The festival fire had barely cooled before the verdict came.
The priests stood at the heart of the square, staffs raised, robes snapping in the wind. Their faces were pale from the memory of the lanterns—how the flames had turned blue, how the air itself had seemed to breathe with otherworldly cold. Behind them, the villagers crowded together, whispering, their eyes darting toward the hut on the edge of town.
It did not take long for the sentence.
"He must leave," the eldest priest declared, his voice thin but sharp. "The curse grows stronger. If he remains, the village will be swallowed in madness."
No one argued.
By dusk, they stood outside his door, flanked by villagers clutching charms, salt, and prayers. When he opened the door, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, the crowd recoiled as though a demon had emerged.
"Well, well," he said, grinning. "Is this a parade for me? You shouldn't have."
"This is no jest," the priest snapped. "You are to leave this place. Tonight."
He stared at them, wide-eyed, then broke into laughter. "Exiled? At last! I was wondering how long it would take before you admitted you don't like me."
"You bring calamity," the priest said.
"And free entertainment," he replied, bowing with exaggerated grace. "But very well. If Heaven doesn't want me here, I suppose I'll give the rest of the world a chance to enjoy my company."
The villagers flinched at his laughter, muttering curses under their breath. Some spat. Others made signs of protection against evil.
Yet as he slung a small satchel over his shoulder and walked past them, there was no anger in his step. Only a strange, carefree bounce, as though banishment were not a punishment, but a game.
"Farewell, my dear jailers!" he called over his shoulder. "Try not to miss me too much."
No one answered.
---
Whispers on the Road
The road beyond the village was narrow and dust-choked, winding through hills that smelled of pine and rain. Alone, he whistled nonsense tunes and swung his cracked spoon like a sword.
But when the sun fell and shadows stretched long, the laughter quieted.
The whispers returned.
They rose from the silence like threads unraveling in his skull, not words but meanings—fractured, dizzying. Images filled his mind: the Heavenly Loom tearing apart, gods screaming, stars flickering like dying embers. And always, in the center of it, his own grin, sharp and merciless.
He stumbled, clutching his head. "Enough," he hissed. "If you want to drive me mad, you'll have to try harder. I was born laughing."
The voices hissed back, neither mocking nor kind. They were endless, a storm of thought not his own. Yet beneath the madness, he felt it: something vast, watching, waiting.
He threw his head back and laughed at the sky. "Is this the best you've got, Heaven? Whispers in the dark? You'll have to do more than gossip to break me."
The stars did not answer. But they shifted—just slightly, just enough for him to notice.
---
The Town of Threads
Two days later, he arrived at a town by the river. It was larger than his village, with stone walls and markets buzzing with color. Yet everywhere he looked, he saw the same thing: fate.
Merchants wore charms of golden thread around their necks, boasting of prosperous futures foretold by oracles. Soldiers bore tattoos of crimson lines, proud of their destined valor. Even beggars rattled bowls while muttering prayers that their thread might one day change.
Fate was law here.
He walked through the crowd, smirking. "Threads, threads, threads. You all look like puppets dangling from Heaven's fingers."
No one heard him—or rather, no one wanted to. People stepped aside, frowning at his ragged clothes, his too-bright eyes, the strange aura that seemed to ripple off his skin.
He stopped at a street corner where an old man sat cross-legged, reading threads in bowls of water for coins. A line of villagers waited, each eager for their destiny.
The boy grinned, crouched low, and whispered to the nearest man in line: "He'll tell you your wife is unfaithful."
The man blinked, confused, but when his turn came, the old man's face went pale as he read the water. "I… I see betrayal in your thread. From your own household."
The man staggered back, furious, demanding answers. The line dissolved into chaos. The boy whistled innocently and strolled away, laughing to himself.
---
Chaos as Kindness
That night, as he lingered by the riverbank, he heard shouting.
Three armored soldiers had cornered a girl selling fruit. Her basket lay overturned, apples rolling into the mud.
"You haven't paid tribute," one soldier growled, raising his spear. "The tax is fate. Your thread is worthless—so pay with coin."
"I have nothing," the girl pleaded, clutching the last of her fruit. "Please."
The boy leaned against a tree, watching. He twirled his cracked spoon in his hand and grinned.
"Excuse me, fine gentlemen!" he called, striding forward. "But surely three mighty warriors don't need to rob a fruit stand to prove their strength?"
The soldiers turned, sneering. "Get lost, beggar."
"Beggar? No, no. I'm much worse." He tapped his chest. "I'm the Cursed One Under Heaven."
They laughed. "Never heard of you."
"You will," he said, and dropped the spoon into the mud.
The moment it touched the earth, the ground buckled. The soldiers staggered as cracks split the cobblestones, water gushing up from the river as though the world itself had tripped over his joke. Spears snapped in their hands, armor warped like wax.
They fell screaming, scrambling to escape as the earth calmed again.
The girl stared at him, trembling. "What… what are you?"
He picked up his muddy spoon, dusted it off, and winked. "A god-killer, obviously."
She dropped to her knees, bowing low. "Thank you, great one!"
But he only laughed, sharp and wild, walking away before she could say more.
---
The Road Ahead
That night, he sat by the river, watching the moon's reflection ripple in the water. The whispers returned, soft but insistent. He did not fight them this time.
Instead, he listened.
Threads breaking.
Fate unraveling.
Gods afraid.
His reflection in the water smiled back at him, twisted and bright.
"So that's it, then," he murmured. "I'm not here to follow a thread. I'm here to pull them all loose."
The stars above flickered like nervous candles. He raised his spoon in salute.
"Then let's see how funny your world looks when I tear it apart."
He laughed again, and the sound carried over the river, wild and endless.