The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the dimly lit hut. Shadows danced along the wooden walls, flickering as if they were alive.
Ren's fingers twitched against the rough wool blanket draped over him. The warmth should have been comforting. It wasn't.
His chest felt too tight. His breath came too fast. His mind—still reeling.
Across the fire, the old man watched him.
Unblinking.
"You still feel it, don't you?"
Ren swallowed hard. The sensation hadn't faded. The hum beneath his skin. That strange, aching pull at the edge of his senses—like invisible threads waiting to be grasped.
He clenched his fists. "What did you mean? That I touched something I wasn't supposed to?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached for a wooden ladle, scooping a thick, steaming liquid from a pot beside the fire. Slowly, deliberately, he poured it into a simple clay cup and held it out.
"Drink."
Ren hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to be cautious.
His mouth was dry. His body ached. But his mind was still running through everything that had happened.
The bandits.
The thread.
The way that man had… unraveled.
Ren exhaled sharply and took the cup, fingers tightening around the warmth. He took a sip. The broth was bitter, but heat spread through his limbs, loosening the raw ache in his bones.
The old man leaned back, watching him carefully. Like he was waiting.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
Ren's grip on the cup tightened. He didn't want to say it.
But the memories were too fresh. Too sharp.
"I pulled on something," he said, barely above a whisper. "A thread."
The man nodded slowly, like that confirmed something he already knew.
"And then?"
Ren hesitated. What had he seen?
"The world… shifted," he murmured. "Like it wasn't real for a moment."
He swallowed hard, remembering the endless golden strands stretching into infinity.
"And then I saw…" His voice trailed off. Something I shouldn't have.
A flicker of recognition crossed the man's face.
"You saw the Loom."
Ren's chest tightened. The Loom?
"What—?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the folds of his robe and pulled something free.
A golden thread.
Ren's stomach dropped.
It was the same kind he had seen unravel from the bandit's body.
The same kind he had seen woven into the endless expanse in that other place.
His fingers went numb. His breath hitched.
No. No, that's not possible.
He barely managed to keep his voice steady. "Where did you get that?"
The old man let the thread dangle between his fingers, the firelight catching on its shimmering surface.
"I pulled it from you," he said. "While you were unconscious."
Ren's pulse thundered in his ears.
The walls of the hut suddenly felt too close.
The fire—too bright.
"That's not possible," Ren whispered. "I—I don't have…"
"You do now." The man's voice was steady. "Or maybe you always did, and you just weren't supposed to realize it."
Ren shook his head. His thoughts were spiraling.
"No. No, I just—" He stopped, his breath hitching.
The bandit.
The way he unraveled.
The voice that spoke to him.
"That can't be the same thing," he muttered.
The old man's expression darkened. "But it is."
Ren clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm.
"You still haven't told me who you are."
The man smiled faintly. "Does it matter?"
"Yes."
The man exhaled, rolling the golden thread between his fingers before tucking it back into his robe.
"I have been called many things," he said. "But you may call me Aldryn."
Ren swallowed hard.
"And you just happened to find me in the middle of the forest?"
Aldryn chuckled, though there was no humor in it.
"Let's just say… I was keeping an eye on that part of the woods."
His gaze sharpened.
"You triggered something. A disturbance in the Pattern."
Ren frowned.
"The Pattern?"
Aldryn's eyes glinted. "The fabric of reality. The way things are supposed to be." He tapped the side of his temple.
"And you, boy, just tore a hole in it."
Ren's chest tightened.
That voice. The one he had heard before he blacked out.
"You were not meant to see this."
Ren's breath came faster. Unraveling more than just myself?
"I didn't ask for this," he muttered.
Aldryn's gaze was sharp. "You think the Pattern cares what you asked for?"
Ren flinched.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The fire crackled. Shadows flickered against the wooden walls.
Then, Aldryn sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face, his expression unreadable.
"Listen, boy. If you want to live, you need to understand one thing."
He leaned forward, his voice lower now. Heavier.
"There are forces in this world that will not let you exist."
Ren stiffened.
"This isn't just about some bandits in the woods." Aldryn's eyes burned with something Ren couldn't name.
"If the Weaving Order learns what you can do, they won't hesitate." His voice was quiet, but firm. Absolute.
"They will erase you."
Ren's hands curled into fists.
They erase people like me?
"They erase mistakes," Aldryn corrected. "Anomalies. Those who disrupt the balance."
Ren's throat tightened.
His mind screamed at him. This isn't real. This can't be real.
But the golden thread was still there.
And he could still feel it.
The pull.
The hum beneath his skin.
The quiet, terrible truth.
He wasn't supposed to exist.
Ren swallowed hard. "So what am I supposed to do?"
Aldryn was silent for a moment. Then, he reached for his staff and stood.
"You have two choices."
Ren tensed.
"You can run, keep hiding, and pray they never find you." Aldryn's gaze was steady.
"Or you can learn how to survive."
The weight of those words settled over Ren's shoulders.
He could feel it now—the crushing enormity of what had happened.
What was coming.
He had no other choice.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, he exhaled.
"Teach me."
Aldryn's lips curved into a small smile.
"Good," he said.
"Then let's begin."