The silence that followed the Prophet's departure didn't last long.
A tremor pulsed through the ground.
Koshiro looked up. "Something's coming."
Solas narrowed his eyes toward the ruined corridor. "SomethingS."
The walls shivered.
From the shadows, they emerged.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of creatures twisted in form and motion. Some slithered on elongated limbs, others crawled on hands that bent backward. Their skin pulsed with flickering threads of corrupted light, eyes like tuning forks vibrating with suppressed sound.
At their head stood two figures.
One tall and regal, draped in black layered robes that shimmered like obsidian threads—Thorne, with lines of luminous thread webbed over his body like veins. His hands were clasped behind his back, and around him, reality bent in subtle ways. Light slowed. Sound warbled. He was a symphony of stillness.
Beside him was a hunched figure in robes half-melted into his skin—Velcrin, the Withering Voice. His body leaked decay. Wherever he walked, the stone cracked and blackened, glyphs dissolving as if forgetting themselves. He held a crooked staff that emitted low, rattling moans.
Thorne's voice, crisp and clinical, rang through the core: "You silenced the Choir. But it seems your harmony still lingers."
Velcrin smiled. His teeth were rotted copper. "Let's pluck it from them, one scream at a time."
They raised their hands.
The creatures charged.
Brann roared, swinging his axe into the first wave, sending two creatures flying into a pillar.
Zen followed suit, cutting down another twisted form with precision. "These creatures are dangerous, what even are they?"
Brann ducked under a leaping beast and shouted, "Threadborn! They're made from corrupted Thread—twisted emotion and failed memories, solidified. These two," he nodded toward the commanders, "they don't just use Thread—they restructure it. We have to be wary. Their powers aren't normal."
Zen parried a creature's claw. "So if we kill the commanders, these things die with them?"
"In theory," Brann grunted.
Zen spun, slicing two Threadborn in half. "Then let's test that theory. We go for them!"
But before he could charge, a voice echoed from above.
Solas sat lazily on a broken ledge high above the battlefield, one leg dangling over the edge. "That's a terrible idea."
Zen growled up at him. "Then give me a better one."
"They're way too strong to take head-on," Solas said, flicking a pebble into the chaos below. "Especially together. We need a plan."
Zen cut down a Threadborn, turned to him, voice drenched in sarcasm. "Oh, now you want a plan? That's rich."
Solas smiled. "Growth, isn't it beautiful?"
Koshiro moved toward the group, Thread swirling around his fingers. "Then we separate them. Disrupt their harmony."
Nyra loaded a shard into her launcher. "Divide, isolate, strike fast. That's our window."
Koshiro moved toward the group, Thread swirling around his fingers. "Then we separate them. Disrupt their harmony."
Nyra loaded a shard into her launcher. "Divide, isolate, strike fast. That's our window."
Zen glanced at each of them. The chaos of the battlefield surged around them, but for a moment, they stood as one.
"I can lead the creatures away," Nyra said suddenly, breathing hard between strikes. "If I link my Thread to theirs, I can redirect them—but I can't move while doing it. Someone will need to carry me... and keep me alive."
Solas pointed at Brann without hesitation. "Well, Brann?"
Brann grunted, cutting down a creature mid-jump. "Yeah, okay. I've carried heavier things than a grumpy Threadcaster."
Nyra raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Then it's settled."
She looked around. "Who takes on the commanders?"
Solas's grin returned. "Zen and Koshiro take Thorne. I'll play with Velcrin."
Koshiro glanced at him "You, alone?"
Solas replied grinning with confidence "I am pretty strong you know"
Koshiro smirked and spun his rod in hand "Yeah. I do."
The team was ready.
Zen slashed through a snarling Threadborn and shouted, "Let's do this then!"
Brann grinned beside him, blood streaking his knuckles. "You heard the man!"
They closed ranks around Nyra as she stepped into position. Her eyes flared silver, Thread extending from her like a net catching the rhythm of the corrupted horde.
"I need a moment," she said, breathe shallow. "Don't let them near me."
Brann cracked his neck and hefted his axe. "You got it."
Zen and Koshiro formed a tight circle with Brann around Nyra. Together, they held back the encroaching mass. Nyra knelt, hands to the ground, and her Thread leapt like lightning, weaving through the Threadborn. The creatures paused, jerking mid-motion like puppets feeling new strings.
Nyra's voice was sharp now. "I've got them. Brann, now!"
Brann swept her off the ground with surprising gentleness and surged forward, barreling through the broken gateway toward the ruined corridor where the Fold's core had been destroyed. The creatures followed, screaming in twisted unison, pulled by her Thread's lure.
The remaining three turned to face the commanders.
Thorne stepped forward, his presence warping the very light around them. His voice was almost kind.
"You shouldn't have come here."
Velcrin coughed a wet, raspy laugh and leaned on his staff. "You've done more damage than most. That deserves... a tribute."
Zen's eyes narrowed. "You slaughter children and call it tribute?"
Velcrin tilted his head. "Children? Oh no, we don't slaughter them. We purify them. We carve away what is weak, and build the perfect vessel for Thread to thrive. No pain, no evolution."
Koshiro's fists clenched. "You built this army from their suffering."
Thorne said calmly, "Sacrifice is necessary. Harmony isn't born of comfort."
Koshiro's jaw locked.
Velcrin smirked, sensing the fury. "One girl in particular. She sang even as we hollowed her. Sweet little song—kept humming lullabies. I can still hear it when I sleep."
Something broke.
Koshiro's rage surged like wildfire.
He didn't speak. Didn't warn.
He charged Velcrin, glass rod blazing with harmonic light, memories and fury braided into one devastating note.
The commanders didn't flinch.
Thorne turned toward Zen.
Velcrin's grin widened, staff raised to meet Koshiro's fury.
And somewhere far above, Solas cursed quietly. "Well… here we go."