The sun rose on the twentieth chapter with a clarity that felt almost sacred—no mist, no grey clouds, just a vast, blue sky that stretched all the way to the horizon. Lin Chen woke up first, the starlight needle warm in his palm where he'd held it all night. Blank the cat was curled on his chest, purring so loudly it rumbled through his ribs, and Yu Qing was still asleep, her notebook open beside her with half-written words on the page.
He sat up slowly, careful not to wake them, and looked out at the road ahead. It was a straight line now—no twists, no turns, just dust and gravel leading toward the valley where "The Weave" lay hidden. The glowing moss from Chapter 18 was gone, but he could still feel its pull, like a thread tugging at the center of his chest. He pulled out his blank book and flipped through the pages, watching as the threads of light from past chapters wove together into a single, bright path that matched the road in front of him.
By the time Yu Qing woke up, Lin Chen had already made a fire and boiled water for tea. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and looked at the road ahead. "It feels different today," she said, her voice still thick with sleep. "Like we're not just walking anymore—like we're moving toward something that's been waiting for us since the beginning."
Lin Chen handed her a mug of tea. "Since before the beginning," he corrected gently. "Since the space between what was and what never was."
They packed up their camp slowly, taking their time—there was no rush now, not when they could feel the end of the first part of their journey approaching. As Yu Qing rolled up their blanket, she noticed something in the dirt by the fire: a small, perfect circle drawn in the ash, with a line running through the center. "You drew this last night?" she asked.
Lin Chen shook his head. "I didn't touch the ash. It must have… formed on its own."
They looked at the circle in silence, then at each other. The line through the center was exactly like the one on the stone, the broken staff, the page in Chapter 9—except now, it was surrounded by tiny, glowing specks that looked like stars. Yu Qing pulled out her notebook and sketched it quickly, her hand moving fast as if she was afraid it would fade.
"It's him," she said quietly. "Gao Yang. He's still with us, in the small things."
They walked for hours, the road stretching out before them like a blank page. The wands in their packs hummed in harmony, their tune growing louder as they got closer to the valley. Along the way, they passed a small stream, and Lin Chen stopped to fill their water skins. As he dipped the skin into the water, he saw a reflection—not just his own, but Gao Yang's, standing beside him with that familiar grin. He looked up, but no one was there—but he could feel the warmth of Gao Yang's hand on his shoulder, just for a moment.
"He's really there," Yu Qing said, as if she'd seen it too. "In the reflection, in the circle, in the tune. The 'never was' parts of him are just as real as the 'what was.'"
As the sun reached its peak, they finally saw it: the valley from the map, surrounded by mountains that rose up like walls. The central point—the one marked "The Weave"—was at the heart of the valley, where a single, massive tree stood, its trunk so wide it would take a dozen people to wrap their arms around it. Its leaves glowed with the same blue light as the moss from Chapter 18, and its branches stretched up into the sky, weaving together into a canopy that looked like a tapestry.
They walked toward the tree, their steps slow and deliberate. As they got closer, they saw that the trunk was covered in the same twisted patterns as the cave walls, and the air around it hummed with power—so strong it made their hair stand on end. The starlight needle in Lin Chen's palm began to glow brighter, until it was almost too hot to hold.
When they reached the base of the tree, a voice echoed from somewhere above—soft, ancient, like the wind through the leaves. "Anomaly. Archivist. You have come. The Weave waits."
Lin Chen stepped forward, holding up the needle. "We've come to mend what's broken," he said, his voice clear and strong.
"But first," the voice said, "you must face the ghost of what never was. The path you did not take—the story you did not write. Only then will you understand why the anomaly exists, why the Weave needs you."
The ground beneath their feet shook, and a pool of blue light opened up at the base of the tree. Lin Chen looked at Yu Qing, who nodded. "We do this together," she said.
They stepped into the pool, and the world around them faded away. They found themselves standing in the academy courtyard—back in Chapter 1, on the day Lin Chen had woken up as Boy 73. But something was different: the proctor wasn't calling him worthless. Instead, he was smiling, holding out a badge with a glowing Sequence mark. "Boy 73," the proctor said. "You have been chosen. Your Sequence is Star Weaver—one of the rarest in the academy."
Lin Chen watched as this version of himself—this "never was" him—took the badge, shook the proctor's hand, and walked off with the other students. He saw Gao Yang too, but in this world, Gao Yang was just a quiet, ordinary student who never spoke up, never carved a staff, never became his friend. Yu Qing was an Archivist, but she never left the academy, never wrote her own stories—she just copied down the ones that were already written.
"This is the path you didn't take," the ancient voice said, echoing in his head. "The story that never was. In this world, there is no anomaly, no broken staff, no turning point. But there is also no mending the Weave. The darkness that tried to unravel it thousands of years ago will return, and there will be no one to stop it."
The scene faded, and they were back in the valley, standing by the tree. Lin Chen looked at his hands—still empty of a Star Weaver badge, still holding the starlight needle. He understood now. The "never was" path was easy, safe—but it was also empty. It had no potential, no choice, no power to change anything.
"My being an anomaly isn't fate," he said, looking up at the tree. "And it's not a mistake. It's a choice—the Weave's choice, and mine. To take the hard path, the unwritten path, so that the stories of others can keep being told."
The tree's branches began to weave together tighter, and the twisted patterns on the trunk glowed brighter. "You understand," the voice said. "The first major arc begins now. The darkness is coming. Will you stand with the Weave?"
Lin Chen looked at Yu Qing, at the wands in their packs, at the circle in the ash he'd found that morning. He thought of Gao Yang, of Old Ma, of all the people whose stories they'd touched. He pulled out his blank book, flipped to a new page, and wrote a line that was bigger, bolder, and more real than any he'd written before:
We will stand. We will weave. We will write a story the darkness will never forget.
The words glowed, and the starlight needle in his hand shot up into the air, weaving itself into the tree's canopy. The entire valley filled with light, and the wands in their packs sang out a tune that echoed across the mountains—a tune that was Gao Yang's, theirs, and the Weave's all at once.
The first major arc had begun. And they were ready.