The sky over the Hollow Sea cracked.
Not with lightning, but with voidlight—a jagged, spiraling gash that tore open the heavens like a wound. From it poured black rain, slick as oil and heavy as lead.
Veyra and Cael took cover beneath a jagged outcrop as the first drops struck the earth. Every place they touched turned silent—not quiet, but completely devoid of sound, as if existence was being erased.
"The Black Tear," Veyra muttered. "We're too late."
Cael gritted his teeth. "What is it?"
"Not what. Who."
She pointed toward the center of the falling dark.
From the breach in the sky, a figure descended—wreathed in robes that whispered lies. She wore no armor, no crown. Only a mask that bled smoke from its cracked porcelain smile.
"Lady Mourn," Veyra whispered."She leads the Threadhunters."
The Threadhunters March
They came in silence. Hundreds of them. No footsteps. No commands. Only the sound of their sigils humming in unison, resonating with a frequency that unraveled truth.
Their weapons were etched bone, bound in thread-steel. Their faces were wrapped in strips of cloth embroidered with names—names of Threads they had claimed. Threads they had killed.
At the center of the vanguard, Lady Mourn raised her hand.
The sky screamed.
"The Threadwalker has touched two. He will not touch the third."
Cael's Vision Fractures
Cael dropped to his knees again, clutching his chest. The silver Thread inside him thrashed wildly, trying to escape, to speak, to warn.
A third vision gripped him—
He stood on a city wall. Flames below. An army wearing his sigil slaughtering civilians in the streets. And in the center of it all, he stood beside Lady Mourn, laughing.
"This is not who I am!" Cael shouted.
"Not yet," the Thread answered inside his skull. "But you could be."
Veyra Makes a Choice
Veyra grabbed his hand and pulled him upright. Her eyes glowed faintly—green like ancient runes.
"We need to run."
"We can't keep running," Cael snapped.
"Then let's make them chase us."
She unfurled a scroll—a forbidden relic. The sigil inside pulsed with living blood. She slammed it to the ground.
The world blinked.
Escape Through the Gate of Ash
The sigil detonated—a Gate of Ash split the world open.
Through it was not another place—but a forgotten moment. An hour in history that no longer existed, buried beneath the tides of time. They fell through it just as the Threadhunters reached the cliffside.
Lady Mourn raised her hand and watched the gate vanish.
"Good," she whispered."Run, little Walker.We will see what you become when all your threads are pulled."