The storm started as a whisper.
A low, resonant hum, barely louder than the one already thrumming through Arielle's chest. At first, she thought it was just the same relentless song — the ache she'd grown used to. But then the sky over Starlight City fractured.
The tether didn't surge this time. It bloomed.
Black and violet threads spread across the horizon like roots in glass, spiderwebbing outward until half the skyline vanished behind a veil of writhing light. A wind rose from nowhere, sharp and dry, scattering sparks of loose thread through the streets. Every loose bond in the district — every frayed filament, every dying soul-thread — ripped free of the weave and spun wildly toward the growing storm.
The hum inside Arielle flared so violently she staggered, clutching her ribs as the air itself seemed to pull at her bones. She could feel every broken thread within miles screaming for an Anchor — screaming for her.
Selene caught her by the shoulders, steadying her as the streets around them cracked and shuddered. "He's accelerating it," they said, their voice taut but calm. "Draven's forcing a tether bloom. If it anchors, half the city will unravel in an hour."
Arielle's breath came ragged. The pull was unbearable now, each thread like a hook sinking into her ribs. She looked at Selene, their silver glow dimmer than ever, and realized they didn't have the strength left to hold this back. Not alone.
"Tell me what to do," she said, her voice trembling but steady.
Selene hesitated. Their silver eyes softened — not their usual steel, but something raw, something almost pleading. "You can't do this, Arielle. Not without burning yourself out. If you anchor that many threads, you'll—"
"I'll what?" Her tone sharpened. "Die? Change? You think I haven't felt it creeping closer every day? If I don't do something now, none of us make it out alive. Including you."
The tether storm roared, violet lightning sparking along its edges as it began to spiral downward, its roots seeking purchase in the streets below. Civilians screamed, scattering through the chaos, their soul-threads flickering like dying embers.
Arielle didn't wait for Selene to argue. She stepped forward, lifting her hands as the hum inside her reached a breaking point. Threads burst from her fingertips — black, silver, and that strange iridescent glow — latching onto every frayed filament in sight.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, all at once, thousands of threads snapped into her chest.
The force hit like a tidal wave. Her back arched, a scream tearing from her throat as heat exploded through her veins. The black markings beneath her skin flared white-hot, spreading across her collarbone and down her spine like burning sigils. Her vision blurred, edges of the world turning sharp and crystalline.
The power was overwhelming — terrifying — and yet, for a heartbeat, it felt glorious. Every thread she anchored filled the hollow ache inside her, sating the hum, making her feel whole. For the first time, she wasn't drowning in the weight of other people's fragments. She was owning them.
But the storm didn't stop.
The more she pulled, the more the tether seemed to notice her. Its roots shifted, coiling toward her like a predator scenting blood. The hum inside her began to twist, a sharp undertone weaving through it — not her own resonance, but something alien, invasive.
Her knees buckled. The threads she'd pulled in writhed under her skin, glowing faintly as if trying to claw their way back out. Her breath came shallow, her pulse erratic. She felt herself slipping — not just physically, but something deeper, like her self was unraveling under the weight of everything she'd taken in.
And then, through the chaos, a figure appeared.
Draven stepped through the tether storm as if it were mist, the violet light bending around him. The roots recoiled from his presence, not in fear, but in recognition. His coat billowed in the unnatural wind, his eyes glowing faintly as he looked down at her, calm amid the storm.
"You're going to tear yourself apart," he said, his voice carrying easily over the howling air. "The weave wasn't built for Anchors to carry this much. You weren't built for it."
Arielle tried to speak, but the hum drowned her words. The heat in her veins was unbearable now, her skin searing where the glowing sigils spread.
Draven knelt beside her, his hand hovering just above her shoulder. "Let me help. I can take some of it. Not all — but enough that you survive this."
Selene's voice cut through the storm, sharp as a blade. "Don't touch her!"
They strode forward, their needle glowing like molten silver, threads lashing outward to hold the tether roots at bay. But Arielle saw the tremor in their movements, the flicker of dull gray in their usually bright eyes. Every stitch they wove burned them a little dimmer.
Draven didn't look at Selene. His gaze stayed on Arielle, steady and unnervingly patient. "You know they won't last much longer," he said softly. "Every soul they bind, every stitch they force, it eats them alive. How many more deaths are you going to watch before you admit the coven's way doesn't work?"
Arielle's breath came in shallow, ragged pulls. The hum inside her crescendoed, drowning out even the storm. Every instinct screamed that if she didn't let someone take the weight, she'd burn out completely — body, soul, everything.
Her vision split between them: Selene, straining and flickering, silver threads shaking as they held the storm at bay; Draven, steady and composed, hand outstretched, the storm itself bending around him like a willing servant.
The sigils on her skin flared, the pain spiking so sharply she nearly blacked out. The choice pressed in like a vice.
And for a fleeting, traitorous moment, her hand twitched toward Draven's.
Before she could move, a violent crack split the air. The tether storm above them imploded, collapsing inward as Selene drove their needle into the ground, releasing a blast of silver light that ripped through the storm's core.
The blast stabilized the threads Arielle had anchored, scattering the excess energy into the ground. The storm collapsed into faint, drifting motes, leaving the streets eerily silent.
Arielle crumpled to the ground, every muscle trembling, the sigils on her skin still glowing faintly. Draven straightened, his coat barely disturbed, and met her gaze with a faint, knowing smile.
"This city will tear you apart," he said quietly, almost gently. "When it does, I'll be waiting."
With that, he dissolved into a swirl of violet threads, vanishing as the last echoes of the storm faded.
Selene dropped to one knee beside her, their hand hovering near her shoulder but not touching, their breathing ragged. "You anchored too much," they said, voice low but firm. "Next time, it could kill you."
Arielle met their gaze, her throat tight. She wanted to say something — reassure them, promise she wouldn't let Draven's words linger — but all she could hear was the whisper in the back of her mind.
The one that told her she'd almost reached for him.
And next time, she might not stop.