THE ORIGINLESS VISITOR

It started with a flicker.

Not in the Mirrorthread, or on the edge-codes, or even at Threadfall's roots. This flicker possessed no glyphtag, no render-sequence, no trail.

And yet—it was experienced.

Kaito spotted it walking alone along the Threadrift Basin, a barren expanse of land newly created between Ashbend and the old war-nodes.

The ground here undulated with memory—but not his. There was rain in the air, and every step he took sounded softer than it would have.

And then, before him—just for a moment—something changed.

It wasn't glitchy. It wasn't some hostile entity or busted render. No shimmering overlay. No script-tag.

It was a silhouette. Small. Still.

And utterly unmarked.

Kaito stopped. He blinked.

And it was gone. But not destroyed.

Just… elsewhere.

Elsewhere, in the new Grove of Listening, Ori felt her thread-stone shift temperature in her palms.