The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the dimly lit hut. Ren’s fingers twitched against the rough wool blanket draped over him. The warmth should have been comforting, but the unease in his chest refused to settle.


    The old man watched him, his expression unreadable.


    "You still feel it, don’t you?"


    Ren’s throat tightened. The sensation hadn’t faded. The strange, lingering hum beneath his skin, the pull at the edge of his senses, like invisible threads waiting to be grasped.


    He curled his hands into fists. "What did you mean? That I touched something I wasn’t supposed to?"


    The man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for a wooden ladle, scooping a thick, steaming liquid from a pot beside the fire. He poured it into a simple clay cup and handed it to Ren.


    "Drink."


    Ren hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to be cautious. But his mouth was dry, his body aching. Slowly, he took the cup and sipped. The broth was bitter, but warmth spread through his limbs, easing the raw ache in his bones.


    The man leaned back, watching him carefully. "What’s the last thing you remember?"


    Ren exhaled, his thoughts racing. The bandits. The chase. The thread.


    "I pulled on something," he admitted. "A thread."


    The man nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something he already knew.


    "And then?"


    Ren hesitated. "The world… shifted. Like it wasn’t real for a moment. Then I saw—" He swallowed hard, remembering the endless golden strands stretching into infinity. "Something I shouldn’t have."


    A flicker of recognition crossed the man’s face.


    "You saw the Loom."


    Ren’s heart skipped a beat. "The what?"


    The man studied him for a long moment. Then, he reached into the folds of his robe and pulled something free.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    A golden thread.


    Ren’s stomach dropped.


    It was the same kind he had seen unravel from the bandit’s body. The same kind he had seen woven into the endless expanse in that other place.


    He barely managed to keep his voice steady. "Where did you get that?"


    The old man let the thread dangle between his fingers, the firelight catching on its shimmering surface. "I pulled it from you while you were unconscious."


    Ren’s pulse thundered in his ears.


    The walls of the hut suddenly felt too close, the fire too bright.


    "That’s not possible," Ren whispered. "I—I don’t have…"


    "You do now," the old man said. "Or maybe you always did, and you just weren’t supposed to realize it."


    Ren shook his head. His thoughts were spiraling. "No. No, I just—" His breath hitched. The bandit. The way he unraveled. "That can’t be the same thing."


    The old man’s expression was grim. "But it is."


    Ren clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. "You still haven’t told me who you are."


    The man smiled faintly. "Does it matter?"


    "Yes."


    The man exhaled, rolling the thread between his fingers before tucking it back into his robe. "I have been called many things. But you may call me Aldryn."


    Ren swallowed hard. "And you just happened to find me in the middle of the forest?"


    Aldryn chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Let’s just say… I was keeping an eye on that part of the woods. You triggered something. A disturbance in the Pattern."


    Ren frowned. "The Pattern?"


    Aldryn’s eyes glinted. "The fabric of reality. The way things are supposed to be." He tapped the side of his temple. "And you, boy, just tore a hole in it."


    Ren’s chest tightened.


    That voice. The one he had heard before he blacked out.


    "You were not meant to see this."


    "What happens if I—if I pull another thread?" Ren asked.


    Aldryn’s expression darkened. "Then you risk unraveling more than just yourself."


    Ren’s breath came faster. Unraveling more than just myself?


    "I didn’t ask for this," he muttered.


    Aldryn gave him a sharp look. "You think the Pattern cares what you asked for?"


    Ren flinched.


    For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled. Shadows flickered against the wooden walls.


    Then, Aldryn sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Listen, boy. If you want to live, you need to understand one thing."


    He leaned forward, his gaze heavy with something Ren couldn’t quite place.


    "There are forces in this world that will not let you exist."


    Ren stiffened.


    "This isn’t just about some bandits in the woods. If the Weaving Order learns what you can do, they won’t hesitate. They will erase you."


    Ren’s hands curled into fists.


    "They erase people like me?" he asked quietly.


    "They erase mistakes," Aldryn corrected. "Anomalies. Those who disrupt the balance."


    Ren swallowed hard. "So what am I supposed to do?"


    Aldryn stared at him for a long moment. Then, he reached for his staff and stood.


    "You have two choices."


    Ren tensed.


    "You can run, keep hiding, and pray they never find you." Aldryn’s gaze was steady. "Or you can learn how to survive."


    The weight of those words settled heavily on Ren’s shoulders.


    For a long moment, he said nothing.


    Then, he exhaled. "Teach me."


    Aldryn’s lips curved into a small smile.


    "Good," he said. "Then let’s begin."