Capítulo 1786: Story 1786: The Path of Living Threads
The new path shimred into existence beneath their feet—an elegant bridge of silver-gold thread suspended in a void that no longer resembled a realm, but the inside of a dying mory. The edges of reality curled upward like burning paper. Color bled into darkness.
But the woven path remained steady, humming with purpose.
Erian braced his weight on his sword and rose. “Everyone stay close. If this path is alive, I’d prefer not to find out what happens if we fall off it.”
Tovin peered over the edge. “We’d probably dissolve. Or implode. Or get rewritten into abstract concepts. I don’t know. But none of the options look fun.”
“Then stop looking,” Marra said, shoving him forward. “You’re going first.”
The Loomchild drifted ahead of them, their glow illuminating the unraveling void. Threads extended from their fingertips, seamlessly repairing sections of the path as fast as the dying realm tried to erase them.
Lun watched with awe. “You’ve grown… stronger. Different.”
The Loomchild nodded, though their small face carried an unspoken tension. “I am what remains. What must remain. But strength is not certainty.”
Erian frowned. “What’s ahead?”
The Loomchild hesitated.
“In the Weave, all roads lead to the maker of threads. And the devourer of them.”
Tovin paled. “Please tell those are two separate things.”
The Loomchild didn’t answer.
The path shifted. Threads thickened, warping into a vast archway. As they crossed beneath it, the emptiness around them lted into a swirling expanse—a cosmic river of luminous strands twisting through infinity. Each thread vibrated with echoing voices, faint scenes, and forgotten tilines.
Marra stepped carefully. “It’s like walking through the guts of reality.”
“Technically, yes,” Lun murmured.
But before Erian could respond, the path quaked.
A cluster of threads snapped in the distance, spiraling toward them like serpents of shredded silk. They struck the path, causing it to pulse violently.
“What is that?!” Tovin shouted.
The Loomchild’s expression hardened. “The Hollow’s remnants. Fragnts of what the Sovereign consud. They are hungry.”
Another wave lashed out, striking directly ahead of them. The path split, unraveling into frayed strands.
Erian grabbed Marra before she plunged through the gap. Lun caught Tovin with a burst of silver thread.
The Loomchild raised both hands.
A shockwave of pure light burst outward—rewriting the broken path, weaving the threads back into a single shining bridge. The attacking remnants recoiled, screeching without form, dissolving into static.
The Loomchild sagged, trembling. Lun rushed to them. “You’re overexerting yourself—”
“I… must.” The Loomchild steadied their breathing. “The Hollow’s death has consequences. Its hunger doesn’t fade. It scatters. It spreads.”
Erian tightened his grip on his sword. “Can we reach safety?”
“There is no safety,” the Loomchild whispered. “Only the Weaver.”
As they walked deeper, the strands around them brightened into a swirling maelstrom of colors—beautiful, infinite, and terrifying.
Tovin exhaled shakily. “So… we’re going to et the being who makes reality.”
The Loomchild stopped.
Their glow dimd.
“No. We are going to et the being who decides what parts of reality are worth keeping.”
The path pulsed ahead, waiting.
User Comments
0 comments from readers