The scent of smoke hung over the village like a second sky. It was everywhere—on the fields, the homes, the hair of those who survived. Ash floated gently through the air, falling on Kael's shoulders like gray snow. The sky was smeared orange from the fires that had only recently died, their embers still glowing faintly in the pre-dawn gloom.
Kael stood in the center of the square where the battle had taken place. The blood had dried, but the earth was still black and split where claws had torn through it. Wooden fences lay shattered. Two rooftops still smoked from the fires the villagers had started in a panic. Bodies were being wrapped in cloth and laid out one by one.
Daren's was among them.
Kael hadn't moved for hours. His hands still trembled, though he no longer noticed. The hunting knife he'd used to kill the alpha had been cleaned and returned, but it felt foreign in his grip. Like it belonged to someone else. The world felt quieter now, muffled like a dream, as if he existed half a step away from everyone else.
Villagers moved around him quietly, respectfully. No one asked why he wasn't helping. No one spoke to him at all.
Loran passed by, walking with a limp and a blood-stained bandage tied around his chest. He looked older. More tired. His eyes met Kael's for a moment, and the old soldier gave a small nod. There was no warmth in it—just understanding.
When the sun began to set, the pyres were ready.
---
The village gathered in silence. There were no prayers, no songs. Just the crackle of flames. Kael stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the fire consume the dead.
Daren lay atop the central pyre, sword on his chest. Kael stared at the blade, remembering how easily his brother had held it. How confident he had been. How alive.
A memory rose unbidden—Daren standing behind him in the forest, correcting his footwork during training. "Too wide, Kael. You'll never land a clean blow like that. Try again."
Kael had groaned then, frustrated and tired. But Daren just smiled and ruffled his hair. "You'll get it. You always do."
Now that voice was gone.
He hadn't meant to touch the thread.
He hadn't even known what it was.
But the moment his fingers brushed it, it had snapped.
And now Daren was gone.
Loran stepped forward, face stern and pale. "They fought bravely. They gave everything to protect this place. Remember them well."
He stepped back. A woman lit the first pyre. One by one, others followed. Smoke curled into the sky, thick and black, carrying their memories away.
Kael watched until the flames blurred his vision. His eyes burned, but he didn't cry. Couldn't.
And then, just for a heartbeat, he saw them.
Threads.
Flickering in the firelight, faint and wavering. Rising from the dead like smoke, drifting upward and vanishing into the sky.
No one else noticed. But Kael knew.
The threads were real.
---
Later, when the fire had burned low and the villagers returned to their homes, Kael remained. He sat alone near the ashes, staring at the glowing embers.
Loran approached, carrying two cups of water. He handed one to Kael and sat beside him.
"You fought well," Loran said quietly.
Kael didn't answer.
Loran looked out at the darkness. "The alpha wasn't natural. I've seen wolves before, but that thing… it was wrong."
Kael swallowed. "There was something in it. When I killed it… I saw threads."
Loran turned to him, expression unreadable. "Threads?"
Kael nodded slowly. "Like strings. Connecting everything. People. Things. The sky. I touched one. Daren's. And it broke."
Loran was silent for a long time. Then he said, "Magic isn't something we see in this village. Not often. But it's in the world, Kael. Old magic. Dangerous magic."
Kael turned his gaze to the stars. "Have you ever heard of something called the Threadmaker?"
Loran stiffened.
"Where did you hear that name?"
Kael looked at him. "I don't know. It just came to me. In the fire. In the threads."
The older man stared into the embers. "Long ago, there were beings who shaped the world. Not with blades, but with forces deeper than time. One of them was said to weave the threads of fate itself."
Kael clenched his fists. "Then that's what it was. The alpha had a piece of that power. And now... so do I."
Loran sighed. "You've taken something into yourself, Kael. Something not meant for boys—or even men. If you're serious about this, it will change you. It already has."
---
That night, Kael walked alone to the clearing where the alpha had fallen. The grass was scorched black. Blood had soaked into the earth. The air still felt heavy, like the battle had left a wound in the land.
He knelt.
"I didn't mean to kill him," he whispered. "I just wanted to save him."
The wind rustled the trees. No answer came.
Kael closed his eyes. "I'll never let it happen again. I'll learn. I'll find every thread like that. Every cursed piece of whatever made that wolf... and I'll destroy them."
He stood, fists clenched.
"Even if I burn with them."
---
Back in his small home, Kael sat in the dark. He focused on his breath. On the memory of the threads. On the feeling in his eye.
A flicker.
He gasped. For a second, the world unraveled. Threads glimmered in the walls, in the night air, in his skin. They moved—swaying gently, humming softly.
He reached for one. His fingers trembled. He didn't touch it. He couldn't. The fear was too deep.
But he saw it.
Still, it was enough.
He could learn. He would.
Tomorrow, his training would begin.
And one day, he would find the Threadmaker's legacy.
All of it.
Even if it killed him.
In the darkness, he felt the shift of fate—quiet and slow, like a loom creaking to life after years of silence. The first stitch had been made.
As he drifted into sleep, the threads hummed faintly at the edges of his thoughts, like the beginning of a melody he'd never heard before. Somewhere, something vast and ancient stirred. The threads were waiting.
And so was he.