The city lights danced in the cold drizzle, casting long, distorted reflections on the wet pavement. Kian pulled his jacket tighter around himself, less for the cold seeping through and more for the raw ache gnawing at his chest. He'd tried, tried so damn hard and today had crushed him.

Hope blooms in the morning, a very unusual event for Kian. He had walked into the city's most renowned art gallery with his portfolio - years of carefully crafted paintings. He had rehearsed his pitch in front of the mirror a hundred times. But standing before the gallery director, he was sinking deep into his heart. The man hardly even glanced through his work before shaking his head.

Too amateurish," he'd said abruptly, as if that was all Kian's life equaled.

Kian had walked out, shoulders heavy, only to run into Sarah, the best friend-and the girl Kian had secretly been in love with for years. She smiled at him, just the way she always did, and for a brief instant, he thought, Maybe today will be different.

It wasn't.

"Look, Kian," Sarah had said softly, her eyes apologizing. "You're a great guy, but… I don't see you that way. I'm sorry."

She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but the words had done more damage than she could have possibly expected.

Now, hours later, Kian plodded through the rain-soaked streets, his portfolio clutched tightly under one arm. The world was grey and lifeless and unforgiving.

As he passed a dimly lit alley, something caught his eye—a soft glow emanating from a small antique shop tucked between two towering buildings. He didn't recall ever seeing it before, but something about the flickering sign, Fate's Curiosities, drew him in.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. The air was heavy with aged wood and old books. One lamp lit up the messy shop, full of cluttered trinkets and objects like taken from another time.

"Looking for something specific?" came a voice behind the counter.

Kian jumped back, startled. An old man stood there with piercing grey eyes and a knowing smile as he polished a small crystal sphere.

"I… I don't know," Kian admitted, feeling foolish. "I just—"

"You're lost," the man interrupted, his tone neither mocking nor sympathetic. "Not just in life, but in purpose."

Kian stiffened. "What makes you think that?"

The man did not respond. Instead, he reached beneath the counter and pulled out a leather-bound book. Its cover was embossed with a golden thread-like pattern that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

"This might help," said the man, sliding it across the counter.

"What is it?" Kian asked, hesitantly.

"Something that will show you the truth about yourself—and the people around you.

Kian stared at the book, unsure whether to laugh or walk out. But something about the man's gaze held him in place. Slowly, he reached for the book.

The moment his fingers touched the cover, a strange warmth coursed through his hand. He jerked back, startled.

"Take it," the man urged. "You'll understand soon enough."

Just as Kian could protest, the man waved him off with a hand. "No charge. But remember every thread you pull has a consequence."

Back in his tiny apartment, Kian tossed the book upon his desk and slumped into his chair. Rain pattered against the window as he stared at the mysterious object.

What a waste of time, he thought. Still, despite his self, he couldn't look away.

Months went by. He could not keep his curiosity in check. One day, he opened the book. He didn't expect to see blank pages or nonsensical ramblings in it. What he found instead were strange symbols and diagrams of threads connecting people in intricate patterns.

He had a sharp pang in his head. Kian groaned, clutching his temples. The room seemed to spin around him, and a voice—cold and mechanical—sounded in his mind.

"Welcome, user. The Destiny System is now online."

"What in God's name?" Kian stammered, scrambling to stand upright.

Everything around him seemed to shift. Lines of light began to materialize, stretching from his chest and reaching out into points invisible outside the walls of his apartment. He spun round, heart pounding. Each line pulsed faintly, some golden, others dull and gray.

One thread, though, shone brightly against the others: a deep crimson line that vibrated with energy. It stretched out of his apartment, disappearing into the city beyond.

"What is this?" Kian whispered, reaching for the red thread.

The instant his fingers grazed it, a wave of visions flooded his head. A girl's face protruded before him, which he had never seen before. It was both haunting and beautiful, with eyes filled with a deep melancholy and a stubborn determination.

The voice came back before he could grasp what he was seeing.

"Critical thread recognized. User's main connection initiated. Fate alignment: 72%."

The vision ended abruptly, and Kian was left panting for air. He backed up a step, his heart racing.

"What does this mean?" he demanded aloud. But there was no answer, only the steady hum of the red thread.

He looked out the window, rain still pouring in sheets. Somewhere out there was the girl from the vision, tied to him by a thread he didn't understand.

Kian clenched his fists. He did not know what this system was or why it had selected him, but one thing was clear: his life was no longer owned by him.

As the thread pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat, he knew he had to find her.