The golden Thread pulsed in Corin's hand — not with heat, but with presence. It wasn't just responding to him anymore. It was watching. Listening.
Across from him, the Remnant with the Loom-inscribed skin extended a pale, rune-covered hand. His voice was low, but it carried a weight like cold iron.
"You do not understand what you carry. That Thread was sealed for a reason."
Ashlyn moved between them, hand hovering near her bow. "Then explain it. Because if it's dangerous, we'd rather know before it tries to eat us."
The Remnant's pale lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. "You think it's the Thread that's the threat?"
His gaze turned back to Corin. "The threat is what the Thread calls."
Fira stepped forward, eyes locked on the Thread. "Are you saying this… summons something?"
"It does more than summon," the Remnant said. "It remembers. It reminds the Loom of what once was — of the designs that came before the world learned to protect itself. Before the Seers. Before the Orders. Before the Spiral Laws."
Corin tightened his grip on the Thread. "What is it calling to?"
The Remnant's eyes glowed dimly.
"The First Pattern."
The phrase struck something deep in Corin's memory — old stories, fractured myths passed down in secret archives. A time before the Loom's order, when the world was wild, its shape uncertain, and Threads moved of their own will.
"You mean the Unwritten?" Fira asked, voice tight.
The Remnant nodded. "Yes. What you call the Unwritten. The Pattern that wove itself."
Ashlyn blinked. "That's just a legend. A cautionary tale."
"No legend," the Remnant said. "Merely buried truth. The Loom was not created — it emerged. The First Pattern was not a god, but a will. A hunger for design. It wove a world and then forgot what it made. When the Founders learned to thread the Loom, they cut that Pattern out — locked it beyond time, sealed it in the Loom's deepest cords."
Corin stared at the golden Thread in his hand. "And now… I'm holding a key."
The Remnant inclined his head. "You are holding its echo. A call. The First Pattern hears it — even now. And if it wakes…"
He let the sentence dangle like a blade.
Ashlyn frowned. "So what do you suggest? Throw it into a fire? Drop it into the Void?"
"There is no fire hot enough. No void deep enough," the Remnant said. "The Thread has chosen him. You cannot unweave what has already bound."
Corin swallowed. The Thread was warm against his skin, and beneath that warmth he felt something else: depth. It was like staring into a well that never ended.
He closed his fingers around it.
"Then I need to know what it wants."
"You will regret learning," the Remnant said. "But come. There is one place left within the Archive that may help you understand."
He turned, walking between floating shelves and fractured walkways. The Archive bent oddly around him — Threads flexing and adjusting to his passage. He was more than a Remnant. He was part of the structure.
Fira gave Corin a tight look. "Are we really following a half-preserved madman into a place filled with unregulated reality?"
Corin nodded. "Yes."
Ashlyn sighed. "Of course we are."
They followed.
—
The room was at the lowest level of the Archive — buried beneath strata of history, sealed by ancient glyphs that vibrated as they passed. The stone door swung open with a shuddering groan, revealing a chamber lit not by fire or spelllight, but by suspended Threads — hundreds of them — frozen mid-weave in a three-dimensional diagram.
It looked like a model of the Loom itself. But not the Loom they knew.
"What is this?" Corin whispered.
The Remnant spoke without turning. "This is what the Loom once was. Before humans touched it. Before the Orders reshaped it. This is the untouched Pattern. The source of the world's design — before time stabilized it."
Corin stepped closer. The Threads in this model twisted in shapes that made his vision blur — spirals within spirals, forms that didn't obey gravity or dimension. It felt less like observing a system and more like being observed by one.
"The First Pattern created this?" Ashlyn asked, her voice tight.
"No," the Remnant said. "This was the First Pattern. Before the Loom was a fabric, it was a mind. Or perhaps an instinct. It wove not for order, but for curiosity. For growth. For hunger."
Corin reached toward the model — and the golden Thread in his hand sparked. Threads within the room vibrated in response.
"They're reacting," he said.
"Because they remember," the Remnant replied. "You are the first since the Spiral Sealing to hold that Thread. Its resonance is awakening the buried pattern."
A sudden jolt of power surged through the chamber. The floating diagram shimmered — and a figure appeared in its center.
It wasn't human.
It had no eyes, no face, only the vague silhouette of a tall, robed presence woven entirely from shifting Threads. Its outline blurred and rewrote itself constantly, as if its form was an idea struggling to be born.
Ashlyn backed up a step. "What the hell is that?"
The Remnant's voice was reverent. "An echo. A memory of the Weft Warden."
Fira whispered, "The Warden of the First Pattern…"
The figure raised its head — or what resembled a head — and spoke. Its voice was not a voice at all, but a harmony of Threads twisting in the air. Each sound reverberated through the Loom like an ancient bell.
You… are not yet woven.
Corin froze. "What… what does that mean?"
The Weft Warden took a step forward. Threads trembled along the walls.
Your Thread is a fragment. A beginning without a tether. The Pattern waits.
Corin's breath caught in his throat. "Waits for what?"
The figure shimmered.
To see if you can finish the weave.
Suddenly, the golden Thread in Corin's hand surged with energy. A rush of visions poured into his mind — glimpses of ancient cities shaped by Threads, of Loombeasts stitched from broken thought, of a sky that cracked and healed itself. And in the center of it all, a presence.
Not malevolent.
Not benevolent.
Just watching.
Waiting.
Then, silence.
Corin dropped to one knee, breathing hard. The Thread dimmed again, quieting.
The figure was gone.
Ashlyn caught his arm. "Corin! Are you—?"
"I'm fine," he whispered. "I just saw…"
He looked up at the Remnant.
"There's more than one pattern."
The Remnant nodded slowly. "Yes. And you've just taken the first step into a war between them."