Ahri stood frozen at the temple threshold. The sun had dipped behind the mountains, casting the world in violet twilight. The golden thread around her wrist pulsed softly, like a second heartbeat, steady but alert.
Before her stood three figures cloaked in the fading light.
The first was tall, with silver hair bound in a low knot and eyes like polished obsidian—sharp and assessing. He leaned on a gnarled walking stick, but there was no frailty in his stance. His name was revealed to be Mu-Han, a former threadforger who had disappeared years ago after the Spirit War in the east.
Beside him stood a girl no older than Ahri, her copper hair braided tight across her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped in pale silks that flickered with protective runes. She was introduced as So-yeon, a boundary-walker—someone who could shift between the spirit and mortal realms, though rarely without consequence.
The last figure barely moved. Cloaked in midnight blue, his hood shaded his face, but the threads around him were strange—knotted, refracting violet and crimson light in unsettling pulses. When he finally spoke, it was low and clipped. "Call me Rin."
Ahri couldn't explain it, but something in Rin's voice felt familiar. Not from memory, but from dreams.
The Elder appeared at her side, his gaze settled heavily on the trio. "You're not just guests," he said. "You're answers fate sent early—or warnings."
Mu-Han bowed slightly. "We came because of her." His eyes settled on Ahri. "The golden thread you carry... it's shifting the pattern."
Ahri tensed. "What pattern?"
"The weave of fate," So-yeon answered. "The Severed aren't just tearing it—they're twisting it into something else. And you—Threadseer—you're at the center."
Jin stepped forward, her silver-blue threads flaring in subtle warning. "Why now? Why appear after all this time?"
"Because the threads led us here," Rin said. "And because something beneath this temple just woke up."
At that, the Elder stiffened.
In silence, they descended into the inner sanctum—Ahri's golden thread tightening faintly with every step. The deeper they went, the thicker the air became, charged with energy that prickled her skin like static.
They stopped before a sealed chamber—stone etched with ancient glyphs of protection. Ahri reached out instinctively. Her thread pulsed, and the door trembled.
"It shouldn't respond to you," the Elder murmured.
Ahri's voice was quiet. "But it is."
With a groan, the door cracked open.
Inside, the chamber was dark—until the threads on Ahri's wrist flared to life, casting golden light across the room. There were murals, half-erased by time: depictions of battles between spirit weavers and the Severed, celestial beasts bound in glowing silk, and at the center, a nine-tailed fox wrapped in a shroud of broken threads.
Ahri stepped closer, her breath catching in her throat.
"It's the fox from my vision," she whispered.
Rin stood beside her now, his hood lowered. His face was angular, his expression unreadable. "You've seen it too."
"You know what it is?" Ahri asked.
He didn't answer at first. Then: "I think... I think it's what I'm bound to."
Ahri turned sharply to face him. "What does that mean?"
Before Rin could speak again, the golden thread flared violently.
The chamber trembled. From the mural's base, shadows began to slither outward—slow and silent, like smoke in water. Jin pulled Ahri back just in time as a black tendril lashed out, barely missing her.
"The Severed have already marked this place," Mu-Han hissed. "That mural—it's a seal. And it's failing."
The Elder raised his staff, chanting quickly in Old Weave. Threads of ochre light shot across the floor, holding the shadows at bay—for now.
But in that moment, Ahri saw something no one else did. Behind the mural—behind the painted fox—there was a flicker of violet flame, like a second set of eyes opening inside her mind.
And a whisper, unmistakably real: "You're not ready yet. But soon, you will be."
She staggered back, heart pounding.
"Ahri?" Jin caught her arm.
"I saw it," she breathed. "It's watching us. It's... waiting for something."
The Elder's face darkened. "Then we don't have much time."
As they retreated from the chamber, sealing it once more, the air shifted behind them—faint and mocking, like the echo of laughter through leaves.
Back in the temple's courtyard, the stars had begun to appear.
So-yeon leaned against a pillar, exhaling slowly. "We need to find the Archive of Threads. If the Severed are rewriting the weave, we'll need the original blueprints."
Mu-Han nodded grimly. "That means crossing into the Celestial Loom."
Ahri turned to Jin, whose expression had grown pale. "What's the Celestial Loom?"
Jin looked at her, voice distant. "It's where the first threads were spun. Where the gods themselves once wove fate."
"And if the Severed reach it first," Rin added darkly, "they won't just change fate—they'll erase it entirely."
Ahri's thread tightened like a noose around her wrist.
Above, the stars shimmered—one blinking out, unnoticed by all but her.