The Frozen Veil clung to Li Xuanji like a second skin, its frost-laden air heavy with whispers of forgotten gods. The statues loomed around him, their eroded faces glowing with sorrow, their stone eyes tracking his every step. Memory's Fang pulsed in his hand, its frost-like sheen dim but warm, as if it drank the Veil's secrets. Mira led the way through the mist, her orbs of stolen light flickering, while Kael trailed behind, his blindfolded face tilted as if reading the air's unseen threads.
"How much farther?" Xuanji asked, his voice low. The vision from the Enforcer's memory—his own face, screaming, shattering a golden thread—still burned in his mind. He didn't understand it, but it felt like a piece of himself, jagged and sharp.
"Not far," Mira said, her voice clipped. She glanced back, her shattered-glass eyes catching the faint glow of the statues. "The Veil hides us, but it's no sanctuary. The Loom's reach is long."
Kael's fingers twitched, tracing patterns only he could see. "The Loom sees you now," he murmured, echoing his warning from the cavern. "It will not stop until you're erased."
Xuanji's grip tightened on his sword. "Why me? What's an Error?"
Mira shot him a look, half pity, half exasperation. "You really know nothing, do you, Threadless? An Error is a glitch in the Loom's weave. A soul without a thread. You're not supposed to exist."
Her words landed like stones. Xuanji opened his mouth to ask more, but the mist parted, revealing a hidden passage carved into the Veil's stone. Mira pushed through, and the air shifted—warmer, heavier, alive with the hum of distant voices. They emerged into a camp nestled in a valley of jagged rock, hidden from the sky by a canopy of woven vines. Tents of patched cloth glowed faintly, their surfaces threaded with dim reds, blues, and golds—faded, as if stolen from their owners.
The Threadless camp buzzed with life. Figures moved in the shadows, their eyes wary but curious. A woman with a red thread stitched into her cloak sharpened a blade. A child with no thread at all clutched a glowing orb, its light pulsing like a heartbeat. The air carried the scent of smoke and spice, a faint echo of a world Xuanji couldn't remember.
"Welcome to the edge of the Loom's world," Mira said, her smirk returning. "These are the Threadless. Outcasts. Errors, like you."
A man approached, his thread a faint blue, frayed at the edges. His face was weathered, his eyes sharp. "Mira," he said, then paused, studying Xuanji. "Another stray?"
"More than that, Torren," Mira replied. "He woke in the Sword Tomb. And the Enforcers are already after him."
Torren's eyes narrowed. "The Tomb? That's no place for the living." He gestured to a tent. "Inside. Now."
The tent was cramped, lit by a single orb that cast shifting shadows. Torren sat across from Xuanji, Mira, and Kael, his fingers tracing the frayed thread on his cloak. "Speak, Threadless. How did you survive the Tomb?"
Xuanji hesitated, the weight of their stares pressing against him. "I don't know. I woke with no memories, only this." He lifted Memory's Fang, its blade catching the orb's light. "It… speaks to me."
Torren leaned forward, his voice low. "That blade is no ordinary weapon. It's a shard of something older than the Loom. And you, waking in the Tomb? That's a sign."
"A sign of what?" Xuanji asked, frustration creeping into his voice.
Torren's gaze darkened. "The Loom weaves every soul's fate. Red for warriors, blue for seers, gold for rulers. Threads bind us to its will, dictate our paths. But you—" He pointed at Xuanji. "You have no thread. You're an Error, a flaw the Loom cannot tolerate. It will hunt you until you're erased."
Xuanji's chest tightened. The visions—his face, the golden thread, the Loom—swirled in his mind. "Why? What did I do?"
"Not what you did," Kael said, his voice soft but heavy. "What you are. The Loom fears the Threadless because you can unweave its lies."
Mira snorted, tossing an orb between her hands. "Poetic, Kael, but it doesn't help him. The Loom's city is out there, its spires glowing with threads. Everyone's bound to it—except us. And now they know he's awake."
Xuanji's mind raced. "The city… I saw it. In a memory I took from an Enforcer. Golden spires, a machine at the center. And me, standing before it."
Mira froze, the orb in her hand dimming. "You saw the Loom's city? That's not possible. No Threadless gets that close and lives."
"Unless he wasn't always Threadless," Kael said, his blindfold shifting slightly. "The Veil showed me fragments. You stood before the Loom once, Xuanji. You broke something."
The tent fell silent, the orb's light flickering. Xuanji's hand tightened on Memory's Fang, its warmth spreading through his arm. "Broke something? Like what?"
Kael didn't answer. Instead, he stood, his fingers tracing the air. "The threads are shifting. The Loom is watching."
Torren cursed, rising to his feet. "If the Enforcers tracked you here, we're all at risk. You've brought death to this camp, Threadless."
Before Xuanji could protest, a scream tore through the camp. The vines above shuddered, and golden light spilled through the canopy. Enforcers. Their threads blazed, casting shadows like a storm of stars. The camp erupted into chaos—Threadless scattering, their stolen threads flaring as they drew weapons.
Mira grabbed Xuanji's arm, her touch sparking another tug at his mind. "We need to move. They're not here for the camp. They're here for you."
Xuanji pulled free, his sword humming. "I'm not running. Not again."
Torren shoved a blade into his hand. "Then fight, Threadless. Prove you're worth the trouble."
The Enforcers descended, their chants echoing: "The Loom weaves all. Errors are unwoven." Memory's Fang flared, its edge hungry. As Xuanji raised it, Kael's voice cut through the chaos, low and urgent.
"I see it," Kael said, his blindfold glowing faintly. "Your death, Xuanji. In the Loom's city. The threads unravel, and you fall."
End of chapter 3