Five Days Later — The Awakening of the Thread Master
The cocoon split with a sound like silk tearing under a blade.
From within stepped not the armored, many-eyed predator they knew — but a short, slender human form. Pale, short hair brushed the back of the neck, catching the light like spun silver. Sharp crimson eyes swept the air, narrowed in mild embarrassment at the number of faces staring.
The body looked to be that of a fourteen-year-old girl — soft-faced, almost delicate — but the stance was unmistakable.
This was Ren.
He flexed pale fingers, tracing the faint red glow where threads still stitched into his skin. When he spoke, it was his same deep, dry rumble — the voice jarringly at odds with the fragile appearance.
"...I'm not keeping this look full-time."
They crowded around him with relief, and Yutu shoved a bowl into his hands before he could protest — steaming meat stew, flatbread, roasted roots. His hunger twisted in his gut, but he ate anyway, the broth warming him like a clean fire.
When he finally stepped outside the rest hall, he stopped in his tracks.
Threadrest had changed.
Wooden houses now stood where crude shelters had been. A sturdy border wall rose around the village, logs stacked and bound in perfect joinery. Elders, once bent and frail, now carried timbers on their shoulders as easily as kindling.
Beastkin — fox, deer, and wolf — patrolled in organized units, Ghur leading them in quiet authority.Kaela stood atop the gate's watchtower, her posture radiating command.Yutu, lean and dangerous, barked quiet orders as she studied a map in the dirt — the strategist's mind clear in her sharp gestures.
The goblins bustled at cookfires, stirring great pots, tending spit-roasts — feeding the workers and guards alike. Even their skin, once mottled green, now glowed a rich earthen brown.
Then he saw the gates.
A line stretched from them into the forest — goblins, beastkin, fox-kits, hare-kin, even wolves with watchful golden eyes. All waiting. All silent. And among them… shapes of moss and bark, branches shifting like arms. Treants.
"Lord Thread Master"
Yutu stepped forward, voice steady.
"They've been coming since the second day you slept. The forest itself has been moving toward us. They waited. They want to see you. To be named. To be part of Threadrest."
He blinked. "...Named? Wait, what—"
"Our Lord," Yutu said simply.
Ren's head snapped toward her. "Lord?"
"Yes," Ghur rumbled, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Kaela added, "You carry mana that speaks of a goddess. The guardian of this forest answers to you."
"I'm not—"
"No more buts or whats," Ghur cut him off. "It's already decided. You are our Thread Master. Our Lord."
Lukas approached from the inner village, moving with silent, deliberate steps. His posture had changed — no longer the cowering boy, but a lean scout. He knelt.
"My lord—"
Ren's brow twitched. "Don't start with that lord thing either."
Lukas gave the faintest grin but continued. "Scouts report movement from the south. Not slavers, not warriors. Adventurers."
Ren's gaze sharpened.
"How do we deal with it…?"
Lukas' report came in low and precise.
"From the south — four travelers. Swordsman. Healer. Archer. Thief. Young, but not amateurs. They don't feel your mana — they're here for the dungeon. Most likely on a guild quest."
Ren leaned back on the wooden railing, pale fingers tapping idly. "So… they're not here for me. They just want to poke their noses into the spider's nest."
Ghur's golden eyes narrowed. "Even if they don't know you're here, the dungeon is ours now. They'll disturb the lower floors. The webs. Your silk."
Kaela's voice was colder. "And they might see the villagers — the goblins, the beastkin. If they're guild-trained, that means reporting back to the nearest city. Which means slavers again… eventually."
Yutu's lips quirked into a thoughtful smile. "Or we let them enter. See if they're worth keeping."
Ren tilted his head, half amused, half calculating. "Keeping? You make it sound like livestock."
"Not livestock," Yutu corrected. "Assets. Or corpses, depending on how they act."
The idea hung in the air for a moment.Outside the gate, the treants swayed in the wind. The line of forest refugees still waited patiently for their names. Somewhere deep within the dungeon, the threads hummed in anticipation.
Finally, Ren spoke."Let them in. But…" His crimson eyes burned, a faint, dangerous light dancing within them. "…if they touch anything that belongs to Threadrest, they don't leave."
The order was simple. The meaning, final.
The adventurers' boots sank lightly into the moss-carpeted ground of Oukra, the air heavy with the damp scent of old rain and flowering fungi. The forest's canopy pressed close overhead, blotting out much of the daylight, leaving the path toward the dungeon in a cool, green shadow.
A swordsman in steel half-plate took point, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the gloom. Behind him, the healer — a young woman with her hair bound in a neat braid — clutched a worn staff, lips murmuring quiet prayers under her breath. The archer walked light-footed, bow already strung, gaze flicking from tree to tree. The thief lingered near the back, hands twitching toward the twin daggers at his belt.
They were still young — not children, but green enough to move with that eager, nervous haste that marked amateurs. They had one purpose: collect spider silk from the dungeon. A simple quest, or so the guild board had promised.
But with each step deeper, the forest seemed to tighten around them. Branches arched low, threads of silver webbing drifted lazily across their path, and the distant clicking — faint and irregular — teased at the edges of their hearing.
The swordsman paused once, fingers tightening on the hilt of his weapon."…Anyone else feel like we're being watched?"
No one answered outright, but the archer's hand stayed near her quiver from then on.
They reached the dungeon entrance — a jagged tear in the base of a great stone ridge, framed in ancient roots. Cold air breathed from within, carrying the faint tang of iron and the dry musk of old predators.
Inside, the darkness swallowed them. The walls shimmered in places with dew and strands of webbing thick as rope. They encountered the first monsters quickly — skittering, dog-sized spiders, swift and aggressive. Steel flashed, arrows flew, the healer's chants rang soft and sure.
They pressed deeper.
And somewhere in the unseen dark ahead, Ren waited.
Not with the intention to strike — not yet. He crouched in silence, the threads of the dungeon humming faintly against his senses. He could feel their footsteps through the web-laced stone, hear the rasp of their breath, smell the sweat and faint mana clinging to them.
He did not need to hunt them.They would come to him.And when they did… they would see him.