The village of Linmere felt different the next morning. The air held a weight to it—not just of mist or dew, but of silence. Pregnant, expectant. As if the trees themselves had chosen to watch rather than sway in the wind. Kaelen woke before the crows stirred, his young body buzzing with residual energy from the Choosing. He could still feel the echo of the cracked stone beneath his hand, like the tremor of a storm long past but never forgotten.
He sat up on the straw mat, rubbing his eyes. His foster home—Mira's family hut—was still and quiet. Her mother had spoken few words to him since the event, and even Mira had kept her distance, though her eyes betrayed curiosity… and something close to fear.
Kaelen couldn't blame them. He had done something that wasn't supposed to happen. Not here. Not in this life.
Slipping on his rough tunic and stepping outside into the morning chill, he found Ren waiting on the path.
"You didn't sleep," Kaelen said, stating more than asking.
"Sleep is… redundant for me," Ren replied with a shrug "I experience time in fragments."
Kaelen frowned "That sounds like madness."
"Maybe it is," Ren said with a strange grin "But it's a madness with purpose."
They walked together in silence, bare feet padding softly over dirt paths still damp with dew. Villagers who passed gave them wide berths. Some whispered. Others simply stared, heads slightly bowed—not in reverence, but in unease.
"I thought I had more time," Kaelen muttered, watching a blackbird dart across the path.
"You always think that," Ren replied.
Kaelen turned his head slowly "What do you mean?"
"In every cycle, you underestimate how fast the world spins without you. You arrive, you observe, you act too late."
"That's not true."
"It is" Ren looked at him seriously, the silver glow in his irises muted but present "You're not like me. You remember more each time. You carry the weight. That makes you slower. More cautious."
Kaelen stopped in place "And what are you then? A fragment? A child with too much knowledge and not enough soul?"
Ren tilted his head "Maybe. Or maybe I'm your tether. The thread that ties you back to the Pattern when you forget who you are."
Kaelen didn't reply. Not because he didn't have a response—but because he feared it might be true.
They arrived at the elder's hall to find Elder Nyros waiting. Not seated in his great chair, not flanked by guards or advisors, but standing alone beneath the shadow of the old pine that towered behind the hall.
"You've caused a stir," the elder said without turning.
Kaelen stepped forward cautiously "I didn't mean to."
"But you did" Nyros turned. His eyes, amber and ancient, settled on Kaelen like a weight "The stone cracked. That hasn't happened in centuries. Maybe longer."
Kaelen said nothing.
Nyros sighed, leaning on his staff "You aren't the first outsider to walk into Linmere. But you're the first to survive the Choosing."
Ren stood silently beside him, hands behind his back, gaze unwavering.
"You both lit the crystal," Nyros said "But the flame you bear, Kaelen, is unnatural. Not woven by the Tapestry. A fire brought from somewhere else. Somewhere deeper."
Kaelen kept his gaze steady "What do you want from me?"
"I want the truth."
"That's a dangerous thing to ask for," Kaelen replied "You might not like what you hear."
Nyros stepped forward until the tip of his staff nearly touched Kaelen's foot "I've lived too long to fear truth. Speak it."
Kaelen took a slow breath "I don't belong to this time. Or this age. My soul… has lived before. Countless lives. Each reset brings me back with fragments of who I was. I don't know how many more times I can do it."
Nyros studied him "And why are you here now?"
"Because this is the final cycle," Ren interjected.
Kaelen didn't stop him.
"There's a being—an entity that governs the weave of fate," Ren continued "The Weaver. Each time Kaelen dies, he's spun back into the loom. But this is the last thread. The final spool."
Kaelen met Nyros's eyes "If I fail this time, there won't be another life."
Silence followed, broken only by the wind shifting through the pine branches.
"I've protected this village for longer than you know," Nyros said finally "And I've read of things like you in the forbidden texts. Walkers, Reweavers, Patternbreakers."
"That last one's new," Kaelen muttered.
"You threaten the balance," Nyros continued "But you may also be the only one who can fix it."
He turned and walked back toward the hall, but not before saying, "Stay in the village. For now. I'll call a council."
Kaelen exhaled slowly once the elder was gone.
"Well," Ren said, "that went better than expected."
"That's because you weren't the one being called a Patternbreaker."
Ren smirked "You should be flattered. I think it's a compliment."
Later that day, the village buzzed not with fear, but with whispers of preparation. The elders were gathering from the outer regions. Word had been sent. Kaelen could feel the storm coming.
He sat by the riverbank again, feet dangling above the current, watching the mist move like living silk. He remembered the glyphs under the streambed, the seal, the hidden power below.
"Do you think the Weaver watches us?" he asked quietly.
Ren, sitting cross-legged behind him, replied, "Always."
Kaelen frowned "Then why not act directly?"
"Because we're not the only threads," Ren said "There are other stories being spun. Other players. The loom is massive, Kaelen. We're just one skein."
Kaelen leaned back on his palms "And what if we cut the thread?"
Ren turned his head "Then the whole Tapestry unravels."
A long silence stretched between them.
Finally, Kaelen whispered, "Then we can't afford to fail."
"No," Ren agreed "We can't."
That night, as the stars wheeled overhead and the moons cast twin shadows on the forest floor, Kaelen felt something shift. Not in the sky. Not in the wind.
In the Weave itself.
A thread had snapped.
And something ancient had been set loose.