The spiral groaned.
As the third bell's echo unfurled through Vel Quen, Lucian felt the Loom recoil again—not in fear, but resistance. Like it didn't want to record what came next. His Grimoire remained firmly shut, its spine taut with unread intention.
He stepped forward, but Queen Abigail raised one hand. Her expression was solemn. "If you go forward with that thread still wrapped around your heart, you will condemn yourself to echo."
Lucian's fingers twitched. Red thread still clung to him. He looked at Alice, whose golden threads had begun to fray at the edges. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Abigail said, "you're not the only one who remembers wrongly."
Lucian stared at her. "What do you mean, remember wrongly?"
