The moment Nox stepped through the rift, the threads went silent.
No hum.
No pull.
No judgment.
Just… silence.
And in that silence, for the first time in what felt like forever, he heard something else —
his own breath. Ragged. Unsure. Real.
His chest rose and fell in short bursts, lungs unfamiliar with this kind of air — air that didn't taste of data, or simulation, or preset loops.
His heart pounded like it was trying to claw out of his chest, as if it knew he had crossed something he was never meant to cross.
A threshold not meant for mortals.
Or worse — meant for no one at all.
Was he still in the Loom's world?
Or had he fallen… outside it?
He turned — and the rift behind him was already gone.
No shimmer.
No gate.
No undo button.
Just stillness, like reality itself had closed a mouth that would never speak again.
No door.
No echo.
No way back.
Not that he wanted to go back.
Because he was alive.
And the system should have erased him.
The fact that he existed at all…
made him dangerous.
---
[SYSTEM ATTEMPTING TO RECONNECT…]
[THREADPATH: NULL]
[USER: NOX — CLASS: UNWRITTEN]
[ACCESS LEVEL: DENIED]
You are not part of the Pattern.
---
The message wasn't just sterile code.
It felt like a verdict.
Not just rejection — but exile.
Not silence — but removal.
A sentence without trial.
A warning without witness.
He could feel it: the system didn't just see him as an error. It didn't know what he was at all.
And that terrified it.
A shiver slid down his spine, not from the cold — but from something deeper. The Loom had stopped whispering. That meant it was watching.
Then — a voice.
Not glitched. Not filtered through static.
This one was clear.
Cold.
Commanding.
"Subject located."
Nox spun.
At the far edge of the broken chamber — if it could even be called that — stood a figure.
The world around her rippled like simulation memory bleeding into collapse. Walls flickered. Light warped. The ground pulsed beneath his feet like it was unsure it wanted to be ground anymore.
But she was perfect.
Stable.
Real.
Silver-white hair, braided into cold authority. Uniform razor-creased, pristine. At her hip — a long blade forged from raw threadsteel, vibrating in sync with the world's fundamental rules.
Her eyes were violet.
Not glowing. Not artificial.
Just… cold. Like truth.
She wasn't a program.
She wasn't a projection.
She was worse.
A Commander.
Rin of Order.
And the system obeyed her.
---
"Null-type," she said, tone like it had been coded into her lungs. "You shouldn't exist. The fact that you do is already a breach."
He took a step back, instinct over logic.
His throat tightened.
"I didn't choose this."
"You don't get to choose. That's the point of the Loom."
And then she moved.
No windup.
No signal.
Just a flash — blade drawn.
The air snapped.
Reality shivered — as if creation itself held its breath to obey her motion.
---
[DANGER: THREADSIGNATURE — COMMANDER LEVEL]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: FLEE]
But where?
There were no walls. No escape routes. Only glitching lines and a system bleeding logic.
"Hold on!" Nox shouted. "I'm not the enemy!"
Her steps echoed like laws being written.
"You're a glitch," she said, advancing. "A cancer in the Pattern. If I don't erase you now, the Loom will."
Another step.
Then another.
Her presence crushed him.
Like gravity.
Like judgement.
Nox couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The Loom had always made him feel small, but this…
this was insignificance.
I can't fight her.
I don't even exist to her.
And then—
The Loom blinked.
Only for a second.
But reality… shimmered.
Her blade flickered, trailing corrupted lines. Threads around her twisted — not by her command. Something deeper. Older.
Unstable.
---
[NULLFIELD PULSE – ACTIVE]
[SYSTEM ANCHORS: FAILING]
[TIME FRACTURE DETECTED]
---
He didn't understand it.
But his body did.
He moved.
A hard dive left — just as her blade sliced through the air where his head had been. The force behind it sheared space. A clean white line remained in the void like a cut left unstitched.
Pain flared across his shoulder — shallow, burning.
He hissed, teeth clenched.
Rin halted, momentarily thrown. Her eyes narrowed.
That hesitation saved his life.
Because someone else moved.
---
A blur of pale grey struck Rin from the side.
Nox blinked — and the newcomer was already between them.
A girl.
Short white coat. Silver-stitched combat boots. No academy insignia.
But that wasn't what caught his eye.
It was her hair — long, black, like ink bleeding through glass — and the way she moved without casting a shadow.
Even light didn't want to touch her.
---
"Tch. You're early," she muttered, yanking Nox backward like he weighed nothing. "Figures."
"Who the hell are you?" Nox gasped.
She didn't answer.
Didn't even look at him.
Her gaze was on Rin — who was already recovering, blade rising, eyes flashing rage for the first time.
The stranger didn't flinch.
She only whispered:
"If you want to live, Null-boy… move."
---
The void ruptured.
And the world exploded again.
A ripple of energy tore across the space, shredding half-rendered walls and fracturing light. Nox was flung backward — air whipped from his lungs. Above, the sky cracked like glass.
Rin's blade surged again, but the girl with no shadow was already gone — moving between moments, weaving through time-lagged coordinates.
Her weapon glinted — not a sword.
A ripper.
Thin. Cruel. Designed to cut threadlines, not bodies.
Banned.
Illegal.
Impossible.
Who… is she?
No time to ask.
---
[WARNING: NULLSIGNATURE COLLISION IMMINENT]
[THREADLINE INTEGRITY — CRITICAL]
[REPEAT: YOU ARE NOT PART OF THE PATTERN]
Reality pulsed.
The ground beneath him glitched again, shifting from stone to static.
His lungs screamed.
His vision blurred.
Then—
"NOX!"
The girl's voice again.
Not commanding. Not soft.
Anchoring.
"I said MOVE!"
And this time — he did.
He turned and ran.
Not because he trusted her.
Not because he understood anything.
But because he saw what was coming — Rin, sword gleaming with judgment, ready to erase him from history.
He ran. Into the unknown.
Into the broken edge of the Loom.
Into the place where threads came undone.
Where names didn't exist.
Where systems lost control.
Where shadows had no masters.
And somewhere inside that unmade space — something was watching.
Something that remembered.
Something that whispered:
Unwritten... but not undone.