Mini-Chapter 5.5: The Blink Between

In every story, there are the things that happen...

And the things that almost happen.

This is a story of the between.

A flicker.

A breath.

A moment so small it passed beneath Dee's notice, behind Vampher's suspicion, and inside Hiro's very good mood.

Somewhere That Doesn't Exist on Any Map

There was a house made of white thread.

It had no door.

It had a thousand windows, and all of them looked out, but none of them let you in.

Inside, there was a man. Or the shadow of a man. Or something wearing the shape of a man.

He sat at a loom that wove itself.

And he watched.

Not through scrying.

Not through spying.

But by reading the threads of the world as if they were a diary he'd misplaced long ago and was now reading for the first time.

He Sees Them

He sees Dee Megus, chewing dragonfruit and arguing with clouds.

He sees Hiro Brihrest, setting soup on fire and thinking it smells like hope.

He sees Vampher Darquez, curled beneath his cloak, pretending not to care but remembering everything.

The man tilts his head.

"How sweet," he murmurs, in a voice like dust and silk. "They're whole again. For now."

He leans forward.

And reaches through a thread.

Just one.

A thin red line in the tapestry of Laphyzel.

He plucks it, ever so lightly.

A Field Outside of Time

A young girl stands at the edge of a river no one else can see. She is not from this age. Not from this world.

She wears a charm on her wrist — made from forgotten bones and stardust — and she hums songs not yet written.

A thread ripples under her feet.

She blinks.

Looks around.

"...Hello?" she whispers.

Nothing answers.

Except a voice inside her own mind.

"You are not yet ready."

She frowns.

But accepts it.

She has always heard voices like that — calm, amused, endlessly patient. They have never steered her wrong.

A Quiet Hill in Laphyzel

Dee Megus sneezes. Violently.

"Are you catching a cold?" Hiro asks, handing him tea.

"Don't be ridiculous," Dee mutters. "Threadweavers don't catch colds."

"You also said threadweavers don't fall off mountains."

"That was one time."

They laugh.

Somewhere behind them, the wind hums the melody the girl had been humming earlier.

But Dee doesn't notice.

Not yet.

Elsewhere: A Forgotten Temple

Vampher walks alone.

He found the temple by accident — its doors sealed by time, its name erased from memory.

He only meant to nap in the shade.

But something inside called to him.

A whisper of a whisper.

He places his hand on the cracked stone.

The stone answers.

Not in words.

But with a thread. A pulse. A signal meant for someone else.

He pulls back.

Unnerved.

He is a creature of memory.

And this memory does not belong to him.

The Man at the Loom

He smiles faintly.

"They still don't see me."

He opens a journal beside the loom.

Its cover is woven leather. It hums with power and purpose.

He writes three names:

Dee Megus

Hiro Brihrest

Vampher Darquez

Below them, in ink that glows red for only a moment, he adds:

The Loom-Shadow

The ink vanishes.

He closes the journal.

And looks through a window that shows a scene not yet real.

A Possible Future

Flashes:

Dee Megus — split in three, screaming at himself.

Hiro — dying, again, and again, and again.

Vampher — alone, surrounded by shadows made of his own memories.

The sky—fractured like glass.

The threads—writhing, tangled, wild.

The Severed Loom—awakening.

Laughing.

The man watches.

Then laughs, gently.

"Oh no," he says, sipping tea from a cup that refills itself with time, "not yet."

He flicks a thread.

And rewinds the tension.

Just a little.

Back in the Present

Dee twitches.

"Did you feel that?" he asks.

"No," Hiro says, stuffing his face with a rice ball. "Feel what?"

Dee looks at the air. Squints.

Then shrugs.

"Probably indigestion. You did add sugarcane to the eggs."

"It balances the metaphysical structure," Hiro says proudly.

"Of course it does," Dee mutters.

They walk on.

In a Tree Above Them

A feather floats down. White. Glowing.

A raven picks it up.

Whispers to it.

Then eats it.

And vanishes.

Back at the Loom

The man leans back.

He does not have a name.

At least, not one that can be spoken without breaking something important.

But if he did… it might have been:

The Reader.

The Forgotten.

The One Who Waits Until the Threads Snap.

For now, he simply watches.

Helping here.

Tugging there.

He does not interfere with the world of Laphyzel.

Not truly.

But he will be there when the Severed Loom rises again.

And he will ask one question:

"Do you remember me now?"

One Last Thing

In Hiro's backpack — the one with the enchanted frying pan and the slightly cursed ladle — a note appears.

No one sees it appear.

It simply is.

Hiro will find it later.

Scrawled in handwriting that shifts every time you look at it:

"You're not as lucky as you think.

But someone wants you to survive.

– 🍵"