Allium was already on the floor when the voices rose.
Not sitting.
Not resting.
Curled inward, one arm wrapped over his head, fingers digging into his scalp as if he could physically hold his thoughts in place. His other hand clawed against the floor, nails scraping softly as the pressure inside him grew heavier, denser, intentional.
The apple lay a short distance away, bruised where it had struck the ground. Its scent—sweet, Solara-fed—felt distant now, like something remembered through glass.
The sound in his mind was not loud.
It was precise.
A tightening.
White pressed against orange beneath his skin, not burning, not overwhelming—correcting. Like a hand turning a dial one increment at a time.
The first word landed like a blow to the sternum.
Puppet.
Allium's breath locked in his chest. His ribs seized as if braced by invisible clamps. His glow flickered, orange dimming as a thin, sterile white crept upward, threading through his veins like frost through cracks.
"No," he said, hoarse, more instinct than defiance.
The second word struck before the air fully returned to his lungs.
Used machine.
His arms twitched.
Not violently.
Deliberately.
Muscle memory awakened where no memory should exist—commands without language, responses without consent. His fingers curled as if waiting for instruction.
White flared brighter.
His vision narrowed.
Allium slammed his palm into the floor, grounding himself through pain instead of power. He pressed his forehead down, breathing hard, forcing sensation to outrun thought.
"I choose," he said, dragging each word free like something caught under rubble. "I choose."
The third word slid in quieter.
Closer.
Almost tender.
Servant.
His arms lifted a fraction.
His legs tensed, ready to stand, ready to move, ready to comply.
Allium snarled and folded tighter, forearms crossing over his head as if to shield his mind itself. His glow wavered violently—orange fighting to hold shape as white pushed back, patient and relentless.
The voices did not shout.
They waited.
Far away, on the shattered glass plain where the Temple of Stillness had once stood whole, Weaver's breath came thin and uneven.
The tracker in his hands pulsed.
Once.
A soft beep—too quiet, too polite for what it meant.
Weaver froze.
The wind whispered across broken glass, carrying faint chimes as shards shifted against one another. The sound reminded him uncomfortably of thread vibrating under tension.
He moved the tracker back over the sand.
Another beep.
Closer.
Weaver swallowed and forced himself to slow, Nina's warning echoing sharply in his mind. Don't thread. Don't reach. Let it reveal itself.
The tracker chirped again.
Weaver's eyes followed the signal down.
The air itself bent there.
Not invisibility—refusal. A distortion like heat shimmer without heat, like reality misremembering its own shape. Footprints marred the glass around it, overlapping, circling, stopping, starting again.
Many passes.
Many pauses.
Evidence of patience.
Weaver stepped closer despite himself.
His boot slid.
Something wet.
He staggered, catching himself, heart hammering as color rippled beneath his sole—liquid, unseen until disturbed, refracting Solara's light into sickly hues.
"Oh no," he whispered. "He's learned…"
Behind a fractured boulder, half-buried in the glass, stood a shape.
Khelos.
Or what had been Khelos.
A perfect copy, upright and empty. A shell. Its surface dull, lifeless, like a skin shed rather than destroyed. No presence. No pressure.
A decoy.
A sound clicked behind him.
Once.
Sharp. Dry. Final.
Weaver spun.
His threads exploded outward on instinct, snapping into place—
—and then froze.
Khelos let himself be seen.
No concealment. No distortion.
His body had broadened, reshaped. Antennae rose from his head like living instruments, vibrating faintly, humming just below hearing. His eyes sat on thin stalks now, each moving independently, all of them fixing on Weaver at once.
Parts of him phased in and out of solidity, edges stuttering between frames of existence.
Grasshopper-like wings unfolded from his back with a wet, tearing sound.
The air clicked as they locked into place.
His mouth opened.
The voice that emerged began as a child's—soft, curious, almost sweet—
Then warped.
Layered. Scraped. Distorted.
A chorus wearing a single throat.
Weaver didn't think.
He ran.
Glass screamed under his boots as he sprinted, shards cracking and snapping with every step. His breath tore at his lungs, each inhale burning sharper than the last. Behind him, the clicking followed—not frantic, not fast.
Measured.
Observing.
A wingbeat thundered overhead.
The air displaced violently as something jumped, not chased. Glass exploded somewhere behind him, the sound like a thousand bells breaking at once.
Weaver risked a glance back.
Khelos was airborne.
Not flying.
Leaping.
His wings beat once, then folded as his body arced impossibly through the air, landing with a concussive crack that sent fractures racing across the glass floor.
Weaver didn't slow.
Didn't look again.
The HQ gates loomed ahead, merciful and terrible.
A final click sounded behind him.
Then—
"…good…"
The word echoed faintly, pleased.
Weaver crossed the threshold and collapsed inside, palms scraping against the floor as he fought for breath. His heart pounded so hard it blurred his vision.
He had made it back.
And for the first time since Solara HQ had been built—
he did not feel safe inside it.
Back inside Jax's office, tension snapped.
"I'm the commander, not you!" Jax roared, fist slamming into the console. "I don't want you in charge! You take orders from me!"
Cassidy rolled her eyes hard. "Jax! Dude? Did you even hear what I said and what Weaver is doing?"
Jax hit the console again. "I don't care about some thread-man with a god complex! Central left this to me! Get out of my office now!"
Thane blinked, unfocused. "Wait… that's where we are?"
Cassidy smacked her palm into her face.
Rose stepped in.
She shoved Jax back into his chair and, against his struggling, froze his boots lightly to the floor. Frost crept out, controlled—but she shivered as it did.
"Cass is trying to help us," Rose said, voice steady. "Please shut up or I'm going to freeze your mouth next."
Jax went still. Steam practically rose off him.
Cassidy exhaled sharply. "Thank you, Rose. Just—sit. I'll fix this."
Rose nodded and sat. Thane glanced at her.
"Are you cold?"
She ignored him.
Nina approached Cassidy, suddenly small.
"I am a good doctor," she said quietly. "Right?"
Cassidy nearly tore her hair out. "YES. YES YOU ARE."
Nina flinched and started to cry.
"Oh—no—no—" Cassidy softened instantly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Nina cried harder.
Cassidy groaned. "Ugh! This is the last time I'm left alone with crazy people!" She glanced at Rose. "Except you. You're just… chill—sorry—relaxed."
Rose stared at her.
The doors slid open.
Weaver staggered in, pale, shaking, eyes too wide.
Cassidy rushed to him, steadying his back. "Gods, you look like you saw a ghost. What's wrong?"
Weaver crouched, breathing hard. "It's him. He… he molted or something. He was there. Showing himself. Like he wanted me to see him."
Cassidy went pale. "Wait—he showed himself? Why didn't he attack?"
Weaver swallowed. "Maybe… maybe I could convince him—"
"No." Cassidy cut him off sharply. "No. He could've killed you and didn't. He wanted you back here. And—shit—I get it."
She straightened. "He's trying to get Allium into Overload with the state of HQ. Where is he?"
Weaver shook his head. "He's in his dorm. Hearing voices. I don't know what to do."
Cassidy looked at her Mark, flaring.
"I'm going to talk to him."
Weaver grabbed her arm. "Attachment caused the last reaction—"
"I know," she said firmly. "But I'm not totally affected. My mark will warn me. No one else here is in the right state of mind. If this fails, follow your own advice."
"What advice?" Weaver asked.
She helped him up. "Evacuate. Now. If you stay and it goes bad, you'll all die."
Rose spoke quietly. "We can't leave. If Khelos is keeping Weaver here, it's all of us. But… you're the only one who can do this."
Cassidy nodded once.
Weaver removed his robe and draped it around Rose's shoulders.
Cassidy turned and left.
Toward the Balance.
Toward the trap.
And unseen, satisfied, Khelos listened—
learning exactly how close he could stand before Allium broke.