The sky in Velcrin's world wasn't a sky at all.
It was a writhing mass of blackened Thread, knotted and snarled like a memory in pain. The ground pulsed beneath Koshiro's feet—alive and whispering. Shadows shaped like forgotten regrets slithered across twisted stone.
Velcrin smiled, standing atop a raised platform that grew from the flesh-like ground. "Welcome to my domain. You must be honored—I don't show this place to just anyone."
Koshiro narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on the glass rod. "Looks like your trauma threw up."
Velcrin laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Exactly. This realm is a projection of my Thread—cruelty, perfected. Every inch of it reacts to suffering, every gust of wind is shaped by anguish. You're standing in a memory loop of torment, and I own every echo."
Koshiro charged. His rod screamed through the air, crashing against a barrier of dissolving decay that formed before Velcrin. The impact made the air vibrate with discordant harmonics.
But Velcrin was already behind him.
A spike of Thread pierced Koshiro's shoulder. He cried out, staggered, but spun with a burst of Thread from the rod that blew Velcrin back. The shadows coiled tighter around them.
"You can't win here," Velcrin said calmly, adjusting his cracked staff. "This world bends to my will. Your memories will betray you before long."
Koshiro wiped blood from his chin. "Then I'll just have to rewrite the ending."
Meanwhile, back in the Fold's ruined core, Zen and Solas stared down two Thornes—both identical, both deadly.
Zen swung his sword at the Thorne nearest to him. "Finally. I don't have to fight next to you."
Solas sighed dramatically, stepping into a loose stance. "Zen, why do u hate me so much? it pains my heart."
The two Thornes raised their hands. One slowed time around Zen's movement just enough to throw off his swing. The other twisted the light near Solas, bending space to make his strikes miss by inches.
Zen grunted, recalibrating, focusing Thread into his blade. It shimmered with a pulsing glow.
Solas flowed with impossible grace, not using a weapon but directing raw Thread with his hands—threads that cut and sewed reality like a tailor gone mad. Sigils flickered around his shoulders. No tools. Just mastery.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Zen shouted.
Solas deflected a spear of Threadlight with two fingers. "A little."
They pressed harder. Zen drove his blade into the first Thorne's chest—only for him to vanish into mist. Solas sliced through the other, who dissolved into sparks.
Zen turned. "Where's the real one?"
A hum answered them.
Behind them, the third Thorne stood on an elevated platform, his hands raised as swirling Thread pooled into a vortex above his head.
"You were decent distractions," he said. "I didn't think I'd need this form to deal with you. But watching your power, I realized I must take this seriously."
The two other Thornes reformed beside him, and in a blinding flash, the three merged.
The result was monstrous.
Thorne stood transformed—his body a blend of harmonic instruments and razor-thread tendrils. A massive sigil pulsed on his chest like a second heart.
"Are you prepared to die?" he declared.
But Zen and Solas were deep in conversation again.
"Honestly," Solas muttered, "he talks too much."
Zen rolled his eyes. "You really don't take anything seriously, do you?"
Thorne's eye twitched. "You dare—"
Solas leaned to Zen. "Maybe he just needs a hug."
"Shut up!" Thorne screamed, unleashing a devastating blast of harmonic energy that shattered stone and flung both warriors across the chamber.
Solas groaned from a pile of rubble. "Okay... that was strong."
Zen dragged himself up, scowling. "We fight together. Got it?"
Solas grinned. "Look who's finally being romantic."
Zen growled. "Shut up and fight."
Down below, Brann and Nyra raced through crumbling corridors, the Threadborn chasing close behind.
Nyra's breath came heavy. "There's too many—I can't hold the link much longer."
Brann hacked through a beast. "We will reach the basement in 10 seconds, hold them of for a little more."
They reached the shattered entrance to the old core.
"2 more seconds" Nyra cried.
Brann grabbed her tightly and jumped into the blackness below.
The creatures followed in a wave.
Inside the basement, Brann landed on his feet and put Nyra on the ground, Nyra fell to her knees, exhausted. Her control snapped.
All the Threadborn turned toward them.
Hundreds.
They rushed.
Brann raised his axe.
Nyra stood beside him, weak but defiant.
The chamber went black with shadows and howls.