The flashlight sputtered once, twice... then blazed back to life.
Mira's breath came in short gasps as the beam cut through the darkness, revealing a maze of concrete tunnels stretching in every direction. Pipes ran along the ceiling like metal arteries, dripping condensation that echoed in the oppressive silence.
'Well, this is just perfect,' Kael thought, wiping sweat from his forehead. 'From one nightmare into another.'
The maintenance tunnels beneath the medical facility were a labyrinth designed by someone with a sadistic sense of humor. Each passage looked identical to the last, marked only by faded numbers that meant nothing to either of them.
Click. Click-click.
Both of them froze.
The sound came from behind them, distant but unmistakably deliberate. Not the random noise of settling concrete or dripping water. Something was following them through the darkness.
"We need to move," Mira whispered, her voice barely audible. "Now."
Click-click-click.
Multiple sources. Getting closer.
Kael's vision sharpened, and there they were again... the threads. Dozens of them stretched through the tunnels like a spider's web, most a dull gray that spoke of mediocrity and dead ends. But some...
Some glowed with different colors entirely.
Red threads snaked down the left passage, pulsing with an ominous light that made his stomach clench. Whatever waited that way promised pain, suffering, maybe death. But to the right, barely visible in the gloom, golden threads beckoned like a whispered promise of salvation.
"This way," Mira said, already moving toward the left tunnel. "The drainage system should connect—"
"No." Kael grabbed her arm. "Right. We go right."
She spun to face him, flashlight beam dancing wildly. "Are you insane? The schematics I memorized clearly show—"
"Trust me."
"Trust you?" Her voice cracked with barely contained hysteria. "Based on what? Your extensive knowledge of municipal engineering?"
Click-click-click-click.
Closer now. Much closer.
Kael met her gaze, seeing his own desperation reflected in her eyes. How could he explain that he saw threads of fate itself? That some cosmic joke had gifted him with glimpses of probability and consequence?
'You can't. So don't try.'
"Because I'm right," he said simply. "And because we're about to have company."
The clicking sounds multiplied, echoing from multiple directions. Whatever hunted them was coordinating, herding them toward... something.
Mira stared at him for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity. Then she cursed under her breath and followed him into the right passage.
The golden threads grew brighter as they ran, leading them through a series of increasingly narrow tunnels. Behind them, the clicking grew frantic, then... began to fade.
Minutes later, they emerged through a rusted drainage grate into the familiar stench of the Outer Ring. Kael collapsed against a crumbling wall, gasping for air that tasted like freedom.
The creatures' sounds were gone entirely now.
Mira looked at him with something approaching wonder. "How did you know?"
Kael just smiled grimly.
'If only I could tell you.'
The cramped alley behind a collapsed tenement provided enough shadow to examine their haul without drawing unwanted attention. Kael spread the salvaged supplies across a relatively clean section of concrete, cataloging their meager victory.
Three vials of basic antibiotics. A handful of pain relievers, half-dissolved from water damage. Rolls of medical gauze that had seen better decades.
'Not exactly a fortune, but...'
"It's more than I've managed in weeks," Mira said, echoing his thoughts. She picked up one of the antibiotic vials, holding it up to catch what little light filtered through the perpetual smog. "These alone could buy us a month's worth of decent food."
"Could." Kael separated the supplies into two piles, giving her the smaller portion. "But won't."
Mira frowned at the uneven distribution. "What are you doing?"
"Being practical." He pushed the larger pile toward her. "Your sister's condition isn't as advanced. These will do her more good."
"Absolutely not." She shoved the supplies back. "Lyra's worse off. Everyone in the Ring knows about the blood."
The casual mention of his sister's deteriorating state hit like a physical blow. Kael's hands stilled over the medical supplies, fighting the familiar surge of helplessness.
'Everyone knows. Everyone's just waiting for her to die.'
"My sister Ava has the same sickness," Mira continued quietly. "Started about two months ago. Same symptoms you described – the weakness, the weight loss. But no blood yet."
Kael looked up sharply. "The same...?"
"Wasting sickness." Her voice carried the flat acceptance of the condemned. "Spreads through the Lower Rings every few years like clockwork. Takes the young ones first, then works its way up." She gestured vaguely toward the towering spires of the Upper Rings. "Never seems to touch the privileged, though."
"There's a treatment?"
Mira's laugh held no humor. "Treatment requires resources we don't have. But..." She glanced around the empty alley, then leaned closer. "There's someone in the Lower Tunnels. Calls herself The Weaver. Word is she can cure things the regular doctors can't."
"Black market?"
"Blacker than black." Mira's expression grew troubled. "And her prices... they're not always paid in coin."
The golden threads at the edges of Kael's vision flickered, showing branching paths of possibility. Some led toward hope. Others toward something far darker.
'Nothing's ever simple in this place.'
"Tomorrow," he said finally, redistributing the supplies more evenly between them. "We hit the medical district again. There's a clinic on Seventh that might have better stock."
Mira nodded, pocketing her share. "Same time?"
"Same time."
As she disappeared into the maze of collapsed buildings and jury-rigged shelters, Kael remained in the alley. The golden threads were growing brighter around the edges of his vision, weaving patterns he couldn't quite decipher.
The Weaver.
'What kind of prices aren't paid in coin?'
He already suspected he didn't want to know the answer.
The apartment felt like a tomb when Kael pushed through the door.
Lyra lay curled on the makeshift bed, her breathing so shallow he had to watch her chest for several seconds to confirm she was still alive. The red threads he'd been seeing around her had multiplied, pulsing like infected veins across her torso. They wrapped around her heart now, squeezing with each labored beat, and had begun creeping into her lungs.
'Getting worse. Much worse.'
He knelt beside her, fishing the salvaged medicine from his pack. Three small vials of pale liquid—barely enough for a week, and that was if they worked at all. The expiration dates were smudged beyond recognition.
"Lyra." His voice came out rougher than intended. "Need you to drink this."
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy with fever. She managed to swallow the first vial without choking, though most of the second ended up on her chin. The third she couldn't manage at all.
'Temporary measure at best.'
Kael settled into the chair beside her bed as she drifted back into restless sleep. The golden threads were easier to see now, though they remained frustratingly faint compared to the angry red ones. They flickered around her like dying candle flames—fragile, beautiful, and utterly inadequate against the spreading darkness.
But there were other threads too. Silver ones, gossamer-thin and almost invisible, weaving patterns he couldn't begin to understand. They seemed to connect everything—Lyra, himself, the walls, the very air they breathed.
'What are you?'
He leaned forward, studying the interplay of colors. One golden thread, brighter than the rest, pulsed near Lyra's heart. It looked... responsive. Almost aware.
Kael extended his hand slowly, fighting every instinct that screamed this was dangerous. His fingertip brushed against the thread.
The effect was immediate. The golden strand brightened, and Lyra's breathing deepened for the first time in days. Color returned to her cheeks in a subtle flush of life.
Then the pain hit.
It felt like someone had driven a red-hot needle through his skull. Kael jerked his hand back, gasping, and caught his reflection in the cracked mirror across the room. Several strands of hair at his temples had turned completely gray.
'So that's the price.'
He sat back in the chair, studying his sister's improved breathing while absently touching the newly gray hairs. The golden thread he'd touched remained brighter than before, though it was already beginning to fade back toward its original dimness.
The power worked. That much was certain now.
The question was how much of himself he was willing to sacrifice to keep her alive.
'Everything,' he realized with dark certainty. 'Absolutely everything.'
Outside their window, the Lower Rings stretched endlessly into shadow, and somewhere in those depths, The Weaver waited with prices that weren't paid in coin.
The climb to the rooftop felt longer than usual. Every step sent fresh waves of exhaustion through Kael's body, the price of touching that golden thread still echoing in his bones. His legs trembled as he hauled himself over the final ledge, collapsing against the familiar broken chimney that served as his backrest.
'Should have brought water.'
The thought came sluggishly, his mind operating through a haze of fatigue. Using his power—whatever it was—felt like running a marathon while someone slowly drained his blood. But Lyra's improved breathing made every ache worthwhile.
A shard of mirror, salvaged weeks ago from the debris below, lay propped against a loose brick. Kael picked it up with unsteady hands, angling it to catch the dying light.
The reflection staring back at him looked older. Not just tired—*older*. The gray streaks at his temples weren't tricks of shadow or stress-induced imagination. They were real, stark against his dark hair like premature frost.
'So that's what using it costs.' He touched the silver strands, feeling their coarse texture. 'Time itself.'
Setting the mirror aside, Kael turned his attention to the sprawling city below. From this height, the inequality was impossible to ignore. The Outer Ring stretched endlessly in all directions—a maze of crumbling buildings, narrow alleys, and desperation. But beyond the dividing walls, the Inner City's towers gleamed like golden spears thrust toward the sky.
And between them... threads.
Thousands upon thousands of them, visible now that he'd learned to look. Most of the connections flowing from the Outer Ring glowed red or black—sickness, despair, death. The threads were thickest around the medical districts and food distribution centers, pulsing with the desperate needs of the dying.
But the Inner City... those threads burned gold and silver, weaving patterns of health, wealth, and power that made his eyes water to follow.
'They're hoarding more than food and medicine.' The realization settled in his stomach like a stone. 'They're hoarding *life* itself.'
Something else caught his attention. New threads, thicker than any he'd seen before, stretched from the Inner City's heart toward the outer walls. They pulsed with an oily darkness that made his skin crawl, disappearing beyond the city's boundaries into the wasteland beyond.
A howl echoed across the night—distant but unmistakably inhuman. Others answered it from different directions, a chorus of hunger that made the walls themselves seem suddenly fragile.
Kael stood slowly, his decision crystallizing with the sound. The threads, the aging, Lyra's condition—they were all connected. And somewhere in the Lower Rings, The Weaver held answers he desperately needed.
'Time to stop running from what I don't understand.'
Another howl split the night, closer this time. Whatever those dark threads were feeding beyond the walls, it was getting stronger.
And hungrier.