The fire had burned lower, embers crackling softly beneath the iron pot. The shadows in the hut stretched long, shifting with each flicker of light.
Ren sat opposite Aldryn, his back straight despite the ache in his muscles. His body was exhausted, but his mind—his mind wouldn't stop turning.
He had made his decision.
To train.
To survive.
To understand what he had become.
The weight of it settled over him like a second skin.
Aldryn had said little since Ren agreed. He simply watched.
Waiting.
Finally, the old man exhaled and tapped his staff against the ground.
"Show me," Aldryn said.
Ren blinked. "Show you… what?"
Aldryn's gaze sharpened. "Your instincts. Try to pull."
A chill ran down Ren's spine.
He hesitated.
The last time he had done this, a man had unraveled into nothingness. The time before that, he had glimpsed something beyond comprehension.
And now, Aldryn wanted him to do it again?
The old man must have seen the hesitation in his expression because his head tilted slightly. "You'll have to trust me. You can't avoid this forever."
Ren exhaled, steadying his hands. His fingers twitched.
The threads were there.
He could feel them now—not just as concepts, but as something real.
Tangible.
One wavered closest to him. Thin. Silver. Faint.
It quivered like a living thing.
He reached out, ignoring the deep-rooted fear pressing against his ribs.
The thread flickered, shifting like mist in a breeze. It remained just out of his grasp.
He reached again—
And pulled.
The air rippled. A taut string, plucked.
The temperature in the hut dropped.
The fire dimmed.
The wooden walls groaned.
Ren's breath hitched. Something was different.
Before, when he had pulled, something had broken. Something had unraveled.
But this time—
The thread resisted.
Aldryn's eyes widened slightly, his brows furrowing. "Good. Now hold it."
Ren gritted his teeth. Hold it?
The thread vibrated wildly under his grasp, like it was trying to slip away.
And then—he saw it.
The structure of the thread.
It wasn't just a single strand.
It was woven into the world itself, connected to a thousand unseen things, stretching into places he couldn't yet comprehend.
It was alive.
And it was trying to escape him.
"Bind it," Aldryn instructed. "Reinforce it. Don't tear it apart—stabilize it."
Ren's focus sharpened. His grip adjusted.
Slowly, carefully, he threaded the strand back into itself.
Instead of disrupting the weave, he strengthened it. Reinforcing its pattern rather than breaking it.
The hut stopped shaking.
The fire brightened.
And the thread settled, humming in place.
Ren exhaled sharply, releasing it.
Aldryn leaned back, watching him with an unreadable expression.
"You just performed your first Threadbinding."
Ren swallowed hard.
His body still trembled from the effort.
That had been… completely different from before.
He hadn't unraveled anything.
He had fixed it.
Aldryn reached for a clay bowl near the fire, filled it with fresh water, and handed it to Ren. "Drink. You'll need it."
Ren took the bowl, his hand slightly unsteady.
"Why?"
Aldryn tapped the side of his temple.
"Because you're already feeling the cost."
Ren paused, then realized…
He was.
A weight.
A strange, creeping exhaustion.
His head wasn't pounding, but there was an undeniable pressure—like he had forced his mind to process something beyond its normal limits.
He took a slow sip of water.
"Pulling a thread is easy," Aldryn said.
"But controlling it? Keeping the weave stable? That's what separates an anomaly from a Weaver."
Ren set the bowl down.
"So… this is what Weaving actually is?"
"Reinforcing fate instead of breaking it?"
Aldryn nodded.
"The Weaving Order ensures that the Loom remains intact." He paused. "They guide threads. Strengthen them. Shape them."
His eyes darkened.
"But you, Ren, were born with the ability to do something else. Something far more dangerous."
Ren inhaled sharply. "Unraveling."
Aldryn nodded.
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Ren looked down at his hands.
Now that he had felt both sides—the destruction and the restoration—he understood something important.
If he only knew how to break, he would never survive.
But if he could bind as well as unravel…
Maybe he could hide what he truly was.
Aldryn studied him, as if weighing his next words carefully.
"You did well," the old man said finally. "But this is only the beginning."
He reached for his staff and stood.
"There's something else you need to see."
Ren frowned. "What?"
Aldryn pulled his cloak over his shoulders, his expression grim.
"A place that will teach you more than I ever could. A ruin that should not exist."
Ren's pulse quickened.
"What kind of ruin?"
Aldryn met his gaze.
"The Loom of Ash."
Ren's throat went dry.
Even without knowing what it was, the name itself sent a chill through his bones.
The old man turned toward the door.
"We leave at first light. Rest while you can."
Ren wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep.
Because something told him—
Whatever awaited him at the Loom of Ash…
Would change everything.