Moonlight seeped through the fractured stained glass of the ancient throne room, casting jagged shards of pale blue and crimson across the cold marble floor.
The air hung thick with the scent of stale incense and forgotten rituals, a silence so profound it felt like the chamber itself was holding its breath.
From the shadowed archway, three cloaked figures emerged, their black robes whispering against the stone. Their faces were hidden beneath deep hoods and masks traced with distinct silver linings.
They approached the grand altar at the room's heart—a monolithic slab of obsidian etched with swirling runes that seemed to writhe in the dim glow.
Atop the altar lay a vast, motionless form, swathed in shadows so absolute they devoured the light. Threads of faint essence twined around it, pulsing with a cold, rhythmic life, as if the darkness itself were breathing.
The lead figure stepped forward and knelt with a rustle of fabric. A pale hand slipped from the robe, clutching a twisted silver ring that gleamed unnaturally.
"It's time, Mother."
Vynn jolted awake, drenched in sweat.
He clutched the sheets as if he'd just seen a ghost. His trembling hand caught his eye, and for a moment, he was surprised that his own body was reacting on its own.
He pressed his palms to his face, covering his eyes as he tried to steady his nerves.
'Again. The same dream. What is this feeling? Why am I having this dream?'
He swung his legs off the bed and moved to the window, pushing it open.
Morning had come to Vaylen.
I rubbed my eyes properly and yawned. Man, I'm still sleepy. That damned dream woke me up halfway.
I looked out over the kingdom in its full morning glory. A courier sped past on the street below, wielding his speed Threads to deliver the news.
The local baker used his elemental fire thread to bake bread for the day, while a lady watered her plants with her water thread.
The basic elemental Threads are the most common, manifesting easily among the people. Yet I was at the bottom—having only a physical Thread.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd been given a different Thread—or a unique Vessel. After all, I'm the lowest of them all. That's just the way I was born.
Let's leave that aside. I'm getting late, and I don't want Mother to be angry.
As I imagined my mother's angry face, I shivered a little. Yeah, definitely don't want that.
I went to the bath and took a shower, my mind still tangled in the nightmare I'd just had, unable to understand what connected me to it.
Afterward, I got dressed for the academy and stepped into the hallway. As I was about to leave, a familiar voice caught my attention. I turned my head toward it.
My mother sat in the garden, radiant as the morning sun.
Her blonde hair, sharp features, and slightly narrow eyes that held a gentle warmth blended beautifully with the sunshine.
She wore a long black traditional dress with strange white symbols etched into it. Light shimmered through her hair, giving her a goddess‑like glow as birds gathered around her, drawn by her calm presence.
Every gesture she made was pure and unhurried, as if she were weaving sunlight into the air. She turned toward me, and seeing that I was leaving, she called out:
"Oh, Vynn, have you eaten your breakfast?"
I nodded. "I'm done. I was just leaving."
"Be safe on your way," she said, waving as I stepped out.
I left home and headed toward the academy, and along the way I met my friends, Laya and Lark.
"How's your mood today, Vynn? You were pretty down yesterday," Laya asked.
"I'm fine, Laya."
As I said that, I noticed she suddenly seemed more energized—her posture looser, her smile wider—just because I'd answered her.
"Tell me, how is your preparation coming along for Threadspire?" she asked.
"You know I'd be a lot more confident in my skills if I had my mother's talents—or Lark's overconfidence," I said.
Hearing that, Lark cut in.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean? Say whatever you want—I don't care. I'll win this year. I've considered everything."
"Yeah, yeah, keep boasting, Lark. It won't change much. I know you're strong, but did you forget about last year?" Laya said.
The moment she said "last year," Lark interrupted, glaring down at her with narrow eyes. Seeing his reaction, Laya met his gaze, and the two of them stood in tense silence.
Finally, Lark broke it.
"Last year or any other year—it doesn't matter. I will win. You'll see, redhead."
Seeing the tension rise, I stepped between them.
"Yeah, Laya, cut him some slack. If Lark says he's done ample preparation, I kind of believe him. Besides, stop arguing—we've arrived."
We reached the academy.
The academy was built from cold stone and pure white marble, trimmed with gold. Its towering buildings were interconnected and slightly pointed, giving the whole place the look of a fantasy castle more than a school.
The academy existed purely to display Vaylen's pride—its heritage in thread manifestation and the power of its people. After all, Vaylen is the strongest kingdom in Elysara right now.
Our classroom was on the highest level, which I honestly hated.
Why did they build it like this? I have to climb all these stairs just to sit in class.
I took my usual seat at the back, with Lark next to me. Laya sat with Seren and Mira from the Ashen and Thorne families.
As we were sitting and chatting, Miss Anies, our teacher, entered the classroom. What she said next froze all of us in place.
"Alright, class. Pay attention! I have an announcement. A royal decree has commanded that this year's class will graduate in one month. As a result, the Threadspire and your True Name ordeal will take place one month from now."
"What?" someone blurted out.
Everyone was stunned.
Why are they doing this? They just cut off five months.
"And as you know," she continued, "you'll get a whole month to prepare before the event. That means you'll have no classes after today. In one month, you will be tested in the ordeal."
Wait a second. Why are they cutting off this much time? It doesn't make sense.
Judging by how abrupt this decision is, it feels like either we're losing on the front lines… or they've prepared something different for this year's graduates.
As I was thinking, a voice rose above the commotion.
"Hah! It's pointless to even compete in this Threadspire. Everyone else will be crushed. None of you stands a chance in it!"
Hearing that bold—and honestly pathetic—display of confidence, another voice snapped back.
"Bold words from a small man, Tarion. You're going to eat dirt this time. I'll crush you. Just wait," Markus said with a wide grin.
"I don't doubt you, Markus. You and Lark are the only ones who give me any competition. I'm truly thankful to you two—you're the only ones who help push my boundaries. I'm saying this for the other students. Wouldn't you agree, Vynn?" Tarion called out.
Hehe. A pathetic provocation. As the greater man here, I'll double it and throw it back.
"Yeah, it sure sounds like you will, Tarion. I just hope it doesn't get to your head. Otherwise, you might lose your life in the ordeal itself. After all, anything can happen there."
The room went silent at my words.
"Hah! You think I'll die, late winder? We'll see about that, Vynn," Tarion shot back.
"Alright! Enough chattering, Tarion, Markus, and Vynn. Have you all forgotten I'm still in the classroom?" Miss Anies snapped.
"Let's get back to advanced thread manifestation. You will complete that today. This year your classes were supposed to be all about practice—but I think the officials left out the practice part, those ignorant monkey officials," she muttered, clearly frustrated.
Class eventually ended, and as we started to leave, Miss Anies spoke again.
"Just work hard, everyone. Your destined competition has come much closer.
I truly hope all of you can survive and return safely. This world is cruel, and I don't want to lose any of you… even though I know some of you won't survive. I hope you can take care of each other and live.
The world is far too vast for you, young ones, to die this early," Miss Anies said, a faint glimmer in her eyes.
The whole class rose from their seats and bowed their heads to her.
"Thank you for everything," they said in unison.
Even though I didn't say it aloud, I understood. From her perspective, she's about to lose students she's known for nearly ten years. That's rough.
Walking home with Lark and Laya, an unusual tension hung between us until Laya finally broke the silence.
"What are we going to do? I have to start preparing for Threadspire right now."
As soon as she said that, she dashed away from us, shouting over her shoulder as she ran:
"We'll meet at the usual spot before the day of Threadspire!"
"I wasn't expecting the borders to be so critical that they had to reschedule Threadspire because of it," Lark said.
As soon as he said that, he glanced at me.
"Tell me, Vynn—are you seriously not going to compete in Threadspire after all? You know you can't become truly awakened otherwise. This might be your only chance."
Hearing that from Lark genuinely surprised me. I am going to compete in Threadspire—but I wanted to see his reaction.
"No, I'm not," I said. "You know I'm a rank‑one threadling. It's like signing my own death sentence."
Lark stared at me with narrowed eyes, then grinned.
"You really don't know how to lie to me, do you? We've been friends for fifteen years, Vynn. I can tell you'll join Threadspire. That's just the kind of person you are, always chasing meaning."
I chuckled at his words and smiled.
"Life is full of surprises, Lark. You clearly know me well… but we'll see in Threadspire. I'll be waiting for you. Goodbye."
With that, we parted ways.
I finally arrived home—but the moment I stepped inside, I sensed danger.
Something huge wrapped around me, my head swallowed between two soft pillows.
There was no doubt now.
She had arrived.