The boy stirred.
Ren watched him carefully from across the dimly lit room, arms crossed, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his mind. He hadn't slept. Couldn't. Not after what had happened in the Mind Chambers.
The boy shifted slightly, his breath uneven. Then—his eyes snapped open.
Wide. Wild. Terrified.
He gasped and bolted upright, his small frame trembling as he pressed himself against the cold, cracked wall of the safehouse. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his pupils darting across the room, searching for something.
For the strings that were no longer there.
Ren didn't move. He knew better than to startle someone who had just been freed. The mind needed time to adjust.
"…You're safe," he said quietly. "You're not in the chambers anymore."
The boy didn't seem to register his words at first. His hands clawed at his arms, his neck, his back—searching. Feeling.
Then, finally, his gaze settled on Ren.
"Where are they?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Ren knew what he meant.
"The strings?" he asked.
The boy nodded, his throat working as he swallowed dryly.
"I cut them."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
The boy stiffened. His breath hitched. For a moment, Ren thought he might scream. But instead, he just whispered, "Then why am I still alive?"
Ren didn't have an answer for him.
The Stringbearers didn't just control their puppets. They consumed them.
Everyone knew that once a person was fully entwined in the web, their mind wasn't their own. The strings didn't just guide movement, they became the person's will. To cut them meant breaking the link—severing them from the force that kept them together.
And yet, this boy…
Ren frowned. He had survived.
Which meant there was something different about him.
"What's your name?"
The boy hesitated, as if the concept was foreign to him. As if he hadn't spoken it in a long time.
Then, softly—
"…Kieran."
Ren nodded. "Alright, Kieran. Listen to me carefully. You're free now, but that means you're in danger."
Kieran's fingers curled into the fabric of his ragged shirt. "…Because I shouldn't be."
Smart kid.
Ren leaned forward. "They're going to come looking for you. For both of us. I need to know—do you remember anything from the Mind Chambers? What were they doing to you?"
Kieran hesitated. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, as if the memories were wrapped in layers of fog.
Then his expression darkened.
"There was…" His voice faltered. He shook his head. "I don't know. I think… I think there was someone else. A voice. But it wasn't talking to me. It was talking to them."
Ren's stomach twisted. The presence.
"You cut my threads. How interesting."
He forced his voice to stay calm. "What did it say?"
Kieran clenched his jaw. He looked away, as if he was afraid of the answer.
Then, finally, he whispered—
"It said your name."
Silence.
Cold. Sharp. Heavy.
Ren didn't react outwardly. He didn't let himself. But inside—
Something clenched in his chest.
This wasn't over. Not even close.
If it knew his name…
Then it wasn't just watching anymore.
A sharp knock at the door made both of them flinch.
Ren was on his feet in an instant, a blade sliding into his palm from beneath his sleeve.
Kieran froze, his breath shallow.
The knock came again. Three precise taps. A pause. Then two more.
A code.
Ren exhaled through his nose and moved to the door, keeping his body angled between it and Kieran. He unlatched the bolt and cracked it open just enough to see.
Elara.
She pushed inside the moment he opened the door, her expression tense. "We need to talk."
Ren shut the door behind her. "I know."
Elara's gaze flickered to Kieran, still curled up on the mattress. She exhaled sharply. "Damn it, Ren. You actually brought one back?"
"He was still alive," Ren said simply. "I couldn't just leave him."
Elara shook her head, running a hand through her dark hair. "You don't get it. They'll be looking for him. For you."
"I know," Ren said again.
"No, you don't." Elara leveled him with a sharp glare. "They already are."
Ren's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Elara hesitated, her usual confidence replaced with something more uncertain.
"…There are whispers," she admitted. "Something is happening in the Upper District. The Stringbearers—they're restless. More than usual."
Ren felt a chill creep up his spine. "Because of the Mind Chambers?"
Elara's jaw tightened. "Because of you."
Silence.
"Ren," she said, voice quieter now, "whatever you did in that place… they know. And they're sending someone after you."
Ren exhaled slowly. He should have expected this. He did expect this. But hearing it confirmed sent an uneasy weight through his chest.
"Who?" he asked.
Elara hesitated. Then, reluctantly—
"A String Executioner."
Ren went still.
Kieran stiffened.
Even the air seemed to thicken.
A String Executioner.
Not just an enforcer. Not just a puppet.
An elite.
The Stringbearers' most dangerous tool—their blade in the dark, used only when someone needed to be erased.
Ren had seen one before.
He had barely survived.
Elara crossed her arms. "They won't stop this time, Ren. You need to run."
Ren let out a humorless breath. "No point. They'd find me eventually."
Elara scowled. "Then what? Are you planning to just sit here and wait for them to come knocking?"
"No," Ren murmured. His eyes flickered toward Kieran.
He had freed him. Cut him from the web.
And now, for the first time—
He had a chance to understand what made him different.
A slow, steady resolve settled in Ren's chest.
"I need answers," he said. "I need to know what I saw in that place. What's really happening in the web."
Elara stared at him like he was insane.
"You're talking about infiltrating the Upper District again," she said flatly. "Right after you just pissed off the entire Stringbearer hierarchy."
"Not just the Upper District," Ren said. His voice was quieter now, but he meant every word.
"I'm going to the Source."
Elara's breath hitched. Kieran's eyes widened.
Because they all knew what that meant.
Not just a city infiltration. Not just a raid.
Ren was planning to step into the very heart of the web.
The place where the strings began.
Elara was the first to speak.
"Ren, that's suicide."
Her voice was sharp, but beneath it was something deeper. Not just frustration—fear.
Ren understood. The Source wasn't just a place. It was the place.
The origin of the Stringbearers' power.
The heart of the web.
And if what he had seen in the Mind Chambers was real—if that presence was truly watching—then the Source wasn't just a control center.
It was alive.
Ren met Elara's gaze, steady and unflinching. "We don't have a choice."
Elara ran a hand down her face. "No, you don't have a choice. You're the one they're hunting. The rest of us? We still have options."
Ren shook his head. "Not if they're already expanding their reach. Not if they're taking more people every day. The longer we wait, the worse it gets."
Silence.
Elara didn't look convinced. But Kieran did.
The boy was still pale, still shaken, but there was something in his expression now—something that hadn't been there before.
Determination.
"They took my brother," Kieran said suddenly.
Ren and Elara both turned to him.
Kieran swallowed. His small hands clenched into fists. "He was with me when they… when they put the strings in. But I haven't seen him since. He might still be there. If you're really going to the Source…"
He hesitated, then forced the words out.
"Take me with you."
Elara groaned. "Oh, for—no. Absolutely not. The kid just got out, Ren. You're not dragging him into a death trap."
Ren didn't answer right away. He studied Kieran closely. The boy was serious.
But he was also too young for this.
Ren exhaled. "Elara's right. It's too dangerous."
Kieran's eyes flashed. "I survived the Mind Chambers. That means something, doesn't it?"
Ren hesitated.
It did mean something.
The boy was cut from the web, but he was still standing. That wasn't normal. That wasn't supposed to happen.
If Kieran was different, then maybe—just maybe—he was the key to understanding all of this.
Still, Ren couldn't risk it.
"You're staying here," he said firmly. "We'll find your brother, but you're not coming with us."
Kieran gritted his teeth but didn't argue.
Elara folded her arms. "Good. Now let's focus on the real issue—how the hell are we getting to the Source?"
The Source wasn't located in any known district. It wasn't on any map.
But the Unbound had spent years gathering whispers.
Ren knew where to start.
The Archives.
They were one of the few places in Veyrith that still contained physical records. A relic from before the Stringbearers seized control of information. If there was anything left about the Source—any blueprints, records, or weak points—it would be there.
But the Archives weren't unguarded.
"They've tightened security," Elara muttered as she pulled up a map on the cracked screen of her datapad. "More enforcers than usual. Stringbearers are rotating shifts every six hours."
Ren nodded. "Then we move between shifts."
Elara scoffed. "You make it sound easy."
"It is," Ren said. "If we do it right."
Elara pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you."
Ren smirked. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
The Archives loomed ahead, a monolithic structure of blackened steel and glass. It was one of the oldest buildings in Veyrith, untouched by the neon spires that had grown around it.
Ren crouched behind a rusted barrier, scanning the entrance.
Three enforcers at the main doors. Two more patrolling the perimeter.
And one Stringbearer standing in the shadows, their masked face turned toward the street.
Elara cursed under her breath. "They really don't want anyone snooping around here."
Ren's fingers twitched. He could see the strings even from this distance. Thin, glistening threads stretched from the Stringbearer's fingertips, laced through the enforcers' limbs.
The puppets weren't acting on their own. They never did.
Ren exhaled slowly. This would be difficult.
"We go quiet," he murmured. "No unnecessary fights. No noise."
Elara smirked. "Who do you think you're talking to?"
Ren rolled his eyes but didn't argue. They both knew the risks.
Silently, they moved.
The first enforcer went down without a sound.
Elara was quick—her knife flashing in the dim light as she severed the thin control string wrapped around the soldier's neck. The body slumped, lifeless.
Ren moved to the second.
He didn't use a blade. He didn't need to.
Instead, he reached out—felt the string attached to the enforcer's spine—and cut it.
A barely perceptible ripple shuddered through the air.
The enforcer froze.
For a brief moment, his eyes flickered with something close to awareness.
Then he collapsed.
Elara shot him a wary glance. "Still creepy as hell when you do that."
Ren didn't respond. He was too focused.
They were close.
But the Stringbearer had noticed.
A sharp, unnatural jerk ran through the remaining enforcers as their master tightened their grip.
Ren tensed.
The Stringbearer moved.
He barely saw it. Just a flicker—one moment standing still, the next right in front of him.
Ren barely dodged.
A razor-thin thread sliced past his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
The Stringbearer tilted their head. "Unbound."
Ren exhaled sharply. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Not supposed to be here."
The Stringbearer said nothing. Their strings tensed.
Ren cut them.
The world lurched.
The Stringbearer staggered—just for a second. But a second was all he needed.
Ren moved.
His blade flashed. A single, precise cut across the mask.
The Stringbearer froze.
Then, slowly, their hand rose—reaching toward their own face, as if they were feeling something for the first time.
Ren held his breath.
And then—they fell.
Strings unraveled, spiraling into the air like frayed silk.
The enforcers collapsed with them.
Silence.
Elara let out a low whistle. "Remind me not to piss you off."
Ren didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the Stringbearer's fallen form.
Their mask had cracked.
Beneath it—
A face.
Human.
Pale. Hollow-eyed.
But not gone.
Ren's heart pounded.
They weren't just puppets.
They were still in there.
And that meant…
They could be saved.
Ren exhaled slowly, then looked toward the looming Archive doors.
He had a feeling they were about to find out a lot more than they bargained for.
The doors of the Archives loomed before them—massive, reinforced, and layered with subtle defenses meant to deter intruders. But the real barrier had already fallen.
The Stringbearer lay motionless on the ground, their mask shattered, their strings unraveled into nothingness.
Ren crouched beside the fallen figure, studying the pale, hollow-eyed face beneath the fragments of the mask. Not a monster. A person.
They could be saved.
He filed that thought away for later. Right now, he had a job to do.
Elara glanced up and down the empty street. "We need to move. If someone heard that—"
"They didn't." Ren cut her off, standing. "The strings are cut. They won't notice until they check in."
Elara let out a low breath. "Then let's not wait around for that."
She moved first, slipping into the Archives through the now-unsecured doors. Ren followed, his pulse steady, his mind already racing ahead.
They had limited time. They needed answers.
Inside, the Archives were eerily silent.
Rows upon rows of towering metal shelves stretched into the distance, each one filled with forgotten knowledge. Ancient books, bound documents, and worn-out records—things that no longer existed in the digital systems controlled by the Stringbearers.
They had erased the past. But not all of it.
Elara whistled under her breath. "Feels like stepping into another world."
Ren didn't answer. His focus was elsewhere—the restricted section.
The blueprints, schematics, and historical records of Veyrith's foundations would be there. If the Source was real, if it had always been a part of the city's design, then there would be something here that led to it.
He moved quickly, scanning labels as he walked. Many of the records had been blacked out, redacted by the Stringbearers.
But not all of them.
There.
A worn, dust-covered file sat tucked between thick volumes of city infrastructure reports.
Ren pulled it free. The faded title read:
"Project Marionette: The Strings Beneath Veyrith."
His stomach tightened. Beneath.
He flipped it open. Pages of schematics, early blueprints of the city, but with additions that weren't in any modern map.
There was something under Veyrith.
Something older than the city itself.
Elara peered over his shoulder. "You finding what we need?"
Ren's jaw clenched. "I think so."
But before he could say more, something shifted.
A whisper—barely audible, just behind him.
Ren froze.
Elara's eyes widened. "Did you hear that?"
Another whisper.
Not a voice.
A presence.
The air around them suddenly felt thicker, heavier.
Like the very walls were watching.
Ren exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. "We're leaving. Now."
Elara didn't argue.
They turned—but the entrance was no longer there.
The shelves had moved.
No… not moved.
Shifted.
Twisted into something wrong.
Ren's pulse spiked. "It knows we're here."
Elara swore under her breath. "The hell does that mean?"
Before he could answer—
A figure stepped out from the shadows.
Not an enforcer. Not a regular Stringbearer.
No mask. No armor.
Just a tall, gaunt man, his skin pale, his hollow eyes burning with something ancient.
Ren's breath caught in his throat.
Because this wasn't a puppet.
This was a weaver.
One of the creators of the web.
The man's lips curled into a smile—thin, stretched too far.
"You cut my threads."
Ren's blood turned to ice.
It was the same voice.
The same presence.
It was him.
The one who had whispered in the Mind Chambers.
The one who had seen him.
And now, he was standing right in front of him.
The gaunt man took a slow step forward, his bare feet making no sound against the cold floor.
Ren's muscles tensed, every instinct in his body screaming at him to move. To run.
But he didn't.
Because this wasn't just another Stringbearer.
This was a Weaver.
And Weavers weren't controlled by strings. They made them.
The man's grin stretched further—too far. His hollow eyes locked onto Ren with an unnatural hunger.
"You cut my threads," he repeated.
Ren's pulse pounded. The same words. The same voice from the Mind Chambers.
"It knows you."
Elara's hand darted to her knife, but Ren caught her wrist before she could draw it.
"Don't," he murmured.
Elara shot him a look. "You're kidding me."
But Ren wasn't.
A regular Stringbearer? A fight was possible.
But a Weaver?
They were something else. Something worse.
Ren had heard whispers of them before, hidden in fragmented resistance reports. Weavers didn't just control strings. They became them.
And their power worked differently.
The moment a person engaged them in combat, the moment they even thought about fighting—
They lost.
Ren had no doubt that if Elara drew her blade right now, she would die before she even moved.
The man took another step forward, the dim Archive lights flickering as he did.
His shadow stretched unnaturally, twisting like unraveling silk.
"It has been so long since one of your kind dared to sever my threads," he mused, voice layered and hollow. "I did not think any still existed."
Ren forced himself to stay calm. "My kind?"
The Weaver tilted his head. His smile never faded.
Then, without warning, his hand twitched.
Ren felt it instantly.
A sudden, sharp pull at the back of his skull—an unseen force coiling around his thoughts like phantom fingers.
His vision blurred. His breathing hitched.
A single, suffocating command pushed against his mind.
Kneel.
For the briefest moment, his body almost obeyed. His muscles stiffened, his knees nearly buckling—
But then, just as quickly—
He cut the string.
A sharp, invisible snap echoed through his thoughts. The pressure vanished.
The Weaver's eyes widened just slightly.
Then he chuckled. "Ah. You do not break so easily."
Ren clenched his fists. His mind was still his.
For now.
Elara, oblivious to the silent battle, was watching the exchange with growing unease. "Ren, who the hell is this?"
The Weaver ignored her.
His gaze remained locked on Ren, studying him like something rare.
"The Unbound are extinct," he murmured. "And yet, here you stand."
Ren didn't react. Didn't let the shock show on his face.
Unbound.
The term had been whispered in the rebellion's scattered history before. Theories, myths—about those who had once existed outside the web. Those who could see the strings. Those who could cut them.
But Ren had never thought it meant anything.
He had always assumed he was just… different.
A mistake.
But this Weaver knew something.
Ren exhaled slowly. "You're in my way."
The Weaver grinned. "Yes. I am."
A challenge.
Ren reached deep inside himself, fingertips twitching. He could cut him.
If he severed the right threads—if he was fast enough—maybe, just maybe—
The Weaver's grin widened, as if sensing the thought.
Ren froze.
Wait.
His own thoughts had almost betrayed him.
The moment he made the decision to attack, he had nearly felt something wrap around it.
That was the danger of Weavers.
They didn't pull you in with brute force.
They made you tie your own strings.
Ren exhaled through his nose, forcing his mind blank. Don't think about fighting. Don't engage.
Just—
Find another way.
Then, he made a gamble.
He turned his back on the Weaver.
And walked away.
Elara stiffened. "Ren—"
"Move," Ren muttered.
Elara didn't argue. She followed, tense and wary.
The Weaver didn't stop them.
Didn't lash out.
Didn't move at all.
Just watched.
As they reached the exit, Ren risked one final glance over his shoulder.
The Weaver's grin was still there. Unmoving.
"You will return," he murmured.
"All who sever threads do."
And then—
The lights flickered.
The shelves shifted back.
And the Weaver was gone.
Outside, the night was thick with city fog.
Ren inhaled deeply, the cold air sharp in his lungs. His pulse was still high, but they were alive.
Elara wasn't happy.
"What the hell was that?" she snapped. "We just—walked away?"
Ren didn't answer at first.
Because he didn't know how to.
His mind was still reeling.
The Unbound.
The Source beneath Veyrith.
And the Weaver.
"You will return."
Ren clenched his fists.
He had no doubt that was true.
But next time—
He wouldn't be walking away.