The Weave spread before them like an endless ocean of light.
Not bright.Not blinding.Soft—almost gentle—yet layered with a depth that made the air dense and the world feel thin and fragile beneath its glow.
Aarinen stared into its shifting expanse.Thousands—millions—of threads pulsed in quiet rhythm, weaving past one another, touching, breaking, binding again.Some threads glimmered with the clarity of a memory.Others dimmed like dying breaths.Some were straight.Many were tangled.A few were frayed, curling like burnt ends of rope.
And one thread—just one—glowed differently.
Not with light.With refusal.
A faint dark-gold, almost amber.It wound crookedly, resisting the pull of every thread that brushed it.
Aarinen felt the tug behind his ribs before he saw it.
The Unmarked followed his gaze."You see it."
Aarinen nodded."Yes."
"What does it feel like?" the Unmarked asked quietly.
"Like…"Aarinen tested the sensation—strange, familiar, unwelcome, inevitable."Like remembering something I never lived."
The Unmarked exhaled."Good."
Rafi, who had regained consciousness only minutes ago, promptly passed out again.
Saevel dragged him upright with one hand and shook him like a wet cloak. "Rafi. You're missing the most important lecture of your life."
Rafi groaned. "My life is short. I am making peace with this."
Torren crossed his arms. "If your life ends here, at least it will end while learning important theory."
Rafi's wail echoed faintly across the Weave.Saevel smacked Torren's shoulder. "Shut up."
Lirael did not join their bickering.
Her eyes locked onto the dark-gold thread with a rare expression—fear.Real, quiet fear.
She whispered, "That thread… it's fighting the Weave."
"Not fighting," the Unmarked corrected."Evading. It knows the Weave's rules better than the Weave knows itself."
Aarinen frowned. "How can a thread know anything?"
"Some threads belong to those who listen."The Unmarked placed a hand on Aarinen's shoulder. "And some belong to those who refuse."
Aarinen followed the shifting path of the thread.
It twisted.It resisted.It bled sparks when the Weave tried to force it into a pattern.
It did not break.
Aarinen whispered, "This is mine."
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
The Unmarked gazed into the golden rebellion with a heaviness in his stance."It means your fate does not move with the world."
Aarinen hesitated."So it moves… alone."
"Exactly."
Aarinen felt his breath deepen.Not with fear.With a strange, reluctant understanding.
Saevel stepped closer to the two men."I don't understand. If Aarinen's thread refuses the Weave, doesn't that make him—"
"Dangerous?" Torren supplied.
"Yes," Saevel admitted.
"Correct," the Unmarked said.
Rafi whimpered. "To whom?"
"Everyone," Lirael answered softly. "Including himself."
Aarinen ignored the churn behind him and studied the thread again.
Its defiance felt familiar.Almost intimate.Like watching a part of himself that existed outside his own bones.
He asked quietly, "Was yours like this?"
The Unmarked's face tightened."For a time."
"And then?"
"It straightened," he said. "I forced it to."
"Why?"
"Because I believed the Weave must be destroyed. And obedience would get me close enough to strike at its heart."
Saevel inhaled sharply."You walked the obedient path to break the obedient world."
The Unmarked did not look at her."Yes."
"And you failed," Aarinen said.
"Yes."
Aarinen turned back to the golden thread."I don't want obedience."
The Unmarked nodded.
"You won't have it."
Rafi squeaked. "Good. Terrifying, but good."
Lirael spoke next, her voice steady though her fingers trembled. "Unmarked, what exactly are you trying to teach him?"
The Unmarked slowly raised his hand, and the air shimmered.
The Weave answered.
The threads closest to Aarinen coiled, turning toward him, as though awaiting something.
A test.A command.A demand.
Aarinen tensed."What is this?"
"A lesson," the Unmarked said."And a warning."
Lirael steadied herself. "This is too soon."
"It has to be now," the Unmarked replied.
Saevel stepped in front of Aarinen instinctively."Explain before you make him do something that might destroy him."
Rafi peeked out from behind her. "Or destroy us."
"Or reality," Torren added helpfully.
The Unmarked stepped forward—calm, patient, unwavering.
"Aarinen's thread is unruly. It slips the Weave. It pulls against what the world demands."He paused."It is the opposite of mine."
Aarinen frowned."Opposite how?"
"My thread obeyed even when I defied," the Unmarked said."Yours defies even if you obey."
Aarinen stiffened."That sounds like a curse."
"No."The Unmarked's voice softened, almost gently."It is potential."
The word dropped like a stone into a well.
The Weave rippled.
Saevel tightened her jaw. "Potential for what?"
The Unmarked answered with the calm certainty that defined him.
"To unmake fate."
Lirael's eyes widened.Torren swore.Rafi fainted again.
Aarinen did not flinch.
He simply looked at the glowing defiant thread and asked:
"How?"
The Unmarked raised both hands.
"Begin by touching it."
Aarinen stepped forward.
Saevel grabbed his wrist."Aarinen, wait. You don't know what that will do."
He met her eyes—steady, unwavering."I need to know who I am."
Saevel swallowed but released him.
Aarinen took another step toward the thread.
The Unmarked spoke, voice low but firm."When you touch it, the Weave will resist. It will try to force you into alignment."
"And if I resist back?"
"Then it will try harder."
Aarinen nodded.
"And if I fail?"
The Unmarked did not soften the answer.
"It will devour you."
Rafi regained consciousness in time to hear that and whispered hoarsely, "Aarinen, maybe pick a different hobby."
Aarinen didn't turn.
The golden thread shimmered strangely, as if aware of him—expectant.Waiting.
Aarinen reached toward it.
His fingertips brushed the surface.
The world shuddered.
A Thread's Rebellion
The Weave reacted instantly.
A pulse of light surged outward—not warm, not gentle,but sharp, brittle, like brittle bone snapping.
Aarinen's breath seized.
The thread twisted violently, arcing away from his hand—but then snapped back, striking his palm like a live wire.
Pain erupted.A strange pain—clean, bright, almost euphoric.A pain that made him want to laugh.
And he did.
A single fractured laugh escaped him.
Saevel jerked forward.Rafi screamed.Torren cursed.Lirael flinched.
The Unmarked closed his eyes.
"It begins."
Aarinen doubled over, gripping his stomach.
The laughter tore out of him in ragged bursts—not because of his curse.Not because of pain.
Because something in the thread felt like recognition.
Like two pieces colliding that were never meant to fit but found each other anyway.
Aarinen gasped, "It knows me."
The thread pulsed violently.The Weave swayed like grass under a storm.
The Unmarked grabbed Aarinen's shoulders."Breathe."
Aarinen tried—But the Weave bent.
Not around the Unmarked.Not around the others.Around him.
A vortex of threads twisted toward Aarinen, pulled as if he were gravity.
Saevel stumbled backward.Rafi fell to his knees.Torren shielded his face.Lirael steadied the ground with a whispered command.
The Unmarked held Aarinen upright.
"This is why you must learn," he said."Before fate learns you."
Aarinen's breath tore from him.
He forced his hand open, palm against the trembling thread.
Its golden light spilled into his skin.
Visions exploded behind his eyes—
A courtyard.A child running across stone.A woman kneeling, smiling, holding out a small sun-shaped pendant.The smell of jasmine.The warmth of a hand on his head.A scream.A door slamming.A shadow.A fire.A whisper.
"Laugh, child. Laugh at pain. It will keep you alive."
Aarinen gasped and nearly fell.
The Unmarked held him steady.
"You saw her," he said quietly.
Aarinen swallowed hard."Yes."
"She was stronger than any of us."
Aarinen didn't speak.He couldn't.
The golden thread settled—still trembling, but no longer lashing.
Aarinen stood shaking, hand still outstretched.
The Unmarked lowered his voice.
"Again."
Aarinen looked at him with raw exhaustion."That almost killed me."
"That was a touch," the Unmarked said."Now you learn to pull."
Rafi let out a strangled noise."NO. No pulling. No touching. No anything. Let's all lie down and reconsider our life choices."
Saevel put a hand on Aarinen's back."You don't have to do this today."
Aarinen straightened.
His knees shook.His lungs burned.His hand trembled violently.
But his voice held steady.
"Yes. I do."
The Unmarked watched him with unreadable eyes—neither proud nor troubled.Simply present.
Aarinen took a breath.
And reached again.
This time he did not touch the thread.He anchored to it.
The Weave screamed.
A sound with no sound.A wrenching full-body sensation that made Saevel drop to her knees, Torren stagger, and Lirael cry out.
Rafi fainted a fourth time.
Aarinen's vision blurred.The golden thread wrapped around his wrist like a living rope—pulling him toward the Weave's core.
He fought.
The Weave strained.
He resisted.
The Weave pulled harder.
Something in his chest cracked—Not bone.Not flesh.
A hidden barrier.
A lock he had never known existed.
And the moment it broke—
A second thread lit beside the golden one.
Small.
Pale.
Faint as a dying ember.
Aarinen froze.
The Unmarked stiffened.
Lirael whispered, terrified, "A twin thread."
Torren cursed under his breath. "That should be impossible."
Saevel stepped forward despite the shaking ground."Aarinen—what is that?"
Aarinen's voice came out hollow.
"I don't know."
But the Unmarked did.
He stared at the pale flickering thread—the one winding close but never touching the golden one.
His face shifted.
Not fear.Not grief.
Recognition.
He whispered a name so soft the Weave itself hushed.
"Eryna…"
Aarinen jerked his head up."You know who that belongs to?"
The Unmarked exhaled—a sound that carried decades of buried memory.
"Yes."
"Who?" Aarinen demanded.
The Unmarked looked at him slowly, painfully.
And answered:
"Your sister."
Aarinen's breath stopped.
Saevel froze.Torren muttered a curse he hadn't used in years.Lirael leaned against a thread that nearly burned her.Rafi dreamed of pastries in his unconscious state.
Aarinen stared at the faint pale thread.
All he could manage was a whisper.
"I don't have a sister."
The Unmarked shook his head.
"You don't remember her."
Aarinen's voice cracked."Why?"
The Unmarked looked at the golden thread—violent, defiant, alive.
Then at the pale one—fading, fragile, slipping.
"Because someone erased her."
Aarinen's pulse thrashed.
"Who?"
The Unmarked met his eyes.
Not gently.Not softly.
With the weight of truth.
"The same one who wants you dead."
The Weave trembled.
And Aarinen understood—
His past was a battlefield.
And it had only just begun to open.