The Weave quivered, as if the pale thread's name unsettled it.Or perhaps it reacted to Aarinen's heartbeat, which had begun to pound so violently he could hear it in his teeth.
He stared at the faint, flickering line floating beside his own—thin as a hair, trembling like a candle about to die. It was colorless, barely visible against the luminous expanse.Fragile in a way no thread should be.
"My… sister," Aarinen breathed.
Saevel stepped forward, jaw clenched, dagger still in hand though she'd forgotten she held it. "Aarinen, I've never heard you mention—"
"I never knew," Aarinen interrupted softly.
Torren muttered darkly, "Because someone made damned sure you wouldn't."
Lirael's gaze was fixed on the pale thread with a fear she didn't try to hide. "This is not normal. Threads do not… fade like that. Not on their own."
Rafi regained consciousness, took one look at the Weave, pointed at the pale thread, whispered "Oh no," and fainted again.
Aarinen barely noticed.
His entire world had narrowed to two strands:
His—defiant, golden, alive.And hers—fading, quiet, nearly erased.
He whispered again, "Sister…?"
The Unmarked did not move. His eyes held a weight Aarinen had never seen—not even in the memory of embers.
"She was born two winters after you," he said.
Aarinen's breath stopped halfway.
"Her name was Eryna."
The name struck him like a stone dropped into a frozen lake.He felt the impact—deep, sudden, and almost unbearable.But the surface held, unbroken.
A memory stirred—Something unfinished, unformed.
A flash of silver hair in sunlight.A giggle.Hands tugging at his sleeve.A sensation of being followed everywhere by a tiny shadow.
But the images dissolved before they took shape.
"I don't remember her," Aarinen whispered, his voice cracking.
"You weren't meant to," the Unmarked said quietly.
Aarinen turned, trembling with something colder than fear. "Who would erase a child?"
Saevel's voice was fierce. "Whoever it is, I'll—"
"It wasn't simply erasure," Lirael said, stepping closer. "That thread… it's being contained."
Torren's eyes widened. "Contained? As in isolated from the Weave?"
"Yes."
Aarinen stared at the thin thread, barely able to draw breath.
"Why would anyone isolate her?"
The Unmarked closed his eyes."Because she carried something the world feared."
Aarinen's voice hardened. "What?"
"Silence."
Aarinen blinked. "Silence…? That isn't—"
Lirael interrupted, eyes sharp. "Silence is one of the oldest powers. Older even than the Orders. A child who carries silence can see what fate tries to hide."
Torren added, "And fate hates being seen."
Rafi, from the ground, muttered faintly, "I hate being awake."
Aarinen stepped closer to the pale thread.The moment he neared, it flickered—straining toward him, as if trying to reach a warmth it no longer had.
His chest constricted.
"She reached for you," Lirael whispered. "Even now, when she's barely hanging on."
Aarinen's throat tightened painfully.
He reached out.
The pale thread flickered more violently—like a dying flame struggling to flare.
Saevel grabbed his arm. "Aarinen. Be careful."
But he gently pulled away from her grasp and extended his hand toward it.
The Unmarked did not stop him.
The moment Aarinen's fingertip brushed the dim thread, a soft pulse of light rippled outward.
Warm.Familiar.Almost tender.
Aarinen inhaled sharply.
A child's laugh echoed faintly—thin, muffled, distant, but unmistakably a child's laugh.His breath trembled.
"Eryna…"
The pale thread glowed faintly—one flicker stronger—before dimming again.
"She's alive," Aarinen whispered with certainty he could not explain."She's alive."
The Unmarked nodded once.
"Yes."
Saevel's voice shook with cautious hope. "If she's alive, where—?"
"Hidden," the Unmarked said."And not by me."
Aarinen turned sharply. "Then by who?"
The Unmarked looked at the Weave—not at Aarinen.
"By the one who stole her thread."
Aarinen's pulse accelerated."Someone stole her?"
"No," Lirael whispered, horrified."Someone stole her destiny."
The Unmarked nodded.
Aarinen's breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," the Unmarked said, "that someone wanted her to disappear without dying."
Aarinen tasted iron in his mouth.
"Why."
"Because she was born with the power to see the Weave's roots," the Unmarked said. "And to unmake silence."
Aarinen frowned."Unmake silence?"
"Yes."
The Unmarked turned fully toward him.
"Your sister could break what hides behind fate."
Aarinen went still.
Saevel tightened her grip on her dagger. "Then whoever took her must have been—"
"A faction older than the Orders," Lirael said."One that uses fate as a weapon."
Aarinen stared at the pale thread, trying to remember—
A name.A face.A voice.Anything.
But nothing came.
"It should not be possible," he whispered."To lose memory of my own sister."
"Unless someone with greater authority over the Weave intervened," Lirael said softly.
"The Weave has no ruler," Torren argued.
"It does," the Unmarked said."Just not one the Orders acknowledge."
A chill traced Aarinen's spine.
"Who?"
The Unmarked looked at him.
"The Keeper."
Saevel inhaled sharply.Rafi whispered, "Keeper… like someone who… keeps things?"
Torren glared. "Brilliant analysis."
Lirael's voice trembled with reverence and dread. "The Keeper is the guardian of erased fates. He decides which threads remain entwined with the world—and which vanish into quiet."
Aarinen felt as if the world tilted under his feet.
"And he took Eryna?"
"No," the Unmarked said."He was forced to."
"By who?"
"By the only force he obeys."
Aarinen's heart pounded."What force?"
"The Loom."
Saevel stepped back."The Loom… the core of fate itself."
Rafi whimpered.
Aarinen felt his jaw tighten."And you expect me to face something like that?"
The Unmarked looked at him steadily.
"Yes."
Aarinen clenched his fists. "Why me?"
"Because your thread resists the Loom."
Aarinen's breath caught.
"And hers?"
"She sees the Loom."
Lirael whispered, awed and terrified: "They were born as opposites."
"Complementary," Torren corrected."Opposites that fit."
Aarinen felt the words settle inside him.
"Where is she?"
The Unmarked hesitated.
Aarinen stepped closer, voice low and unyielding."Tell me."
The Unmarked finally answered.
"In the Archive of Quiet."
Aarinen frowned. "Where—"
"You cannot reach it," he said."Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because it lies at the edge of the Loom."
Aarinen swallowed hard."And the Loom is guarded."
"Yes."
"By who?"
The Unmarked turned toward the darkness at the far end of the Weave—a place where threads seemed to vanish into a void-like tangle.
"The ones who hunt you."
Aarinen froze."You mean—"
"The cloaked figures," Saevel whispered.
"Yes," the Unmarked said."They serve the Loom. They serve the Keeper."
Aarinen clenched his teeth."And they came for me."
"They came for what you carried," the Unmarked corrected."Your defiance."
Aarinen turned back to the pale thread.To the faint pulse inside it.
"She's alive," he repeated quietly."But cut off."
"Barely alive," Lirael said."Her thread has been starved of connection."
Torren crossed his arms. "Then how do we feed it?"
Lirael shook her head."You don't feed a thread. You strengthen its bond."
Aarinen looked at her sharply."How?"
Lirael took a breath. "By remembering."
Aarinen's heart constricted.
"I can't remember her."
"Not yet," Lirael said."But memory can be rebuilt."
Aarinen stared at her.
"How?"
The Unmarked answered.
"Find the fragments."
Aarinen frowned."What fragments?"
"The remnants of her influence," he said."People who knew her. Places she touched. Fates that changed when she was taken."
Saevel whispered, "You want Aarinen to track an erased child—without knowing what she looked like, where she lived, or who she loved?"
"Yes," the Unmarked said calmly.
Rafi whispered, "We are going to die."
Torren nudged him. "Probably. But at least we'll die solving a puzzle."
Saevel glared at him."Not helping."
Aarinen kept staring at the faint thread.It flickered faintly—once, twice—like a heartbeat so fragile it might vanish if he blinked.
He whispered:
"Did she love me?"
The Unmarked's expression softened just slightly—enough to reveal something old, something wounded.
"Yes," he said."More fiercely than anyone."
Aarinen swallowed hard.
"And I forgot her."
"No," the Unmarked said quietly."You lost her."
Aarinen's breath trembled.
He reached once more toward the pale thread—just as it flickered again, brighter this time, as if recognizing him.
He placed his fingertips gently against it."What do I do to bring her back?"
The Unmarked answered:
"You learn your thread.You track hers.And when the Loom moves to stop you—you stand."
Aarinen nodded slowly.
"Then teach me."
The Unmarked stepped forward.
The threads quivered.
The Weave hummed.
And the memory of a sister he never knew pulsed faintly between his fingers—a promise,a threat,a beginning.
Because fate had stolen Eryna.
And Aarinen had just declared war.