in their face until they break."
For the first time, Mei Yue's lips curved—not into mockery, but something faintly resembling approval.
"Then be ready," she murmured. "Because fate is already reaching for you."
Far beyond the cave, the forest stirred.
Wei Chen's army of disciples moved silently through the trees, their footsteps like whispers of silk against the earth. Their nets of condensed threads shimmered faintly in the moonlight, tightening around the wilderness.
The hunter's shadow stretched closer.
And within the cave, Luo Tian clenched his fists, the memory of the black-crimson strand still burning in his soul.
The Thread of Defiance awaited.
The loom trembled.