Kaelen's second day in Linmere began before the sun had risen. He couldn't sleep—not because of the discomfort of the straw bed or the restless energy of a ten-year-old body, but because his soul itched. Restless. Awake. A sensation that only ever came when fate was already in motion.
He stood in front of the river, barefoot, arms folded. Mist hovered over the water, curling like serpent smoke, hiding the shapes that lurked beneath. He stared not at the river, but into its reflection. His own young face stared back, eyes shadowed with centuries of memory.
A faint pulse rippled through the current.
Not natural.
He stepped in without hesitation. The cold was sharp—almost spiritual. Beneath his feet, the riverbed vibrated, and when his palm dipped into the water, he felt it: a symbol.
Not carved. Not etched. Woven into the leylines beneath the village.
A seal.
"I knew it," Kaelen murmured.
Linmere wasn't just a village. It was a ward. A containment.
He touched the stone beneath the stream and pushed qi through his palm, just a spark. For a moment, glyphs lit beneath the surface—ancient, warding, circular.
Then a voice echoed behind him.
"You're not supposed to do that."
Kaelen turned slowly. The strange boy from the day before—the one who smiled like he knew more than any child should—stood at the bank. This time, his eyes glowed faintly, silver like a moon obscured by clouds.
"You saw it too," Kaelen said.
"I was born seeing it," the boy replied "But you? You're the anomaly. The one outside the weave."
"What's your name?"
The boy smiled "My parents call me Ren."
Kaelen stared at him for a long moment "But that's not what you are, is it?"
"No," Ren said "And neither are you."
Back in the village square, a commotion had begun. Townsfolk gathered near the elder's hall—Mira included. She waved when she saw Kaelen, but her smile faltered when she saw Ren beside him. The villagers whispered. No one ever spoke about Ren openly, but Kaelen remembered what silence meant.
Fear.
The town bell rang. A summons.
Elder Nyros emerged, robes heavy with age and dust, staff tapping against cobbled stones. His beard was white, his eyes like melted amber, and his aura—though suppressed—still hinted at power long dormant.
"We gather on this day," he began, "for the Choosing."
Kaelen blinked.
The Choosing? He didn't remember this from any previous life. Either it was new… or deliberately hidden from his earlier loops.
Each child under thirteen was brought forward. A ritual stone, veined with crystal, was placed before them. When touched, it either glowed… or remained dim.
Simple.
Only the marked were chosen.
And Kaelen remembered the ancient term now—Threadborn.
Chosen by the Tapestry itself.
He felt his heart begin to race.
One by one, the children touched the stone.
Mira's hand trembled when she placed it on the crystal. Nothing happened. She stepped back, biting her lip.
The next child. Then the next. All dim.
Until Ren.
The moment he touched the stone, it didn't just glow—it burned. Threads of silver fire danced across its surface. The ground quaked. Birds scattered. Elder Nyros narrowed his eyes.
"The Woven One," someone gasped.
Ren smiled again. Calm. Detached.
Then… it was Kaelen's turn.
He stepped forward, uncertain. What would happen? Would the stone recognize the soul within him, or only the child's body he wore?
His hand touched the crystal.
And—
The entire village shook.
A beam of pale light exploded upward, piercing the clouds.
The elder dropped his staff.
Kaelen's mind flooded with images—too fast to process. Swords of light. A river of stars. A man with no face holding a book that screamed. An enormous loom, threads intertwining across time.
Then—silence.
When Kaelen pulled his hand away, the stone was cracked.
Everyone stared at him in horror. Awe. Suspicion.
Even Ren looked shaken.
"You're not one of us," the elder whispered "You're something… older."
Kaelen said nothing.
That night, Linmere's mood shifted. Smiles disappeared behind shuttered windows. Lanterns burned lower. The Choosing was supposed to reveal one child with potential—not two. And certainly not two anomalies.
Kaelen stood alone near the village outskirts. Ren approached without a sound.
"You drew too much attention," the boy said.
"I wasn't trying to."
"Didn't need to. You reek of time. The threads can feel it."
Kaelen turned "So do you, Who are you?"
Ren hesitated.
"I'm… a shard. Of someone who failed."
The words struck Kaelen deep.
He recognized them. Because they were his.
"What do you mean?"
"I was once like you. In another cycle. I didn't make it past the Twined Gate. My soul… fragmented. But this village? It preserved me. Re-spooled my essence. Gave me a body. Gave me purpose."
Kaelen stared, cold crawling up his spine.
"Then you know who's doing this."
Ren nodded "The Weaver."
The one who controlled the cycles.
"The 100th is the last," Ren said "If you fail this time, there's no reset."
Kaelen's fists clenched.
"Then I won't fail."
Far from Linmere, in the ruins of the continent's spine, a figure stirred beneath stone and shadow.
A mirror, buried beneath centuries of dust, flickered to life.
Within it, Kaelen's face stared back.
But the reflection smiled—cold, cruel.
And its eyes weren't blue.
They were gold.