The words echoed in Arian's mind long after Kaelor left. The chamber was silent, save for the dripping of water from the stone ceiling and his own heartbeat. Something deep inside him had changed. He felt different, awakened to a potential he could not yet name.
Outside the fortress, the sky was gray, the clouds heavy with rain yet again. But inside, Arian felt something more potent than the storm—something unstoppable. Power. Responsibility. Fate.
And the shadows outside were only the beginning.
---
Days blended into nights as Arian's life became a relentless cycle of training, observation, and restless thought. The fortress of the **Fifth Gate** felt like a world apart from the one he had known—cold, imposing, yet strangely protective. Every corridor echoed with the whispers of history, every torch flickered shadows that danced like spirits over the stone walls. He could feel the weight of the Guardians' eyes on him constantly, assessing, judging, waiting for the moment he might fail—or succeed.
Master Kaelor finally explained the truth behind what had been happening inside him.
"Every human possesses threads," Kaelor said during a quiet lesson in the main hall, the faint glow of sigils illuminating the stone floor. "Blood threads. They are extensions of your life force, connecting mind, body, and soul. Through them, one can channel energy, enhance physical ability, and perceive beyond ordinary senses. Most have one or two. You… have five."
Arian's eyes widened. "Five? That's… impossible."
"Impossible for the unchosen," Kaelor corrected, his gaze piercing. "And one—your fifth thread—has been forbidden for centuries. Dangerous. Untamed. Its power is… tied to time itself."
A chill ran down Arian's spine. Time? The word echoed inside his head. He recalled flashes during the storm—the disintegration of the creatures, the inexplicable surge of power in his chest. Could this thread have done that? Could it really manipulate something as fundamental as time?
He flexed his fingers, and the faint glow of red lines appeared along his skin, pulsing like living veins. He jumped back, startled. The threads were alive, whispering, responsive. They were not just power—they were a presence, a consciousness almost, waiting to be understood… or obeyed.
---
Training was brutal. The Guardians had him spar with shadows called **Living Shadows**, creatures that mimicked the ones that had destroyed Eryndale. They were faster than any normal human, silent, and unyielding. Their claws could slice stone, their forms could seep through walls. Every encounter ended with exhaustion, bruises, and small triumphs.
Arian learned to extend his threads from his fingertips, shaping them into razor-thin strands that could cut through wood and stone, tangle enemies, or form delicate traps. But the fifth thread remained elusive—flickering, pulsing irregularly, like a heartbeat out of sync with the rest.
It whispered to him at night, in a language he could not understand. And sometimes, in the dim torchlight, he swore he saw faint images in the threads themselves: fleeting glimpses of a past that wasn't his, faces that screamed silently, places he had never been.
---
It was during one of these sessions that he first encountered **Lianna** properly.
She moved like a blade in training, her strikes precise, her footwork flawless. She observed him for days before engaging. When she finally approached, she did so with a mix of curiosity and caution.
"You're strong in theory," she said one morning, sweeping his legs out from under him effortlessly, "but you have no rhythm. No flow. And your awareness… is scattered."
Arian groaned, lying on the stone floor, the chill seeping through his tunic. "Thanks. That… really helps."
Lianna rolled her eyes, brushing dirt from her gloves. "You're lucky I'm patient. Most would have broken by now."
Yet beneath her cold exterior, Arian began to notice subtleties: the slight twitch of her hand when he barely avoided a strike, the rapid inhale when he caught her off guard. And though she never admitted it, he felt the faint pull of something more—something human beneath the warrior's discipline.
---
It was not until he met **Sera** that the full scope of his power began to become clear.
Sera was nothing like Lianna. She was quiet, analytical, and unnervingly calm. Silver hair framed her face, and her eyes were sharp, like blades that cut through pretense and hesitation. She seemed immune to fear or excitement, her attention always calculated, precise.
When Arian solved a complex puzzle on the training wall faster than anyone expected, Sera approached. She handed him a scroll, her voice calm, almost detached.
"This," she said, "is your fifth thread. It emits temporal fluctuations."
Arian frowned. "Temporal… like… time?"
"Yes," Sera said, meeting his gaze. "You survived when no one else did because this thread connects you to time itself. Your presence here is… significant. Unique. Dangerous."
The words left a chill in his chest. He had survived the destruction of his village by chance—or had he? Had the fifth thread somehow intervened? He looked at his hands, trembling, feeling the faint pulse of the forbidden thread beneath his skin.
Sera's eyes lingered on his hands a moment too long. He sensed her fascination, though she tried to mask it.
---
Training intensified further. He endured long hours of combat simulations, combining martial skill with thread manipulation. Shadows surged around him, closing in, testing his reflexes and resolve. Every failure brought exhaustion; every success brought the faint hum of his fifth thread, pulsing stronger with each heartbeat.
At night, when the fortress was silent except for the drip of water from the stone ceiling, Arian would sit in meditation. He focused on the threads, feeling them vibrate, stretch, and intertwine. The fifth thread was unpredictable, almost sentient. It pulled him toward unknown directions, toward something in the past… or the future. He couldn't tell which.
He began to dream of faces he did not recognize—faces full of sorrow and rage, of a boy hiding under a table as flames engulfed everything, and a man with eyes like steel staring at him in warning.
Was it memory? Vision? Or… something else?
---
One evening, after another grueling day, Master Kaelor approached him. Torchlight flickered across the hall, casting long shadows along the walls.
"You have endured much," Kaelor said, his tone grave. "But endurance is not enough. You must understand. Threads are not tools. They are extensions of your soul. And the fifth thread… is a thread of destiny."
Arian swallowed. "Destiny… what do you mean?"
Kaelor's eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. "You were spared. You survived when all others perished. That is no accident. Your path will intertwine with forces beyond your comprehension. Threads will guide you—but they will demand as much as they give."
Arian's chest tightened. He had always sought purpose, yet now it seemed to arrive like a blade, sharp and unavoidable. The emptiness inside him, the void that had haunted him since childhood, had found a new meaning: survival, power… and a responsibility he could not yet understand.
Outside, the storm had returned. Rain pelted the mountainside, wind screaming through the cracks in the stone. Inside, Arian felt alive—more alive than ever. Every heartbeat, every breath, every thread of blood energy pulsing within him reminded him that he was no longer a boy from a simple village. He was something else. Something far greater.
The guardians had revealed only the beginning.
And the world outside was already changing.
---