Morning light filtered through the Blackpine canopy as the group broke camp. The cursed thread in Nyra's satchel tugged insistently eastward, vibrating like a plucked string. Button carried the packs with silent resolve, Puff complained about breakfast, Biscuit crowed about victory, and Sprout slithered moodily, muttering about "bad air."
Nyra barely heard them. The tug of the black thread gnawed at her thoughts, guiding them toward the coast—toward Greymoor, the great port city. She whispered to herself: "Something's waiting there."
Tovan walked at her side, studying her carefully. "You've gone quiet. That usually means trouble."
"Not trouble," Nyra said, clutching the satchel. "Answers."
Puff fluttered up to her shoulder, tilting his stitched head. "Answers taste good? Because breakfast didn't."
Biscuit hopped from her satchel and circled Button's legs, crowing, "Victory breakfast! We need meat, not answers!"
Sprout's vines slithered, brushing the dirt. "Bad air ahead… bad air always means trouble."
Nyra forced a smile at their chatter, but her eyes stayed fixed on the east. Even Button, normally calm, rumbled uneasily, his button eyes flashing as though he sensed what lay ahead.
The port city should have been alive with color: sails unfurling, fishmongers shouting, markets brimming with fabrics and foreign wares. Instead, the streets carried an edge of panic. Merchants hurried to shutter their stalls. Guards barked orders. Mothers dragged children inside.
At first Nyra thought it was fear of her—but then she saw the beast.
A patchwork hound the size of a horse tore down the street, its body stitched from multiple corpses. Seams glowed black. A guard's spear snapped against its flank before the creature bowled him aside. The crowd screamed.
"Button!" Nyra cried.
The bear surged forward, intercepting the hound. The two collided with a thunderous crash, scattering market crates. Puff darted overhead, spitting flame. Biscuit launched himself into the fray, tiny wings beating furiously. Sprout lashed vines across the cobbles, tripping the beast long enough for Button to slam it down.
Nyra's thread shot forward, silver glinting. She wove fast, unraveling the cursed seams until the beast split into lifeless scraps of hide and bone. The crowd gasped.
Tovan wiped his blade. "I'd say welcome to Greymoor."
They soon discovered the hound was not alone. The city crawled with patchwork horrors—birds stitched from crow and bat wings, wolves dragging themselves on centipede legs, a bull with two heads and seams glowing like molten brands. The guards fought valiantly, but for each beast they struck down, two more staggered from the alleys.
Nyra fought with frantic speed. Her silver thread darted like lightning, unpicking seams mid-strike. Yet with each unraveling, her body trembled more. Button shielded her constantly, growling when she swayed too far. Tovan stayed close too, slashing away attackers before they could reach her.
"We can't keep this pace," he hissed, his voice strained. "Whoever's making them—"
"Is close," Nyra finished. She could feel it. The cursed thread in her satchel pulled like a compass gone mad. Even the plushmonsters joined in: Puff huffed flames at the edges of alleys to scatter beasts, Biscuit darted between legs biting at seams, and Sprout lashed vines around one horror's throat before tossing it aside with a whip-like crack.
Tovan risked a quick glance at her as he drove his blade through a stitched crow-beast. "You're shaking, Nyra. This thread of yours is eating you alive."
Nyra gritted her teeth, sweat glistening on her brow. "No—it's guiding me. We're almost at the heart of it."
At the city square, the horrors suddenly parted, retreating to the shadows. In the silence, a figure stepped forward—cloak stitched from black fabric that seemed to ripple like liquid. Black thread coiled lazily between their fingers.
Nyra froze, her heart hammering. The figure tilted their head, gaze sweeping across her silver thread, then to Button's looming form. Slowly, their voice carried across the square: "So it's true. The Stitcher lives."
"Who are you?" Nyra demanded, silver thread sparking in her hands. "Why are you doing this?"
The Unraveler's lips curled into a faint smile. "Because I can. Because this world has forgotten what threads are meant for. Creation… destruction… they are the same weave. And you—" Their voice softened. "You are proof. I made you once, and now you stand against me."
Nyra's breath caught. "Made… me?"
Button roared, charging. The Unraveler flicked their wrist, and shadow threads snapped taut, hurling the great bear back. He landed hard, growling, seams strained.
Tovan dragged Nyra back, but she held firm, glaring at the figure. "You're lying!"
The Unraveler chuckled darkly. "Am I? You feel it, don't you? The whispers when you close your eyes. The way the world bends to your stitches. You are mine, little one. Mine to weave. Mine to unravel."
Nyra's hands shook, silver thread glowing so brightly it burned her fingertips. Button staggered to his feet, standing protectively in front of her. The Unraveler's smile widened faintly, then they snapped their fingers. The horrors surged again, covering their retreat into the alleys.
The city square was chaos. Guards rallied to strike down the remaining horrors, but fear lingered long after. Citizens whispered: The Stitcher fought the Dark Weaver. Some looked at Nyra with awe, others with dread.
Tovan sheathed his sword, staring hard at her. "What did they mean? Made you? Nyra, what aren't you telling me?"
Nyra's throat tightened. She didn't answer. She couldn't. Instead, she touched Button's arm, steadying herself against his soft bulk. The silver thread still pulsed in her satchel, hot as fire.
In her heart, a question she dared not voice: What if they weren't lying?
Tovan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "If they're telling the truth, Nyra… you deserve to know. And I deserve to hear it from you, not from some shadow in the street." His tone was firm but not unkind.
Nyra lowered her gaze. "I… don't know the whole truth myself." Her voice trembled. "But I will find out. And when I do, you'll hear it from me."
Button rumbled low, stepping closer. He brushed his paw gently against her shoulder, as if to reassure her that whatever she discovered, he would remain by her side.