Aarifa ran.
The mist tore at her hair and clothes, but she did not slow down. Behind her, the scarlet-robed woman's laughter rang out again, closer this time.
The path ahead twisted and turned, vanishing and reappearing. It was not a road made for feet but for choices... each step a question she answered with instinct alone.
Beside her, Azar kept pace, his breath steady even as the ground shifted beneath them.
"Do not look back," he said. "Not yet."
Aarifa clenched her teeth and focused forward. Her lungs burned. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
At last, the mist thinned and they burst into another clearing.
This one was different.
No looms. No threads.
Only a great pool of black water, still and endless.
The mist swirled along its surface, hiding what lay beneath.
Azar pulled her to a stop. His chest rose and fell quickly, but his eyes were calm.
"This is the way," he said.
Aarifa stared at the pool, heart sinking. "That?"
He nodded. "It will carry us beyond their reach. If we hesitate, they will find us."
Already, the mist behind them darkened. Footsteps echoed.
Without another word, Azar grasped her hand tighter and stepped into the pool.
The water was not cold.
It wrapped around Aarifa like silk, pulling her down gently.
She gasped, struggling, but Azar's grip held firm.
"Trust me," he whispered through the darkness.
And then they sank.
The world above vanished.
The water closed over her head, and for a terrifying moment, there was nothing but silence and her own frantic heartbeat.
Aarifa squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them again, she was no longer in the pool.
She lay on soft grass beneath a sky of endless twilight.
Azar knelt beside her, watching her with an unreadable expression.
"You chose well," he said.
Aarifa sat up slowly, trembling. "Where are we now?"
"Deeper," he said simply. "Closer to the threads that no one dares to touch."
She looked around.
Strange trees loomed in the distance, their trunks silver and black. Wisps of golden thread floated between their branches like fireflies.
Far off, a dark tower rose, its shape twisted and broken.
Her skin prickled.
"Is it safe here?" she asked.
Azar's smile was grim. "Safer than where we were. For now."
She hugged her knees to her chest, the adrenaline slowly fading. "What happens next?"
"You weave," he said.
"But I do not know how to weave fate."
"You will learn," Azar said. "Here, no one can force your hand."
He stood and offered his hand again.
This time, she took it without hesitation.
As he helped her to her feet, a strange feeling bloomed in her chest. Not safety. Not certainty.
Something wilder.
Possibility.
For the first time, Aarifa wondered if this stranger was not her captor but her key to freedom.
Still, she could not forget the scarlet woman. Or the shadows that had chased her through the mist.
She could not forget Khurram either.
Even now, some part of her longed for the sound of his voice, the certainty of his arms.
She closed her eyes briefly against the ache.
When she opened them, Azar was watching her closely.
"You do not have to choose yet," he said softly, as if reading her thoughts. "But you will have to choose."
She nodded slowly.
Somewhere in the distance, the ground rumbled like thunder.
Azar's face hardened. "They will not stop hunting you."
Aarifa clenched her fists.
"Let them come," she said.
And she meant it.
Far away, back in the waking world, Prince Khurram stood on the palace terrace, the cold wind pulling at his robes.
His men knelt behind him, heads bowed low.
"My prince," one said hesitantly, "we have found no trace of her. No caravan. No traveler speaks her name. It is as if she has vanished from the earth."
Khurram's jaw tightened.
He stared out over the gardens, seeing none of their beauty.
Aarifa.
Gone.
He had searched every market and hidden quarter in Burhanpur. Had sent riders to Delhi, to Agra, even to the distant forts in the Deccan.
No one had seen her.
No one dared to speak of her.
He turned to Mirza Faizan, his most trusted captain.
"I do not believe in vanishing tricks," Khurram said coldly. "She is somewhere. Someone is hiding her."
Faizan bowed his head. "Yes, my prince."
"Double the rewards," Khurram said. "And the punishments."
His voice left no room for doubt.
Faizan hesitated. "There are rumors, my prince."
"What kind of rumors?"
"Some say she walked into the Threads Between," Faizan said, voice barely above a whisper. "That she is... lost among the old weavings."
Khurram's hands curled into fists.
Superstitious nonsense.
And yet.
He had seen the way Aarifa's hands danced over the loom, drawing futures from the air. He had seen the visions woven into cloth no mortal should understand.
Perhaps the rumors were not so foolish after all.
Khurram turned back to the gardens.
The moon hung low, a sliver of light against the dark.
"I will find you," he whispered into the night. "Even if I must tear apart every thread of fate itself."
Behind him, the wind howled, carrying his promise into the unseen places of the world.
Aarifa moved through the twilight forest, Azar at her side.
The trees whispered in a language she almost understood.
Between the roots, tiny pools of light shimmered.
"What is this place called?" she asked.
Azar hesitated. "The Garden of Unwoven Things."
She frowned. "Why unwoven?"
"Because everything here could have been... but was not," he said. "Dreams abandoned. Lives unchosen."
A chill ran down her spine.
She brushed her fingers over a low-hanging branch.
Visions flashed in her mind.
A child she never bore.
A city she never saw.
A love she never claimed.
She stumbled back, breathing hard.
Azar caught her.
"Be careful," he said. "The Garden shows you what could have been, but not what must be."
They pressed on.
At the heart of the garden stood a broken archway, its stones covered in moss and ancient writing.
Azar led her beneath it.
Beyond, a pool of still water waited.
Unlike the black pool before, this one was clear and bright, reflecting a thousand stars that were not in the sky.
Azar knelt beside it.
"This is the Loom's Reflection," he said. "If you look into it, you will see the threads you can still claim."
Aarifa approached slowly.
She knelt beside him, heart pounding.
The water shimmered as she leaned over it.
Threads appeared beneath the surface, swirling.
Some were golden, some dark.
Some pulsed with life, others twisted like snakes.
Among them, Aarifa saw glimpses.
Khurram reaching for her, blood staining his hands.
Azar offering her a blade woven from light.
A kingdom falling.
A throne burning.
She jerked back, gasping.
Azar touched her shoulder.
"You see the truth," he said.
Tears pricked her eyes.
"I do not want any of it," she whispered.
"You must still choose," Azar said gently. "Even choosing nothing is a choice."
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the water had stilled again.
A new thread floated near the surface.
Pale blue, delicate but strong.
It pulsed once as if calling to her.
Aarifa reached out.
But before her fingers could touch it, the water darkened.
A shadow loomed behind her in the reflection.
Not Azar.
Not the scarlet woman.
Someone else.
Someone she had not seen before.
A voice spoke, deep and cold.
"You do not belong here."
Aarifa spun around.
Standing at the edge of the broken archway was a figure cloaked in black, its face hidden.
Azar stepped protectively between her and the figure.
"You cannot have her," he said, his voice fierce.
The figure laughed.
Low. Cruel.
"You have already lost her."
Before Aarifa could react, the ground beneath her feet cracked open.
The light of the Loom's Reflection flared.
And she fell.