The vortex was not wind but threads — thousands of them, black and blue, whipping in circles like a living storm. They hissed and cracked as they brushed the floor, sparking tiny motes of gold. The noise was like a hundred harps plucked all at once, the chords twisted into discord.
Aric's first thought was 'This isn't a room anymore. It's a loom eating itself.'
He dragged Lyra back a step. Threads grazed his arm, leaving a faint burn like nettles. The Mirror at his ribs pulsed hard, fighting the pull of the vortex.
Lyra shouted over the noise, "Vale, this isn't just a test — it's collapsing!"
"Looks like it," he shouted back. "Hold on to me."
He reached into his coat, pulled out a coil of thin steel wire — one of his improvised toys — and wrapped it around their wrists. Not a shield, but at least they wouldn't lose each other if the floor gave way.
"Plan?" she yelled.
He grinned tightly. "Yes. Survive."
One of the larger threads lashed toward them like a whip. He shoved Lyra down, felt the air crackle as it passed over their heads, leaving a streak of frost on the floor. The scent of ozone and wet silk filled his nose.
They crawled toward the edge of the room. The woven floor trembled under their weight, strands fraying and reforming like waves. Ahead, three narrow corridors flickered open and closed, each one a different colour: pale blue, deep red, and gold.
Lyra pointed. "Which one?"
Aric's eyes narrowed. 'Three paths. Always three. Blue for mine, red for hers, gold for the Arch's heart.'
He said aloud, "Red's yours. Blue's mine. Gold's the way out."
"Then—"
Another lash of threads cut her off, striking the floor where she'd been standing. It left a deep groove that smoked.
Aric's thoughts snapped fast. 'We can't both reach gold. We'll be split again. Unless…'
He grabbed Lyra's face, forcing her to look at him. "Trust me?"
She blinked. "Do I have a choice?"
"No."
He pulled the Mirror from his ribs and pressed it against her palm. "Hold it. When we jump, think only of your Name and the fragment. Nothing else."
"What about you?"
"I'll find you."
She hesitated, eyes flicking to the golden corridor. "Vale—"
"Do it," he snapped.
The floor lurched. He shoved her toward the red corridor just as it flickered solid. She stumbled into it, the Mirror glowing bright. The threads swallowed her like water.
He turned and dove into the blue corridor.
It was like plunging into cold ink. Darkness pressed around him, thick and heavy. His boots hit woven floor again but everything here was dim, muted. The corridor walls pulsed faintly, showing glimpses of his own memories — not illusions now but threads unravelling from his Name.
He thought, 'All right, Arch. Show me what you're scared of.'
A shape stepped out of the wall ahead. It was him again — but not older, not broken. This Aric was clean, bright-eyed, wearing a white coat without a single stain. He smiled, and the smile was genuine.
"You could have been me," the double said softly. "You still could."
Aric snorted. "And be another thread? No thanks."
"You think you're free," the double said. "But every cunning move you make is a knot you tie yourself. In the end you'll weave a cage no different from this."
Aric stepped closer. "If that's true, then at least it'll be my cage."
The double tilted his head, almost sad. "Would you even recognise the difference?"
Aric reached out and touched the wall. The image rippled and dissolved, leaving only darkness and faint blue glow. He whispered his Name again, louder this time, feeling it anchor him.
Somewhere ahead, a faint scream echoed — Lyra's voice.
He broke into a run.
The corridor bent sharply and opened into a chamber unlike any before. Here the threads were red and blue interwoven, forming a vast tapestry that stretched into darkness above. Images flickered across it: his memories and hers mixed together — the orphanage courtyard, her training ground, his first theft, her first kill. All blended into one shifting mosaic.
At the centre of the floor, Lyra knelt, clutching the Mirror. Threads coiled around her ankles and wrists, not tight but probing, like curious snakes. Above her, a figure descended — Sere, but woven entirely of threads, her golden eyes burning like coals.
Aric skidded to a stop. "Let her go."
Sere's thread-body tilted its head. "You broke the rules. You dove into another's corridor. This is not allowed."
"I've never been good at allowed."
"You both carry pieces of the fragment," she said, voice echoing like a harp chord. "But neither of you can bear the full weight. Give it to me."
Lyra's eyes were glassy. "Don't—"
Aric raised his hand. "If you wanted it, you could have taken it while we were asleep."
"I wanted you to bring it here," Sere said. "To the heart. Only here can it be severed from the Landlord's loom."
Aric's mind raced. 'Severed. That's what she's after. She's not lying — but she's not telling everything either.'
He said aloud, "And the price?"
Sere's eyes softened. "A thread from each of your Names. A sliver only. Enough for me to slip free."
Lyra's head snapped up. "Free?"
"I am bound as you are bound," Sere said. "I guide travellers because I cannot leave. Give me a fragment of your Names, and I will open the way out. The fragment will be yours alone."
Aric stepped closer, ignoring the threads brushing his boots. "And if we refuse?"
"Then you will drown in your own threads," she said simply. "This tapestry will close and you will be woven into it. Perhaps you'll guide others someday."
He looked at Lyra. Her face was pale but her eyes were clear now, fixed on him. "Vale," she said quietly. "She's telling the truth. I can feel it."
He thought, 'She believes it. Doesn't make it safe.'
He knelt beside Lyra, keeping his eyes on Sere. "How much is a thread?"
"A memory. A trait. A single knot from the loom of who you are," Sere said. "You will not notice it gone. Not at first."
Aric's mouth twitched in a humourless smile. "That's what they all say."
He turned to Lyra. "You want to do this?"
She hesitated. "I don't know. But… the fragment's burning. If we don't act soon—"
The tapestry above them shuddered, images flickering faster. Threads began to fray at the edges, falling like snow.
Aric sighed. "All right. But we do it my way."
He stood, drew his knife, and sliced his palm. A thin line of blood welled. He held it out. "Take your thread, Sere."
Sere's golden eyes widened slightly. "You would give it freely?"
"Under one condition," he said. "We choose which knot you take."
"That is not—"
"—allowed. I know." He grinned. "Humour me."
Sere was silent for a moment, then nodded once. "Very well. Show me the knot."
Aric closed his eyes. In his mind's eye he pictured his Name as a lattice of light — hundreds of knots, thousands of strands. He found one near the edge, a memory he could live without: the taste of a certain wine, the sound of a certain bell. He held it out.
Sere reached with a thread-hand and touched his palm. Pain like ice shot up his arm. For a heartbeat he smelled the wine, heard the bell, felt it slip away. Then it was gone.
She withdrew her hand, holding a single glowing thread. "Done."
Aric opened his eyes, breathing hard. "Lyra?"
Lyra bit her lip, then nodded. "Same condition?"
He squeezed her hand. "Same."
She closed her eyes, found her own knot — a song her mother used to hum, she would never hear it the same again — and held it out. Sere took it gently.
Two glowing threads now floated in Sere's hands. She pressed them to her own wrists. The bracelets of thread snapped and dissolved. She gasped, shuddering.
"I am free," she whispered.
The tapestry above them trembled. The vortex's roar faded. The red and blue threads around Lyra unwound and retreated. The Mirror in her hands glowed, then steadied.
Sere looked at them both, her golden eyes no longer sad but fierce. "You kept your bargain. Now keep mine."
She raised both hands. The tapestry split down the middle, revealing a narrow bridge of golden threads leading into darkness.
"Go," she said. "Before the Landlord notices."
Aric didn't move. "And you?"
"I will delay him," she said. "It is the least I can do."
Lyra grabbed Aric's arm. "Vale—"
He thought, 'Trap or not, this is the only exit.'
He said aloud, "You're coming with us."
Sere smiled faintly. "Not yet."
Then the floor shook. Threads began to snap, the sound like gunfire. The bridge flickered.
Aric cursed. "All right. We're going."
He pulled Lyra toward the bridge. They stepped onto it. The golden threads were warm underfoot, humming like a heartbeat. Behind them, Sere raised her hands, threads swirling around her like a storm.
Lyra glanced back. "Will she make it?"
Aric didn't answer. He thought, 'If she's as cunning as I think, she will.'
They ran.
Halfway across, the bridge lurched. Threads snapped underfoot. Lyra stumbled. Aric grabbed her, hauling her up. Ahead, the darkness opened into a faint glow — another chamber, another test, or maybe freedom.
Behind them, a sound like a thousand scissors cutting silk filled the air.
They ran harder.
As they reached the end of the bridge, a voice — Sere's voice — echoed faintly: "Remember, Vale. Keys cut both ways."
Then the bridge vanished beneath their feet.
They jumped.