The air in the Threadspire tasted like metal and memory.
It loomed high above the mountains, wrapped in twisting spires of woven magic. Invisible threads shimmered in the sky, pulsing like veins in a sleeping god. The moment we stepped onto the floating platform, the threads reacted—humming, twisting, turning toward me.
"They're watching," Riven whispered, eyes darting upward. "Every inch of this place is sentient with spellcraft. Don't speak unless spoken to."
The doors creaked open on their own.
Inside, the Council chamber looked like a courtroom carved from stars—tall chairs formed of black iron, glowing inscriptions suspended midair. Seven figures sat in a crescent. Hooded. Faceless.
But they felt… ancient.
One leaned forward. "Sera Venn. Step forward."
I did. My heart thundered.
"You are Marked by the Desire Thread. Do you deny it?"
"No," I said clearly.
"Do you understand the danger you pose?"
"I understand people are afraid of what they can't control."
That stirred them. A ripple of movement. I felt Riven tense behind me.
Another Councilor spoke. A woman, her voice silk laced with steel.
"You burned a Threadfiend with raw fire. You awakened the bond without guidance. That kind of power doesn't come without cost."
I stayed quiet.
Then the central figure rose. Taller than the rest. His hood slipped back just enough to reveal one eye—pierced with light, carved with a symbol I recognized from Riven's old books.
The First Weaver.
"You must be tested," he said. "Not with blades. With truth."
Suddenly, a wall behind them shimmered and revealed an enormous mirror—no reflection, just threads pulsing inside it.
"The Mirror of Binding," Riven whispered. "It shows the truth inside your thread."
"Step forward," the First Weaver commanded.
I glanced at Riven once. He gave the faintest nod.
I stepped into the light.
The mirror flared—and the world vanished.
I wasn't in the chamber anymore.
I stood in a vast red space, threads stretching infinitely in all directions. My body flickered. My Mark glowed like fire. And across from me stood… another me.
But twisted.
Her eyes were black.
Her hands dripped with thread-blood.
"You think this is about love," she said, voice cold. "But it's not. It's about power."
I trembled. "Who are you?"
"I'm who you become," she whispered. "If you let the desire consume you."
The thread snapped—and I was back.
Breathing hard. Shaking.
The Council was silent.
Then the First Weaver spoke again.
"She passed."
Barely.
But passed.
Riven exhaled. I almost collapsed.
And then… the twist.
"You will stay here," said the First Weaver. "Under our supervision."
Riven stepped forward, defiant. "That wasn't part of the agreement—"
"You are too connected to her. You are the weakness. She stays. You leave."
I looked at him. Panic rising.
Riven's jaw clenched.
And for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes.
---