The first light of dawn was only a faint blush in the sky, a pale lavender tint brushing against the edges of night. Kassandra's eyes opened slowly, and she lay still, listening to the soft sounds of the early morning. She could hear the gentle breathing of her older brother, Marcus, lying beside her, his face peaceful in sleep, his dark hair spread over his pillow. She felt a strange stirring in her chest, a feeling like someone was calling her, but the voice was silent, hidden in the shadows of the room.
She slid out from under the thin blanket, careful not to wake Marcus. The stone floor felt cool against her bare feet as she tiptoed across the small room they shared. She stopped at the doorway, glancing back at her brother, who hadn't moved, his brow slightly furrowed in his sleep. A part of her wanted to wake him, to bring him along, but something told her this was meant just for her.
Their little house was quiet in the early morning, the walls lined with rough stones that her father had fitted together himself. Vines crept up the outer walls, curling around the doorway and casting shadowy patterns on the floor. The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of olive oil and herbs hung up to dry, the remnants of last night's fire still lingering in the corners of the room.
Outside, the air was crisp, with a light mist clinging to the ground. She could see the dewdrops sparkling on the grass, each one catching the first glimmers of daylight. The sky was still dark, with only the faintest hint of pink and purple spreading at the horizon. She stepped forward, feeling the grass cold and damp under her feet, a sensation that made her shiver but also made her feel awake, as if she were stepping into a world that was still half-asleep.
Drawn by an urge she couldn't explain, she made her way to the olive grove that stretched behind their home. The trees loomed tall and silent in the dim light, their gnarled branches reaching up like ancient hands, casting long, twisted shadows that danced with the first stirrings of the wind. Kassandra moved quietly through the grove, the damp earth soft beneath her steps. The olive trees seemed different this morning, almost alive, as if they were leaning in, watching her.
When she reached the heart of the grove, she stopped, her breath caught in her throat. There, in the thin mist hanging between the trees, she saw something strange—thin, floating lines, like strands of colored light suspended in the air. She blinked, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her, but the lines didn't fade. Instead, they became sharper, more vibrant, each one a deep, blood-red color, glowing softly like embers in the morning mist.
She felt a twinge of fear, but it was drowned out by wonder, an overwhelming feeling that made her chest tighten and her fingers tingle. The threads floated in the air around her, some reaching up to the treetops, others lying low to the ground, crisscrossing and curling like thin strands of silk. They looked almost like veins, pulsing gently with a rhythm she couldn't hear but could somehow feel, like the beat of a distant heart.
Slowly, Kassandra took a step forward, her eyes wide as she looked around at the glowing threads. They seemed to fill the air, connected to things she couldn't see, stretching into the distance. She felt her heart beat faster, drawn to the threads even though she didn't understand what they were. She reached out a hand, her fingers trembling as they hovered over one of the strands.
The thread was warm, even though it hung in the cool morning air. She could feel a faint, buzzing energy coming from it, like a hum that tickled her fingers. She hesitated, not sure if she should touch it, but unable to look away. She took a breath, held it, and then, very carefully, she brushed her fingertips against the thread.
The moment she touched it, a strange warmth shot up her arm, spreading through her whole body. She gasped, the grove around her fading as her mind filled with images that weren't her own. She saw flashes of people she'd never met—an old man with a wrinkled face, his eyes filled with kindness as he held out his hand; a young woman with wild hair, running through a field as she laughed; a baby being held close to its mother's chest, the mother's face soft with love.
Each image came with a feeling—a wave of joy, a pang of sadness, a burst of laughter. The emotions hit her one after another, making her heart feel too full, like it might burst. The feelings were too big, too many, and she felt herself pulled deeper and deeper, as if the thread were wrapping around her, binding her to its secrets.
She pulled her hand back, stumbling as the images vanished, leaving her dizzy and lightheaded. She leaned against a tree, her small hands gripping the rough bark as she tried to steady herself. The grove came back into focus, the mist swirling around her feet, the olive trees standing tall and silent. The threads were still there, floating around her, but she didn't dare touch them again. The warmth of the vision lingered in her chest, a strange, comforting ache.
"Kassie?"
The soft voice startled her, and she looked up to see Marcus standing a few paces away, his face sleepy and confused. He was wrapped in a wool blanket, clutching it around his shoulders as he stared at her with wide, worried eyes. She felt a rush of relief at seeing him, his familiar presence grounding her, reminding her of the world she knew.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, his voice quiet and scratchy, like he'd just woken up.
Kassandra opened her mouth, glancing back at the red threads. They were still there, faintly glowing in the misty air, but she knew he couldn't see them. She wanted to tell him about the strange people she'd seen, about the warmth that had filled her heart, but she didn't know how to explain it. It was like a dream, slipping away the more she tried to hold onto it.
"There are… strings," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "Red strings, all around us. I touched one, and… I saw things."
Marcus frowned, looking around the grove, but he didn't seem to see anything. He looked back at her, his brow creased, a mix of confusion and curiosity in his eyes. "Strings? Like… the kind Mama uses to sew?"
"No, different," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "They're floating. And they're red. When I touched one, it felt warm, and… it showed me people. People I don't know."
Marcus tilted his head, studying her face with that serious look he sometimes got, the one that made him look older than his years. He didn't laugh or dismiss her; he just stood there, his eyes dark and thoughtful. After a moment, he took a step closer, reaching out to wrap the blanket around her shoulders. His hand was warm, his touch grounding her, making the strange vision feel a little less overwhelming.
"Maybe… it's the gods," he whispered, his voice filled with a kind of wonder. "Mama says the gods sometimes show us things we're not supposed to see. Maybe they're showing you the strings."
The mention of the gods sent a shiver through her. She'd heard her mother's stories about the gods—powerful beings who watched over the world, sometimes blessing mortals, sometimes testing them. The idea that the gods might be showing her something filled her with awe, but it also made her feel small, like she was holding something too big for her tiny hands.
"But why?" she whispered, glancing back at the red threads. They still floated around her, their glow fading as the sun climbed higher. "Why would they want me to see them?"
Marcus shrugged, squeezing her shoulders gently. "Maybe because you're special. Maybe the gods know you can… do something with them."
They stood together in the grove, watching as the red threads slowly dimmed, disappearing into the morning light. Kassandra felt a strange emptiness as they faded, like a door had closed in her heart. She reached out again, hoping to feel the warmth one more time, but the threads were gone, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the chirping of birds.
"Come on," Marcus said, taking her hand. "Let's go back before Mama wakes up."
Kassandra nodded, letting him lead her out of the grove. But as they walked back to the house, she couldn't stop thinking about the red threads, the strange warmth they held, and the people she'd seen. She knew, deep down, that it hadn't been a dream. It was real, as real as the earth beneath her feet and the sky above. And in her heart, she felt a quiet certainty that this wouldn't be the last time she would see the threads.
As they reached the house, Marcus glanced back at her. "Do you think you'll see them again?"
She looked up at him, her violet eyes wide with wonder and a touch of fear. "I think… they're always there. Even if we can't see them."
Marcus nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he tightened his hold on her hand. They slipped back into the house, just as the first sounds of their mother stirring came from the other room. Kassandra climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin as she lay in the quiet, her mind still spinning with the memory of the red threads.
Even as she drifted back to sleep, she could still feel the warmth of the thread she'd touched, the silent beat of something ancient and powerful that now felt like a part of her, even if she didn't yet understand why.