The first sound Kael remembered wasn't a cry, or a lullaby, or even his mother's voice.
It was tearing.
Not fabric. Not wood. Something deeper. Like the world itself split apart and decided he had no place in it.
Everyone was born wrapped in threads. That was the rule. Threads tied body to soul, blood to destiny. Some threads glowed bright—heroes, heirs, prodigies. Others were faint, brittle, destined to snap before adulthood.
But all of them had something.
Except him.
When the midwives saw him, their whispers carried like knives:
> "Blank."
No threads. No future. No point.
It was a death sentence. Without threads, your blood withered, your bones cracked early, your body just… gave out. By twenty, you were a husk.
Kael was nineteen. His body had already started collapsing.
---
Rain hissed in the Lower Spire that night, slashing down hard, cold enough to sting. Steam curled out of broken vents, sour and metallic, the stink of rust in his lungs.
Kael crouched under a fractured awning, spitting blood into the gutter. His ribs burned where patrol boots had left their mark. His cheek was swollen, his jaw numb.
"Blank trash," they'd said. "Should've died at birth."
He hated how those words landed. Not because they were cruel—he'd heard cruel all his life—but because they weren't wrong.
A Blank couldn't fight back. A Blank couldn't dream. A Blank had no tomorrow.
Still, he tilted his face up, letting the rain beat against him. Above, starships crawled across the sky, their engines humming like distant gods. He clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms.
"Damn your threads," he muttered. "Damn your fate."
The shadows stirred.
---
It started like a whisper. Not the mutter of drunks or the skitter of metal rats. Deeper. Closer.
Do you want to live?
Kael jerked upright. His eyes swept the alley, but the voice wasn't outside. It was inside—humming through his bones, pressing against his skull.
"Who's there?" His voice cracked.
Do you want to live, Blank? Or will you die nothing?
His throat went dry. He laughed, bitter and broken. "I don't have threads. I don't have a choice."
The whisper sharpened. Then take mine.
And the rain shimmered.
Threads slid into view, coiling in the air, cutting droplets in half. Not golden like destiny. Not silver like talent. Black. Pitch-black, writhing, alive. They moved like predators tasting blood.
Kael's heart hammered. "What… what are you?"
I am the Nexus. The Core of what even gods fear. Take me, and be rewoven. Refuse, and rot.
Madness. It had to be. He should've run. Should've begged the rain to drown him. But his chest burned, his veins felt thin, his bones ached like they might snap under their own weight. Death was waiting anyway.
Kael reached out.
The black threads struck.
---
Pain ripped him apart.
Not flesh—flesh was nothing compared to this. This was pain that clawed into his marrow, split his nerves, shattered his mind. He saw color bleed out of the world, sound fold in on itself, gravity twist until he wasn't sure if he was standing or falling.
And under it, power.
Raw. Endless. Terrifying.
Words burned themselves into his skull.
---
[Nexus Codex: Activated]
Subject: Blank.
Thread count: 0.
Status: Terminal.
Override available.
Forge First Thread?
Y/N
---
Kael collapsed, hands pressed to wet stone, gasping like a drowning man. The glowing words weren't on a screen—they pulsed in his nerves.
His body screamed no. His instincts begged no. But behind him was only death. Ahead… maybe something more.
His lips cracked. "Yes."
The world shattered.
---
Threads.
They were everywhere. Stretching across the void. Bright strands thick as rivers. Thin strands like cobwebs. Some binding beasts. Some binding stars. Some tangled around things his mind couldn't even name.
And one—black, throbbing—lashed into him.
---
[First Thread Forged]
Designation: Predator's Instinct.
Origin: Unknown.
Status: Unstable mutation.
⚠️ Side effects:
– Aggression heightened.
– Impulse dominance.
– Humanity at risk.
---
Kael screamed. His nails split stone as they lengthened into claws. His vision sharpened until rain slowed, droplets hanging in the air like glass beads. His muscles coiled, too strong, too eager.
And the hunger. A deep, gnawing hunger that wasn't his.
He fought it, clutching his head, teeth gritted.
Power always costs, the voice purred. Are you willing to pay?
Kael saw boots, fists, laughter. Saw years of being spit on. Saw his name erased before it could even matter.
His breath shook. His eyes burned red.
"I'll pay."
---
Boots clanged down the alley. Patrol voices, too familiar.
"Oi! The Blank's still alive?"
Kael rose. His ribs no longer hurt. His vision cut through rain and shadow. For the first time in nineteen years, he wasn't empty.
Threads writhed under his skin.
---
The soldiers sneered. "Heh. Let's finish it—"
They didn't finish.
Kael moved like instinct, like hunger itself had taken the reins. A blur. His fist shattered the first man's jaw. The second raised a rifle—Kael ripped it away, claws raking sparks from his armor. The man screamed.
Kael didn't hear.
The hunger drowned everything.
Kill. Tear. Feed.
The last soldier's throat pressed against Kael's claws. He trembled, aching to rip, to end. The man's eyes rolled white with terror.
For a long, dangerous heartbeat, Kael almost gave in.
Then he forced his hand back. Claws retracted. He shoved the soldier away.
The hunger raged. But Kael whispered, broken and fierce:
"I am not a beast. Not yet."
---
The Nexus pulsed, amused.
We'll see.
And as the storm ripped through the Lower Spire, Kael stood taller than he ever had, rain slick on his skin, black threads dancing at his fingertips.
The Blank was no longer empty.
The Blank had been reforged.