Veins of time

The sun had barely risen, casting a faint golden glow through the trees. Birds chirped in the distance, their soft calls swallowed by the lingering hush of early morning.

Eris stirred, the warmth of sleep still clinging to her as she blinked against the dim light seeping through the wooden slats of the window. The village was quiet—too quiet.

Aven was already awake. She sat near the door, fingers moving with precise efficiency as she checked their gear. There was something methodical about her movements, as if she wasn't just packing supplies but controlling the one thing she could.

"Up early," Eris murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Aven didn't look up. "The loom won't open for a while, and the nightroots are still ripe for the picking. If we get them now, we'll earn more coins."

Eris hesitated as they passed the narrow hallway, her gaze drifting toward the other room where Nia was probably still curled beneath thin blankets. "Should we call Nia? She might want to join us."

Aven's fingers stilled against the strap of the supply bag—just for a second. A fleeting pause. Almost imperceptible. "Nia can rest. We'll be better off without her." Her voice was smooth, but there was an edge beneath it—something cold, distant. "No one is obligated to team up in this world, Eris. Besides, we don't need distractions."

Eris bit her lip. Aven's words sat heavy in her chest. Dismissive. Absolute. It wasn't just about Nia—it was about everyone. About survival.

And maybe, about trust.

---

The Forest of Nightroots

Eris, Aven, and Ash moved through the thick underbrush. Damp earth sank slightly beneath their boots, the air growing heavier the deeper they ventured.

Then came the scent. Metallic. Faintly sweet, yet sickly. Wrong.

Eris ran her fingers along a nearby tree as they passed. The bark pulsed beneath her touch—warm, almost like flesh. She jerked her hand back, suppressing a shudder. The trees leaned at unnatural angles, their leaves curled inward like withered hands. Even the grass twisted in chaotic spirals, as though reality itself had warped around this place.

Then she saw them.

The nightroots.

Black, glassy tendrils curled from the ground like veins, pulsing with a dim, reddish sheen. They didn't sway in the wind. They moved—shivering, twitching, as if aware of their presence.

Aven crouched first, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she studied them. "They've spread farther." She pressed her fingers against one. It flexed beneath her touch.

Ash knelt beside her, his hand hovering just above the roots. A faint shimmer distorted the air—his magic stretching seconds forward, then pulling them back. The reaction was immediate. The nightroots pulsed, flickering between phases, their color shifting, darkening.

Ash's brow furrowed. "They're reacting to time."

Aven wove a thread of silver magic around one, attempting to sever it at the base. The glow flickered—but instead of breaking apart, the nightroot's sheen intensified.

It was feeding.

Aven cursed and yanked her threads back before it could leech more. "Great. They're adapting."

Eris exhaled sharply. "Then we need to be faster."

Aven nodded. "Let Shade and I pluck the nightroots while you, Ash, stand guard for the Hollows."

Ash hesitated. "Actually, it might be better if Shade keeps watch."

Eris frowned. "Why?"

"My magic disrupts them. If I focus on gathering them, it'll be faster." His tone was careful, but there was something else—something unspoken.

Aven exhaled sharply but nodded. "Fine. Shade, keep watch."

Eris swallowed her frustration and stepped back, scanning the darkened treeline. The stillness of the forest pressed in. Every rustle, every shift of shadow sent her pulse quickening.

Something was watching them.

Then, she heard it.

A low, guttural growl.

Her muscles locked.

Ash's fingers twitched toward his weapon. His stance tensed. "A Hollow."

The first one appeared.

It was almost human. Almost.

Its jagged, skeletal body twitched unnaturally, moving like a marionette with half-cut strings. Its hollowed-out face had no eyes—just empty sockets. Yet, it turned its head toward them with eerie precision, as if it could still see.

Then, it lunged.

Aven's silver threads snapped into existence, slicing across its torso. The creature staggered—but didn't fall. Instead, its body convulsed—then knitted itself back together.

Eris's breath hitched.

The Hollow lashed out. Aven barely dodged, its claw slicing through the space where her throat had been seconds earlier.

"Shit! They're resisting my threads!"

A second Hollow burst from the treeline.

Eris turned to run—too slow.

A crushing weight slammed into Eris' back, knocking the breath from her lungs. She hit the dirt hard, pain flaring along her ribs. Cold, jagged claws pressed into her shoulder, pinning her down. The stench of decay choked her senses, thick and suffocating.

The Hollow's face loomed over hers, empty sockets locked onto her as though it could see straight into her soul. It was too close. Too real.

MOVE. DO SOMETHING.

Her fingers clawed at the earth, but her limbs were sluggish, her body frozen in sheer, paralyzing terror. This wasn't like the stories. It wasn't like training. This was death, inches away.

"Shade, MOVE!"

Ash's voice barely registered before the weight on her back flickered, reality distorting like a frayed thread. The Hollow's movements stuttered, slowed—Ash's Divine Time magic crackled in the air, veins straining at his temple.

But the Hollow was fighting it.

It twisted and spasmed against the frozen time, its claws digging deeper into Eris' shoulder.

"I—I can't hold it for long," Ash gritted out.

Aven lunged, silver threads snapping like whips. They cut deep into the Hollow's form—only for the creature to stitch itself back together.

Eris' pulse roared in her ears. Her breaths were ragged, shallow. She couldn't move. Couldn't think.

No.

No, no, no.

She wasn't going to die here. She refused to.

Something snapped inside her.

A spark. A fracture. A break.

Magic surged through her veins—not the dull, supportive magic she had always known, but something else. Something wild. Desperate.

Her vision blurred, overtaken by sheer instinct. Create.

A violent, crystalline light ignited in her palm, raw and jagged. Not smooth. Not controlled. It crackled with unstable power, shifting unpredictably—like something forming in the moment between desperation and survival.

It was hers.

A spear.

Sharp. Deadly. Born from sheer defiance.

Without thinking, she thrust upward.

The crystalline spear pierced straight through the Hollow's chest, sinking deep with a sound that was both solid and wrong. The creature convulsed violently, its limbs spasming as the raw energy of the weapon crackled through its decayed form.

Then—

A single shudder.

And it crumbled into dust.

Silence.

The only sound was Eris' own ragged breathing. Her hands trembled, fingers still clenched around the weapon's hilt. But already, the spear was fracturing, breaking apart into glittering shards of energy before dissolving entirely.

Her magic flickered out.

Gone.

But the feeling lingered.

Aven, still gripping her wounded shoulder, let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "Not bad."

Ash wiped sweat from his brow, his usual composure shaken. His gaze flicked to the spot where the spear had been. Then, to Eris.

"They're getting stronger," he muttered.

Eris wasn't sure if he meant the Hollows.

Or her.

Then, beneath the roots of an ancient tree, something pulsed with light. A hidden map. Strange, looping patterns and cryptic runes covered its surface. Aven unrolled it, scanning the markings.

It read:

"Where the first weave bends time, the crystal shall awaken. In the ruin's shadow, the path is clear. Only the first must lead the way."

Eris stared at the words, her pulse hammering.

A vital clue. But what did it mean?

Aven folded the map, tucking it into her supply pack. "We'll figure this out later. For now, we need to get back before someone notices we're missing."

They didn't argue.

The walk back to the lodge was silent.

Even Aven, who usually filled the air with sharp remarks, kept her gaze forward. Eris flexed her fingers, still tingling from the unfamiliar magic that had surged through her. Had that been her true power? Or had it been something else—something desperate clawing its way to the surface?

By the time they reached the village, the weight of their discovery still clung to them. The sun had climbed higher, and the scent of freshly baked bread and herbal tea drifted through the streets. The quiet hum of daily life had resumed, oblivious to the horrors they had faced just moments ago.

Inside the communal hall, the others were already gathered for breakfast. Warm bowls of porridge and fresh fruit lay on the wooden table, but Eris barely tasted the food. Every bite felt like chewing through parchment.

Across from her, Ash rubbed his temple, his usual composed expression strained with exhaustion. Aven, sitting at the edge of the table, absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on her sleeve. Neither of them spoke about the Hollows or the map. Not here. Not yet.

Eris wanted to break the silence—to say something, anything—but the words stuck in her throat.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

"You three look like death."

Nia leaned over the table, raising a brow. She was rested, fresh-faced, and completely unaware of what had happened. The stark contrast sent a ripple of frustration through Eris, but she pushed it down.

"We woke up early," Aven muttered. "Went gathering."

Nia snorted. "You all look like you barely survived it."

Eris's stomach twisted. If only she knew.

Before Nia could pry further, Aven pushed back her chair. "We need to go."

Ash blinked. "Now?"

"The Weavers' Bode won't wait." Aven's gaze flickered to Eris, her meaning clear.

They had bigger things to worry about.

The Weavers' Bode

The Bode loomed before them—a towering structure of dark stone and silver thread, its edges fraying into strands that shimmered under the midday sun. The air was different here, denser, as if time itself had been woven into the very fabric of the place. The faint scent of dye, parchment, and something older—something like forgotten history—clung to the air.

Eris felt the weight of it settle against her skin.

The doors creaked open.

Inside, the walls were draped in intricate tapestries that moved, their woven figures shifting ever so slightly when one wasn't looking directly at them. The hush of the chamber was deep, thick, expectant.

At the center stood a figure.

Tall. Draped in layered cloth, each strand interwoven with shimmering thread. His face was sharp, lined with age, yet untouched by weakness. His eyes, a shade of deep onyx, cut through them with the precision of a blade.

When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of something absolute.

"You stand at the edge of the loom. If you seek knowledge, you will weave with your own hands. If you seek power, you will unravel before you understand its threads. And if you come with nothing but idle curiosity..."

The air around him shifted—threads in the walls twisting in response to his words.

"Then leave now. The loom does not wait."

Eris met his gaze, heart pounding.

She wasn't leaving.