The sky above Bali Kumbat had begun to ripple with a strange tension. On the chrome city side, lights blinked in unnatural sequences, like the buildings themselves were counting down to something. On the paradise side, waterfalls froze mid-fall, their mist suspended in sparkling arcs that glimmered like trapped stars.
Salemadon's black-and-white threads coiled around him instinctively. They hummed with energy he had not yet learned to name. He could feel them, not just with his hands or eyes, but with his very bones. The threads were alive, reacting to the world, to him, to some unseen pattern he had yet to understand.
He had been standing on the glowing platform for what felt like hours, observing the aftershocks of his first forbidden sentence. The universe had heard it. And now it seemed to be responding.
A low rumble began beneath his feet. Not thunder, not earthquake — something older. Something angry. The platform vibrated subtly, then violently, as crystalline shards that hovered around him quivered in alarm.
Salemadon's gaze darted toward the left side of the world. The chrome city trembled first. One of the towering skyscrapers cracked along its midline. A ribbon of black-and-white threads shot from his platform instinctively, wrapping around the structure to prevent it from toppling completely. The effort drew beads of sweat down his face.
"Threads… you must listen to me," he muttered. The strands tightened around the skyscraper, holding it upright by an invisible lattice of energy. He could feel the strain, the pull against his body, against his stamina.
On the right side, the paradise world was not safe either. Waterfalls that had stopped mid-air suddenly surged violently in all directions, as if the rivers themselves were trying to escape a prison. Trees bent unnaturally; giant vines wriggled, cracking through the earth as though alive. The natural world was reacting to him. Or maybe to the universe itself, unsettled by what he had unleashed.
A deep, jagged crack split the space between the chrome city and the paradise realm. A vertical fracture opened, glowing faintly red, slicing the sky. From within it, a gust of wind surged outward — not air, but something threaded, shifting, alive.
Salemadon raised his arms instinctively. The threads responded immediately, spinning into spirals around him like protective whorls. White and black energy ribbons wrapped around his body, forming a barrier that shimmered against the chaos.
But the threads were not enough.
From the fracture, fragments of both worlds began to fall. Shards of chrome, pieces of crystal, chunks of soil and vegetation, water suspended in midair — all of it hurtling toward the glowing platform.
Salemadon reacted on instinct. He thrust a hand forward, sending a wave of threads outward, catching the first chunks mid-fall. They floated like objects in zero gravity, redirected into safe patterns, spiraling harmlessly around him. But for every shard he caught, two more came crashing through the fracture.
He realized, with a chill, that this was no random disaster. The fracture was hungry. It was testing him, pulling at reality itself to see how strong the center of threads could be.
Maweh's presence was there — faint, almost a whisper in his mind. Not motherly yet, just guidance.
"Do not force the threads," the voice said. "Listen. Flow with the fracture. It is alive. It will respond if you move correctly."
Salemadon exhaled sharply. His hands did not move; instead, he let the threads feel the fracture, follow its rhythm. The shards slowed as they approached him. Some even hovered, caught mid-fall as if deciding whether to strike or obey.
A massive waterfall shard, larger than a house, began to descend from the paradise side. It was spinning violently, and the force could crush the platform if it hit.
Salemadon extended all threads outward simultaneously, weaving a complex lattice of energy, spinning in double-helix spirals. The threads wrapped around the waterfall shard, bending it like clay. It slowed, then reversed slightly, coming to rest suspended in the air.
He realized he was learning faster than he had expected. The disaster was teaching him, forcing him to master instinct and strategy at the same time.
The chrome skyscraper above shuddered again. A shard of red crystalline energy broke off from the fracture and shot toward the platform. Salemadon's threads caught it, but this time it tried to pierce through the lattice.
"Not enough," he whispered. And suddenly, he understood: the fracture did not want him to block it. It wanted him to rewrite it.
He released the threads intentionally. They spun outward, not in defense but in pattern. The shards did not collide; they were redirected into a new orbit, forming bridges of suspended energy that connected chrome, paradise, and the platform. It was like constructing a fragile highway across the fracture, stable enough to survive for a few heartbeats.
The universe seemed to pause. The threads hummed in resonance with the fracture. Then the fracture contracted suddenly, the jagged red line shrinking, trembling, before vanishing entirely. The shards returned to their original worlds, slowly, as if reality had decided to forgive this breach.
Salemadon fell to his knees, exhausted, sweat dripping from his face. His threads coiled gently around him, now calm, obedient again.
Maweh's voice returned, slightly stronger this time:
"You are not ready to fully understand, but you are ready to survive. Today, you have written your first thread of control. Remember it. Respect it. And do not underestimate the fracture."
Salemadon wiped his brow. "It… it wanted me to create order, not destroy?"
"Yes," she said. "Most would have tried to fight it and failed. You listened. That is why the platform still stands, and Bali Kumbat is safe… for now."
His eyes swept the horizon. The chrome city was quiet. The paradise waterfalls flowed normally again. And yet, he felt the pulse of the fracture lingering. A reminder that the universe was alive and that the threads were not just his power — they were part of everything around him.
He rose slowly, cape brushing against the glowing platform. In the distance, villagers had gathered. They stared upward, mouths open in awe. Not in fear, not in worship — but in recognition. Something extraordinary had happened. Something they could feel, even if they could not fully see it.
Salemadon realized that the public, the world, even the elements themselves were now participants in his story. His actions had consequences, and the Threads were no longer just his tools — they were the language of reality itself.
He turned to Maweh's invisible presence and whispered, almost to himself:
"Then I have to learn faster… or the fracture will return, stronger."
"Yes," she said softly, almost a murmur. "And next time, it will not wait for hesitation."
Salemadon clenched his fists. The threads lifted again, coiling around him like a crown of energy. He had survived his first true disaster. He had learned instinct, strategy, and control under pressure. And he understood, for the first time, that being a thread-walker meant bearing the weight of the world — literally.
A final shimmer passed through the fractured sky, invisible to most, but the threads caught it. It pulsed once, then faded — a warning.
Salemadon looked up at the Gemini constellation. His eyes glowed faintly in the cosmic light. He was not just standing on the platform. He was standing at the center of Bali Kumbat, the center of threads, the center of a universe that would challenge him at every turn.
And he was ready.
"Sometimes, a single thread can hold a world. Sometimes, it cannot."
"The universe had trembled, but one thread had held. Now Salemadon had to learn how to weave without breaking reality itself."