“Those who weave fate must never pull the thread they were born from.”

  — Third Clause of the Threadweavers

  ---

  The Tower of Echoes stood at the edge of the world, or so the myth claimed.

  Its walls weren’t made of stone, but of woven time. A spiraling fortress of mirrored obsidian that reflected not just your face—but every version of it that might have been.

  Inside, in a chamber lit by a thousand flickering threads, a woman knelt in silence.

  She had no eyes. Not in the way mortals understood them. Instead, two soft orbs of glowing blue shimmered beneath a silk blindfold, her sight turned inward—toward futures no one else dared touch.

  Her name was Selene.

  Her title: Third of the Veil, First of the Threadweavers.

  And in this moment, her breath stilled.

  Because she had seen it.

  Again.

  The Forbidden Thread.

  ---

  An acolyte approached, robed in gray, voice uncertain.

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  “High Threadweaver. The Queen has sent word. She senses… a shift.”

  Selene’s head tilted, listening not to the words, but the ripple behind them.

  “She doesn’t sense. She remembers. A moment she herself erased.”

  The acolyte swallowed. “Should I prepare the Echo Lens?”

  Selene stood slowly, her pale hands trembling only slightly. “No. The Lens would break. What’s coming… cannot be viewed safely anymore.”

  She walked past the chamber's threshold, each step echoing like a falling pin through time.

  “There is a boy,” she murmured. “Born of fracture. Wrapped in light, sealed in shadow.”

  “Arata,” the acolyte whispered. “The EX-thread.”

  Selene paused. “He should not exist. But neither should I.”

  The silence between them was vast.

  Then Selene gave a soft, painful smile.

  “Tell the Queen I will obey.”

  “But—your oath, the Third Clause—”

  “I never said I’d pull the thread.” Her voice chilled. “Only that I’d follow it to the end.”

  ---

  Elsewhere, in a flickering dream between places, Arata awoke screaming.

  His body drenched in sweat, heart pounding. Yume clung to his chest, wings quivering. “It’s happening again. That feeling—like something cut through time.”

  Sir Billion stirred, reaching for his blade but stopping.

  “No. Not an attack. A… visitation.”

  A shadow had crossed the moonlight.

  A woman stood across the fire, blindfolded and calm.

  Her presence made the flames go silent.

  “Arata,” she said. Not asked—said. As if naming him summoned the meaning of the world.

  “I dreamed you,” he whispered.

  Selene inclined her head. “No. You remembered me.”

  Her fingers traced the air. A glowing thread appeared between them.

  “This is your past. It doesn’t belong to you.”

  She touched the thread—and in that moment, Arata saw.

  Flashes.

  A war long ago. A child born of light and shadow, neither accepted by humans nor monsters. A Queen who screamed. A crown that shattered.

  A voice:

  “Erase him. Burn the thread.”

  Arata fell to his knees. Blood dripped from his nose.

  Yume screamed. Billion drew his blade.

  But Selene held up a hand.

  “No more,” she whispered. “I’m not here to kill. I’m here to warn.”

  “What are you?” Billion asked.

  She turned toward him. “The last one who remembers.”

  Then she faced Arata again.

  “You must go to the Tower of Origin. Before the Queen remembers who you are.”

  Arata, barely able to breathe, managed one word: “Why?”

  “Because once she does—she’ll never forget again. And forgetting is the only reason you’re still alive.”

  She turned, vanishing into silver mist.

  Only the thread remained behind—burning slowly into ash.

  --