Chapter 23: The Root of All Threads
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They ran into the shimmering light—Kael gripping his sword, Ayame grasping the small glowing thread Yui had handed her. Every step drew them deeper, not into a tunnel or field, but through memories woven into stardust.
The Loom no longer looked like a simple web.
It had transformed.
A vast, celestial tree stretched into the sky, its branches made of light and timelines, its roots digging through dream and memory. Echoes danced along its limbs—versions of Ayame and Kael in thousands of moments, both real and imagined.
Yui, still at the threshold, called after them, "You're heading for the root—the Origin Thread! It's fragile. Protect it!"
Ayame turned briefly, her eyes soft. "Thank you, Yui. For everything."
Then the light closed around them.
Kael exhaled slowly, glancing sideways. "So. A glowing memory-tree of all our life choices. Neat."
Ayame gave a short laugh. "Don't get too comfy. Any of those memories can be corrupted."
She was right.
As they walked the glowing pathway between branches, shadows darted at the edge of vision. Memories twisted into nightmarish versions—Kael turning away on the rooftop, Ayame crying alone at graduation, a version of them who never met.
They kept walking.
Finally, the path narrowed. At the base of the great tree, a small clearing opened. There, seated beneath glowing roots, was a young girl—six-year-old Ayame—staring up at the sky, legs crossed, stardust on her fingers.
"She's humming," Kael whispered.
Ayame felt her heart twist. "She always hummed when she wanted something badly. She was wishing for a friend."
The child looked up.
And smiled.
It was innocent. Full of wonder. Untouched by all the threads that came after.
But that smile vanished.
The sky cracked.
Something *screamed*.
A tear ripped through the clearing like jagged cloth. From it poured twisted memories—reflections of pain, of fear, of doubt. Dozens of false Kaels and warped Ayames, their hands outstretched, trying to *claim* the child.
"She's the root," Ayame breathed. "If they touch her—"
"She unravels," Kael finished grimly.
He stepped forward, blade raised.
"I got left behind once already," he said. "I'm not letting that happen again."
The echoes surged.
One lunged—an Ayame with golden eyes and wings of fire.
Kael met her mid-strike, parrying hard, sending her crashing into a twisting limb of memory.
Another leapt from the side—this one Kael-shaped, face void of features, laughter like shattering glass. Ayame twisted the thread in her hand, and the air responded. A shield bloomed around the child Ayame, threads humming.
More came.
More fought.
Kael grunted. "These are *your* inner demons, why am I the one getting headbutted by bird-Ayame?"
"Because you have a punchable face," Ayame shot back, ducking under a shadow's claw.
But her smile faded quickly. The air was warping—too many echoes, too much power, the Loom groaning under the weight of every possibility colliding at once.
She had to act.
She looked at the child version of herself.
"Do you remember me?" Ayame asked gently.
The girl blinked. "You're my wish."
Tears filled Ayame's eyes.
She knelt. "I *am*. And I need your help. All of this—all the versions of me, the good and bad, the pain and joy—it only exists because of that wish. But now it's breaking apart."
The child nodded solemnly, reaching up to touch Ayame's cheek.
"Then take it back," she whispered. "Choose it again."
Ayame hesitated.
Was she strong enough to *rechoose* everything? All the heartbreak? All the losses?
But then she looked at Kael.
Still fighting. Still by her side.
Yes.
She *was*.
Ayame pressed the glowing thread into the child's palm.
"I choose it," she whispered. "All of it."
The child dissolved into light.
The tree shivered.
A surge of power shot through the clearing. The echoes screamed—not in rage, but in *fear*. One by one, they disintegrated—threads retracting, false timelines collapsing like burned paper.
Kael stumbled to her side. "That... was terrifying."
The tree's roots began to glow, pulses of soft energy radiating out.
The Loom was healing.
But just as Ayame exhaled in relief—something *shifted*.
A presence.
Not one of the echoes.
Not memory.
But *outside*.
A tall figure stepped through the last mirror before it crumbled. Cloaked in black stars, its face masked in silver threads, it moved without sound.
Kael gripped his blade. "Let me guess: new threat?"
Yui's voice echoed faintly from the sky above.
"No," she whispered, almost reverently.
"That's not a threat."
"That's the *Architect*."
Ayame felt the air tighten.
The figure lifted a hand, and from it fell a single, gleaming thread—one unlike any they had seen.
It pulsed once.
And the chapter of reality blinked—
—and ended.
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