Chapter 10: The Day the Threads Sang

It was quiet.

Not in the usual way—like a forest holding its breath, or a town just before sunrise.

No, this quiet was deeper. It hummed.

Even the grass had stopped rustling, as if the world itself had turned an ear to something only it could hear.

Dee Megus woke before the others, stirred not by a sound but by a sensation. A vibration in the air, like harp strings plucked from the inside of his bones.

He stood, fingers flexing.

"Something's weaving," he murmured.

Not someone.

Something.

The campfire had burned low during the night, leaving behind curls of ash shaped like spirals. Vampher was still sleeping on top of a pile of cloaks he insisted were not "his emotional comfort nest," and Hiro had somehow tied himself to a tree with fishing line during the night.

Dee didn't question it.

Instead, he stepped out into the clearing and watched the early mist curl around his boots like playful kittens. That's when he heard it again.

The song.

It wasn't made of notes, not exactly. It was… pattern. Thread humming against itself. A lullaby sung in looped intention, woven across the horizon like the world remembering a favorite tune from childhood.

He touched the air gently.

It responded.

Like it knew him.

And just then—just then—he felt it change.

In the distance, a single tree burst into bloom.

Which wouldn't have been remarkable if it weren't a pine tree.

And on fire.

"I think I'm dreaming," Vampher muttered from behind him.

"You're awake."

"I think I prefer dreaming."

The pine tree gave a joyful whistle and levitated.

"Yep," Vampher said. "That confirms it."

Hiro came running moments later, a crown of dandelions on his head, a frog riding his shoulder, and no shoes.

"Dee!" he shouted. "The clouds are making puns!"

Dee raised an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"One of them just said, 'I mist you.'"

"That's deeply troubling."

"They're trying their best," Hiro said proudly.

Vampher stared at the floating, whistling tree. "Explain."

"Something is wrong," Dee said simply.

"You say that like it's new."

"Something is wrong with the weave. It's singing."

"Can it stop?"

"No," Dee said, eyes distant. "It's not a song of now. It's a memory. A looped echo from the first Great Weave War."

The mist began to coalesce into shapes—animals made of thread, walking quietly along invisible paths. A serpent slithered through the sky, its scales made of stardust and regrets. A fox padded across the river's surface, its eyes filled with futures that hadn't happened.

"These aren't real," Vampher said.

"They're echoes," Dee whispered. "Not illusions. Just... echoes woven into the world's base code. Impressions too stubborn to unravel."

"Should we run?" Hiro asked.

"No," Dee said. "We need to follow it."

"To where?"

Dee pointed to the forest, where a path had unfolded, lined with gold thread and gentle melodies that shifted based on who was listening.

Without speaking, they followed.

They walked for hours—or maybe seconds. Time moved strangely in the singing.

Birds passed by with notes trailing behind them like ribbons. Trees leaned closer as if eavesdropping. Flowers turned to watch them, petals flickering in time with Dee's heartbeat.

Eventually, they reached it.

A clearing where the air was thicker. Not heavy—just… important.

In the center was a loom.

Old.

Huge.

Alive.

It sat untouched, surrounded by wildflowers and fragments of colored glass. Threads spun from it on their own, twisting into shapes—faces, places, memories—and fading again.

No one spoke.

Not even Vampher.

The loom continued its quiet labor, weaving images into existence:

A boy with white hair and stars in his eyes, discovering threadweaving for the first time. A young Hiro swinging a scythe at a monster ten times his size. A baby Vampher, accidentally resurrected, blinking at a sky he didn't understand.

The loom remembered them.

"You don't think…" Hiro started.

"Yes," Dee answered, stepping closer. "It's my loom."

Vampher tilted his head. "You have a self-weaving memory machine in the woods?"

Dee stared at the thing like he'd forgotten it even existed.

"I built it during the early years. Before the First Weave War. It was meant to record the world's story through thread resonance. But I left it behind when..."

He trailed off.

He didn't have to say why.

When the Severed Loom came.

When everything became unwoven.

The loom pulsed.

A new image shimmered into view: a girl, laughing under a thread-light tree, reaching out toward someone unseen. Then unraveling. Gently. Silently.

"Myla," Dee whispered.

The loom wept threads of silver that vanished before they hit the ground.

"I thought it was destroyed," Dee said. "Or... devoured."

"You sealed it too well," Vampher murmured.

"No," Dee said. "Something protected it."

And that's when it happened.

The singing stopped.

The air snapped like a taut thread.

The world paused.

And something else stepped through the clearing.

It wasn't a figure, not quite. More like a presence wearing the possibility of form. Shadows and sunlight mingling. Eyes that changed every second. Hands made of maybe.

The Observer.

Not cloaked. Not hidden.

Just... there.

"Beautiful," the Observer said softly, gesturing at the loom. "You almost forgot about this one."

Dee tensed, summoning defensive thread circles with a flick of his hand. "What are you doing here?"

The Observer stepped closer, examining the loom as if it were an old painting in a long-forgotten gallery.

"Watching. Always watching. But sometimes... one must listen. This loom still hums the true weave. It's rare to hear honesty in a world built on half-remembered intentions."

Vampher narrowed his eyes. "You nudged it to start, didn't you?"

"I opened a memory. The loom sang on its own."

Hiro stepped in front of the loom. "Is this another test?"

"No," the Observer said. "Not a test. A... reminder."

He looked at Dee.

"You are already unraveling. Bit by bit. You think you're shaping the world, but the shape is shaping you."

Dee didn't flinch. "I know what I am."

The Observer tilted his head. "Do you?"

And just like that, he was gone.

The loom shuddered.

Then stilled.

The mist returned, this time without song.

They stood there for a long time.

Eventually, Vampher broke the silence. "Do we take it with us?"

Dee smiled faintly. "It wouldn't come. It is here."

"Then what now?"

Hiro sat cross-legged beside the loom and pulled out three small jars of mana syrup.

"We remember," he said. "We rest. We keep moving."

Dee watched the loom for a moment longer.

Then sat beside them.

The threads still danced at the edges of the clearing, whispering names.

Names that hadn't been spoken in centuries.

They let them whisper.