The forest whispered with unease.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy in slivers, illuminating broken branches and scattered leaves. Luo Tian and Ling Xi moved cautiously, their footsteps muted against damp soil. Though the night air was cool, sweat clung to Luo Tian's back; every breath came with the dull ache of unhealed wounds. His crimson thread of resilience hummed faintly, knitting torn flesh and frayed veins together, but the pain remained.
He clenched his fists tighter. Pain was a reminder. A warning. A promise.
"Are you sure we're safe here?" Ling Xi's soft voice broke the silence. She paused, glancing at the trees around them. The shadows seemed heavier tonight, pressing in like an unseen net.
Luo Tian shook his head. "Safe? No. The sect has already unleashed its hunters. Safety doesn't exist anymore. But distance… distance buys us time."
Ling Xi bit her lip, her hands tightening around the pouch of herbs at her side. She knew he was right, yet her heart refused to rest. She could feel the tension in the air, like invisible threads tightening around them.
They reached a clearing where a small stream trickled under the moonlight. Luo Tian knelt by the water, splashing his face. The icy chill grounded him, but it could not wash away the lingering visions from his battle with Zhao Ren and the others. He had killed for the first time. The memory of blood spraying across his hands haunted him, but deeper than fear was a grim acceptance.
Those who stood in his way would fall.
Ling Xi crouched beside him, dipping a cloth in the stream before carefully dabbing the wound on his shoulder. "You shouldn't force yourself like this. You've been pushing your body too hard. Even your soul threads need time to stabilize."
Luo Tian remained still, his eyes fixed on the stream. The water reflected the pale moon, fractured by ripples, as if mirroring his broken destiny.
"I don't have time, Xi'er," he said quietly. "The sect will not stop. Each day they hunt me, their nets grow tighter. If I can't grow stronger faster than they expect, they will corner me, and that will be the end."
Ling Xi frowned, but there was no argument to make. She had seen his determination, and she had chosen to walk beside him. Still, her heart ached watching him treat his life like a flame ready to burn out at any moment.
The night deepened.
Luo Tian sat cross-legged near the stream, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. Within his chest, two distinct lights pulsed—the silver of his first awakened thread, and the crimson glow of resilience. They flickered like twin stars, circling one another, sometimes clashing, sometimes harmonizing.
He guided his breath, weaving qi through his meridians, stabilizing the broken lines of his soul. Each cycle sent pain lancing through him, yet he endured. Slowly, the crimson thread grew brighter, more defined, no longer flickering like a candle in the wind.
But as the thread solidified, Luo Tian felt something else.
The world itself seemed to tighten. The stars overhead were not merely distant lights; faint filaments stretched between them, shimmering like silken cords. The forest, the stream, even Ling Xi sleeping nearby—all were bound by unseen threads. And those threads… were trembling.
His eyes snapped open, cold sweat on his brow.
It wasn't just his imagination. Destiny itself was stirring.
Far away, in the halls of the Threadweaver Sect, Wei Chen knelt before an elder whose face was obscured by shadow. His robes were pristine, his long hair tied with golden cord, and his eyes gleamed with the arrogance of a young prodigy who had never known defeat.
"Elder," Wei Chen said smoothly, bowing low. "The boy carries the Loom's brand. He is a threat to the sect's order. Give me the authority, and I will cut him down."
The elder's voice was cold. "Do not underestimate him. Twice now, disciples have returned empty-handed—or not at all. He is no ordinary cripple."
Wei Chen's lips curved into a thin smile. "That is why I, not mere hunters, must deal with him. Luo Tian may have touched the Loom, but in the end, he is nothing more than a stray dog. And dogs can be broken."
The elder studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. You are granted command. Bring him back alive if possible. The Loom's legacy must not vanish into the wilderness. But if he resists…"
Wei Chen's eyes gleamed with cruelty. "Then I'll return with his head."
He rose, his cloak swirling behind him, and left the hall with the poise of one who believed the world already belonged to him.
That same night, Luo Tian dreamt.
He stood once again before the colossal, ruined stone loom he had discovered days earlier. Its towering frame loomed over him, threads stretching into the void. But now, shadowy figures moved among those threads—indistinct forms, faceless, yet unmistakably human. They tugged at cords, weaving destinies into patterns of war, betrayal, and blood.
Among them, one figure stood out.
Tall, proud, his threads glowing with a cruel red light. In his hand, he held a blade woven of scarlet silk. The figure turned, and though its face was blurred, Luo Tian recognized the arrogant posture, the mocking tilt of the chin.
Wei Chen.
The scarlet threads writhed around him like serpents, eager to devour. As Luo Tian stared, the figure reached for his own thread—his broken crimson line of resilience—and tugged. Pain exploded in his chest, forcing him to his knees.
"You will break," the shadow whispered. "Your threads will unravel. And I will cut what little destiny you cling to."
The loom shuddered violently, threads snapping one by one. The tapestry tore open, and from the rift, a hand of pure darkness reached out, grasping for Luo Tian's chest.
He woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded, the phantom pain still searing his ribs. Ling Xi stirred, startled by his sudden movement.
"Tian ge? What happened?"
Luo Tian wiped his brow, his gaze sharp despite his exhaustion. "The Loom showed me a vision. A rival is coming—one stronger than the hunters we've faced. His threads burn red. If I don't prepare, I won't survive."
Ling Xi's face paled. "Do you mean… someone from the sect?"
"Yes." Luo Tian's fists tightened. "Wei Chen. He won't come as a mere hunter. He'll come to break me."
He stood, looking at the faint glow of dawn breaking over the trees. The silver and crimson lights in his chest pulsed in response, steadier now, stronger than before.
"I won't run anymore, Xi'er. Not forever. If destiny itself sends him against me, then I'll use his challenge as the whetstone for my strength. Before we meet, I will stabilize both my threads completely. Only then will I stand a chance."
Ling Xi rose beside him, her eyes filled with both worry and resolve. "Then I'll help you. Whatever storms come, we'll weave through them together."
Luo Tian glanced at her, and despite the looming threat, a faint smile touched his lips.
Together.
For now, that was enough.
Far away, Wei Chen sharpened his blade beneath the rising sun, his crimson thread coiling like a predator ready to strike.
The Loom's shadow stretched across the land, and two fates were set on a collision course.
The forest trembled. The heavens watched.
And in the silence between, destiny prepared to unravel.