The House That Never Was

The moment Rien crossed the threshold, the world shifted.

No cave. No darkness. No stone.

She stood in a sun-dappled meadow.

The wind carried the scent of sweetgrass and violets, and nearby, a brook whispered its lazy lullaby. A cottage stood at the center of it all—modest, red-roofed, and familiar in a way that turned her stomach.

"This isn't real," she whispered.

But her feet moved anyway, drawn by instinct older than fear.

The others had vanished.

Or perhaps she'd left them behind in a thread sewn only for her.

A Mother in Another Thread

She opened the door to the cottage and saw a woman sitting by the fire.

Her back was turned, but Rien would have known her in any form.

The way her fingers drummed lightly on the arm of the chair.

The soft hum rising from her throat—no melody, just the rhythm of warmth and safety.

"Mother," Rien said, voice small.

The woman turned slowly.

She was older now. Worn by a life of peace.

But not Elyra the Flamebearer. This woman's eyes held no fire. No pain. No rebellion.

"Hello there," she said kindly. "Are you lost?"

"Don't you know me?" Rien asked, stepping closer. "It's me—Rien. Your daughter."

The woman's brow furrowed. "I… don't have a daughter."

Rien's knees nearly buckled.

"Your name is Elyra. You led the siege at Valenlight. You fought the Loom. You carried the First Flame in your blood."

The woman shook her head. "I'm not that person. My name is Elenna. I'm just a weaver."

A spool of bright thread sat beside her on the table.

Gold, silver, crimson.

Perfect.

Unbroken.

The Trap Beneath the Peace

Rien took another step forward. "This world is a lie."

Elenna—no, Elyra—smiled softly. "It's peace. That's not a lie. It's what I've always wanted."

"At what cost?" Rien asked.

"At no cost. The Seamwright offered me a life without regret. Without pain. My grief was too heavy. He lifted it."

"He erased who you were."

Elyra's smile faltered. "Isn't that the same thing, in the end?"

The words hit Rien like ice.

Because for a brief, terrible moment… she understood.

What would it be like, to live without guilt? Without the ghosts of fire and ruin? To walk through a life with no knowledge of what was lost?

Wouldn't it be easier?

But then she remembered her father's voice.

Her brother's laughter.

The fire in her mother's eyes the night she whispered, "Never forget who you are. Not even if they demand it."

The Thread Reclaimed

Rien stepped closer and reached for the gold thread on the table.

It pulsed beneath her fingers. Alive. Bound tightly.

She held it up.

"This is you," she said. "Everything the Seamwright wanted you to be. Safe. Small. Silent."

She wrapped it around her palm and squeezed.

The thread flared with light.

"But you were never safe. You were brave. You were flame."

Elyra stood.

The light shimmered around her. Her features wavered.

For a moment—just a heartbeat—her fire returned. Her eyes blazed the same as Rien's.

And she gasped.

"Rien?"

Rien let go of the thread.

"I remember," Elyra whispered. "I… remember you."

Threads Unraveling

The cottage began to tremble.

The walls flickered like torn parchment. The trees outside shuddered. The sky peeled into threads.

The Seamwright's voice echoed through the unraveling illusion.

"You fool. She was happy."

Rien stood her ground.

"She was rewritten. Now she's free."

"And what if she chooses to forget again?"

Elyra stood beside Rien now, eyes sharp and wet.

"Then remind me again. And again. Until I remember forever."

The Seamwright's scream tore through the world.

And the false meadow dissolved into starlight and smoke.

Back to the Real

Rien staggered, coughing, into the real cave beyond the Echo Warrens.

Kaelen caught her.

Elyra was behind her—older, weaker, but herself. Holding Rien's hand like she'd never let go again.

Maerai stared in wonder.

"She returned with her."

Vel gave a low whistle. "You just tore your mother out of the rewrite."

Lira was crying. She didn't know why, only that truth had won.

Elyra looked around, at rebels, firelight, and the strange world she'd been stolen from.

"This is war," she whispered.

"No," Rien said, voice low. "This is revenge."