Rain hammered the parched earth with heavy, leaden blows, as if the sky itself wept for what had befallen the Great Loom Chamber. I ran without glancing back, my legs weighted down as if every step bore the burden of a thousand accusations. Blood from the gash in my side seeped through my clothes, dripping onto the withered grass—each drop vanished into the soil moments later, as if the world itself refused to leave any trace of my existence.
Behind me, magical proclamations boomed across the heavens, the very same voice that had once announced my appointment as Keeper of the Threads: "Error Entity Number SIX has fled. Sheltering, speaking to, or naming him is forbidden. All who defy this shall be deemed traitors to fate and unspun from this weave forever."
I shook my head, pressing my palm harder against my wound to slow the bleeding. Once I had worn that number with pride—SIX, marking me as one of six chosen weavers entrusted to guard the world's balance. Now it was a sentence of death.
My destination was the Forgotten Expanse: land severed from the main weave, where the threads of destiny had frayed, snapped, or been discarded entirely. They said there was no escape from there, that anyone who stepped past its borders would be trapped in endless, unresolved loops of fate. But to one already declared nonexistent, it was the only home I might ever find.
The deeper I ventured, the stranger the land became: trees with brown leaves that never turned green, rivers flowing uphill, great boulders shifting only when no one looked at them. Here, the absolute rule of fate was no more than a slack rope—easy to cut, if one dared.
Night had fully fallen when I reached the mouth of a stone cave hidden beneath a high cliff. The rain had turned to a torrential downpour, so I slipped inside for shelter. The air was cool, smelling of damp earth, but carried another scent too—old paper and ink dried for decades.
In the darkest corner leaned a rotting wooden chest. When I eased it open, I found a book whose cover had faded almost to nothing. The script on the first page was barely legible, yet I read it clearly; it was written in the ancient tongue taught only to the Highest Weavers:
"The Great Loom was not the beginning. It is the lock. It was forged not to keep balance, but to silence the question: why must our fates be written by others? The thread called wrong is often the only free thread there is."
My heart hammered against my ribs. All my life I had been taught the Loom was a gift from the heavens, the source of all good. These words told a different truth entirely. I turned page after page, every line tearing away the veil of lies I had always known.
Suddenly, a pebble shifted behind me.
I spun around, crimson-black power already coiling at my fingertips. Standing there was a girl of about seventeen, clad in a tattered grey cloak, her long wet hair clinging to her shoulders. In her hand she held a short blade that glowed like moonlight—but she did not lift it to strike. Her eyes were the same gold as the original threads of destiny, yet bright with a courage I had rarely seen in anyone else.
"Don't attack," she said softly, raising both hands to show she meant no harm. "I haven't come to hand you over to the Weavers' Guard."
"Who are you?" I asked, not lowering my guard. "How did you find me? And why are you not afraid? Everyone says I am a monster who can erase anyone's fate."
She gave a thin smile, bitter yet unbroken. "I am Elara. And I know who you are—Lucius, Error SIX. I have been looking for you for three months, ever since I heard there was someone unbound by the pattern."
She took one step forward, pressing a hand to her own chest. "Three months ago, my mother fell terribly ill. I went to the Thread Temple to beg for help. Do you know what they told me? That her death was already written, and changing it would unravel someone else's design. They looked at me as if saving the person I loved was a crime against the whole world."
Her voice wavered, but she held back tears. "I will not accept a fate written for me, or for those I love. They say you are different—that you dare defy what everyone else calls absolute truth. So… will you teach me how to do the same?"
I stood silent for a long moment, staring at her. I had fought alone for so long, convinced I was the only one who saw how broken this world was. Now here was proof: countless others bore this same injustice, trapped in lives they never chose.
Wind gusted into the cave, carrying the distant rumble of thunder. Outside the sky remained dark, but inside me, something shifted. My struggle was no longer just to prove I was no mistake. It was to carve a path for everyone like Elara.
"I cannot promise it will be easy," I said at last, lowering my hand slowly. "The Weavers' Guard will hunt us both. The risk is terrible, and we may never win."
Elara shook her head firmly, her eyes shining with hope. "It is better to fight and lose than to wait for fate to crush you without lifting a finger."
I nodded, then gestured to the book lying on the stone. "Then we start here. First, we must learn exactly what they have hidden behind the Great Loom."
Far above, the shadow of a winged shape swept across the moon—the first sign that the Guard had tracked me this far. But for the first time in my life, I was no longer alone.