The world dissolved.
Not shattered.
Not collapsed.
Unwound.
Threads peeled away from Caelum's vision like someone lifting the fabric of reality to show the stitches beneath. Color vanished first—draining into white light, then into black threads, then into something beyond sight.
Time slowed.
Sound stretched.
The cavern, Artheon, the academy above—
all vanished into a single point of vibrating thread-light.
Caelum did not panic.
He simply watched.
He always watched.
The threads coiled around him like ribbons of cold fire, tightening softly—almost affectionately—pulling him deeper into the corpse's sealed aura.
"…bearer…"
The voice was everywhere.
Inside his bones.
Inside his thoughts.
Inside his soul.
"…remember…"
Something touched the center of Caelum's mind.
And the visions began.
Memory That Was Not His
A battlefield of black sand.
Storms of threadlight ripping across the sky.
Armies of sigil-masters kneeling before something towering—
a being made of pure threads, taller than mountains, wrapped in infinite strands of glowing white.
A Transcendent.
Not a being.
A concept.
Its voice shook the world when it spoke:
"I am the Weaver of What Comes.
I am the Threaded Path."
Caelum saw armies bow.
He saw cities kneel.
He saw fate itself bend toward the creature's hand.
And then—
A crack.
A tear in the world behind it.
A rift that screamed.
Black corruption surged through the opening, devouring mountains, skies, souls.
The Transcendent tore the corruption apart—
And was torn apart in return.
As it fell, it whispered:
"Seal me…
until the bearer…
comes…"
The memory shattered.
Back in the cavern… almost
Caelum's breathing slowed.
White light pulsed behind his eyes.
More threads wrapped around his arms, chest, ribs, spine—
seeping into his bones like liquid silver.
Artheon stumbled upright, clutching his cracked ribs.
"Veylor—STOP THIS—IT WILL CRUSH YOUR SOUL!"
Caelum didn't hear him.
He was somewhere else entirely.
The entity whispered:
"…unfold…"
Threads wrapped around Caelum's heart—
gently—
dangerously—
as if weaving it into something new.
White lines spread along his veins like glowing ink.
His heartbeat changed.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Purposeful.
The Transcendent corpse spoke again:
"You are broken…
and therefore… perfect."
More memories surged into him.
Memory Thread II — The Stitching Ritual
Dozens of arch-sages stood around the dying Transcendent.
Their voices cracked with desperation.
"Bind its body—"
"Hold its threads—"
"Seal its concept—!"
But the corpse resisted.
Not violently.
But… patiently.
Its final whisper echoed through time:
"Leave the path open…
for the next Weaver…"
The memories faded again.
Back in the cavern — Stage II overwhelms him
Caelum stood at the center of a storm of threads.
White light bled from his skin.
Artheon could barely stand, shielding his face from the conceptual winds tearing across the chamber.
He shouted:
"Veylor—if you continue, your soul will no longer be human—!"
Caelum smiled slightly.
"My soul stopped being human the moment I reincarnated."
Artheon froze.
Because something in Caelum's voice—
something quiet, vast, ancient—
was not human anymore.
A final thread reached toward Caelum's forehead.
A Mark-Thread.
Artheon screamed:
"DON'T LET IT MARK YOU—ONCE IT MARKS YOU—YOU BELONG TO IT—!"
Caelum lifted his head.
And let the mark touch him.
White fire exploded across his vision.
The cavern shook with a deafening roar.
The Transcendent corpse opened its other eye—
not physically
but conceptually—
Illuminating Caelum with a gaze older than the empire itself.
And then—
The marking finished.
A thin symbol—
a shimmering white-silver thread sigil—
burned into the skin just above Caelum's heart.
Not visible to the eye.
Visible only to those who could see threads.
The corpse's voice filled him:
"You are claimed…
Weaver of the Unfolding Thread."
Caelum gasped for air—
—then exhaled, calm again.
Stage II Thread Unfold had completed.
Artheon collapsed to one knee.
Not in pain.
In fear.
"What… what ARE you now…?"
Caelum opened his eyes.
Thread-sense flooded the room—
He saw every crack in the seal.
Every fracture in the corpse.
Every weakness in Artheon's chains.
Every heartbeat in the academy above.
He whispered:
"I see."
Artheon backed away.
His chains rattled violently, reacting to Caelum's presence.
"You… you are no longer a novice sigil-bearer."
"No," Caelum agreed softly.
His voice layered—multiple tones at once, as if borrowing the echo of the corpse.
"I'm becoming what this world tried to erase."
Artheon whispered:
"A Threadbearer."
Caelum turned toward the corpse.
"You called me here. Why?"
The entity's voice reverberated through the stone:
"…to finish…
my path…"
The ground shook violently—this time not from the corpse—
But from ABOVE.
Artheon's eyes widened.
"That tremor wasn't the seal—something is attacking the academy!"
Caelum tilted his head.
Thread-sense surged upward.
Through stone.
Through floors.
Through corridors.
He saw it.
A Reality Rip—
opening in the East Wing.
Caelum looked at Artheon.
"Go," he said calmly.
"I'll handle below."
Artheon shook his head.
"No—you aren't stable enough—"
Caelum smiled faintly.
"Stability is for people without purpose."
He placed a hand on the metal ring sealing the corpse.
Threadlight flowed from his fingertips—
repairing cracks, strengthening chains, stabilizing runes.
Artheon gasped.
"You—You can reinforce the Transcendent seal—?!"
Caelum didn't look away.
"I told you," he said softly.
"I understand it."
The seal hummed beneath his touch—
like a giant, sleeping beast sighing in its rest.
The corpse whispered once more:
"…soon…
we will speak again…"
The chamber dimmed.
The threads loosened.
The mark on Caelum's chest pulsed faintly.
Stage II was complete.
Artheon, still shaken, finally managed to stand.
"If you can stabilize the seal…" Artheon whispered, half in awe, half in fear,
"…then the Dominion Council will no longer know what to do with you."
Caelum turned toward the stairs, expression calm.
"They never did."
A second tremor rocked the academy above.
Caelum's eyes narrowed.
"It's time to return."
Artheon stared at him like seeing a new creature entirely.
"Caelum," Artheon said softly, chains trembling around him,
"you are no longer a student."
Caelum walked past him.
"No," he said.
"I am something Ashthorne has not seen in a thousand years."
He ascended the stairs.
And above them—
the academy screamed.