My tiny newborn eyes opened. What I saw confused me more than my second birth.
She was radiant. Pale skin glowed faintly in the half-light. Her hair shimmered dark like night soaked in ink, draping over her shoulders. But her eyes were the most striking—pure white, with no pupils, yet somehow... she saw me.
Even in this fragile form, my mind sputtered:
> "Damn… she's so beautiful."
She cradled me with reverence, like she knew I didn't belong here. Not in this form. Not in this world.
"You're not one of theirs," she said, voice laced with distant sorrow. "You're not spun by the Loom. You were dropped. A loose thread."
> "Lady, that BMW didn't drop me. It slammed me into a new genre."
She pressed her forehead gently against mine. "Veilborn. I can see it in your hue."
What hue? What was a Veilborn?
She wrapped me in a warm cloth that smelled of lavender and snow. Outside, I could hear the wind—a strange wind that spoke. Not in words, but in thoughts.
We moved. Her steps were soft. She carried me through a thick forest where trees stretched unnaturally tall. Threads hung like cobwebs from the branches, glowing faintly. They pulsed with emotion. I saw colors where there should've been none: fear, joy, regret. Threads of feeling strung between nature itself.
I was hallucinating, right? Had to be.
But no. My mind felt sharp. Clearer with every heartbeat. I could see emotions, lines of colored light trailing from her and the trees and the wind itself.
> "I've been reborn in a JRPG with DLC psychic powers. Great."
---
We reached the edge of a village just as the moon tore through the clouds like a dramatic anime entrance. Late night. Perfectly timed for creepy arrivals.
The houses looked like cozy hobbit homes fused with IKEA's cult aesthetic—round and stitched together with shimmering thread instead of nails. Soft light spilled from stitched windows.
Nylessa stepped over the threshold.
> "Great. Hope they have baby insurance."
People peeked from their homes, clutching mugs and whispering to one another in dramatic bedtime gossip.
"Nylessa brings the Threadless," someone muttered like it was a plot twist.
"Impossible. The Loom has no record."
"The gods will not like this."
"Who brings a newborn into the village at 3 a.m.?!"
> "Geez, Karen, let her vibe."
Everyone looked human. No pointy ears. No horns. Not even a suspicious tail. Just tired villagers in long robes and poor fashion sense.
Nylessa ignored them all. She floated past them like a gothic queen with a handbag that babbled (me). My swaddle was cozy, but my dignity? Gone.
She approached a tall circular building with a glowing thread emblem above the doorway.
Inside, the room glowed faintly with pale fire. Webs of thread hung from the ceiling like dreamcatchers on steroids. A man sat at a loom near the back, threading fate like he was crocheting people's destinies into socks.
He turned, revealing a trimmed beard, deep brown eyes, and a robe with coffee stains. Classy.
"Another orphan from the woods?" he asked, sipping what I prayed was tea.
"Not this time, Fen," Nylessa said. "This one was dropped. His thread is not tied to the Loom."
Fen blinked at me like I just farted in ancient Latin.
"Then he's a mistake."
"No. He's a question."
> "Hey! I'm a premium limited-edition existential riddle, thank you."
Fen approached my crib—a floating, thread-cradled bassinet Nylessa conjured with a flick of her wrist.
"He looks normal."
"Except his eyes," she murmured.
My eyes, huh. Violet, like mood rings dipped in chaos.
The villagers continued to peek through the doorway, whispering superstitions and bedtime curses. Fen waved them away.
"Go back to sleep. If he destroys the world, we'll find out in the morning."
> "10/10 comfort. Love this place already."
---
As nights passed, I adjusted to life as the world's snarkiest baby. Nylessa cared for me like a proper gothic mom—elegant, mysterious, and emotionally repressed.
She explained some things in riddles and lullabies. Apparently, the Loom was like destiny's hard drive, spinning the fate of all things.
But me? I wasn't plugged in. No data. No script.
Veilborn.
Nylessa didn't name me. I babbled "Keal" until she gave up and accepted it. I wasn't going through baby-naming RNG again.
She sang to me at night, not lullabies, but tales. Of gods who laughed as mortals suffered. Of people cursed by their own threads. Of one girl who severed her fate and vanished.
She didn't say who the girl was.
> "Spoiler alert: I bet it's her."
One night, as she placed me in the floating crib, I accidentally activated the magic.
A thread connecting her to me glowed. I pulled it. Light flared.
Nylessa gasped, eyes wide.
"You pulled... my thread."
I giggled, partly because I was a baby, partly because holy crap I had powers.
She looked shaken. "You're not just Veilborn. You can touch the weave."
That night, storms rumbled beyond the forest. Wind howled like a warning.
And somewhere deep in the dark between gods and men, something ancient turned its gaze.