Chapter 7: The Threads of Truth

Aria’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the vast expanse of the Archive. The glowing threads stretched infinitely in all directions, their colors shifting and intertwining like a living constellation. Each thread pulsed with energy, whispering secrets too soft to grasp.

The Hunter stood beside her, silent but watchful. Aria could feel its presence like a looming shadow, yet something about it seemed different now. It was no longer just an enemy it was bound to this place just as she was.

She took a cautious step forward, the smooth marble floor beneath her feet humming with power. The moment her foot touched it, the threads around her reacted, shimmering brighter. A voice soft yet firm spoke from the air itself.

"Weaver, you have entered the sacred Archive. You seek answers. But are you ready for the truths hidden within?"

Aria’s fingers tightened around the shard. "I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The air shimmered, and from the threads, a figure began to take shape. It was translucent, woven from strands of gold and silver light. Its face was unreadable, shifting between countless expressions.

"Truth is not kindness," the figure said. "Truth is a blade. Do you dare let it cut?"

The Hunter let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "Spare us the riddles. We’re here for answers, not philosophy."

The figure turned toward the Hunter, its voice growing colder. "You are bound by the past. You seek destruction because you fear the weight of your own thread."

The Hunter stiffened. "You don’t know me."

"No?" The figure raised a hand, and suddenly, a single thread unraveled from the endless tapestry. It glowed dark crimson, twisting and trembling like it was resisting its own fate.

Aria recognized it instinctively it was the Hunter’s thread. And as she watched, it flickered with images. Blurred faces. A hand reaching out. A scream swallowed by silence.

The Hunter recoiled. "Stop this."

"Truth is a blade," the figure repeated. "Will you wield it, or let it destroy you?"

Aria’s heart pounded. She could see the way the Hunter’s fingers curled into fists, the way its mirrored mask seemed to crack just slightly.

Then, before the Hunter could react, the figure turned to her. A new thread emerged this one gleaming with brilliant silver and deep blue.

Her own.

Memories flashed through her mind. Her mother’s lullaby. The first time she touched a weaving spindle. The moment she first saw the tapestry and felt its immense power humming in her bones.

But then the thread darkened. A vision took form one she didn’t recognize.

She stood in a ruined world. The tapestry was torn apart, threads dangling like broken limbs. Shadows crept across the sky, devouring light. She heard a voice her own whispering a single, chilling phrase.

"It was always meant to break."

Aria gasped, staggering back. "No… that’s not me. That’s not my future."

The figure’s glowing eyes bore into her. "Yet the thread does not lie."

The Hunter exhaled sharply. "So, Weaver. Still think you have all the answers?"

Aria clenched her fists. No. This couldn’t be her fate. She wouldn’t let it be.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, staring into the shifting light of the Archive. "Then show me everything," she said. "If I’m to rewrite fate, I need to see all of it."

The figure tilted its head. "Brave words, Weaver. But some threads cannot be unspun."

The room trembled. The threads above them shifted violently. The Archive was responding.

And then, with a bur

st of light, the walls of reality itself began to crack.