For four days, the snow fell gently.
The village, once silent and suspicious, began to shift. Not all at once — but in quiet things.
The baker, an old woman with burn scars on her neck, began setting out an extra loaf. A boy with no shoes stopped running when he saw Lumen, waved once, then sprinted away. A man with missing fingers nodded. No words. Just a nod.
The Scarecrow, once just a shape perched on a post, had become something else.
"We're not staying long," Rin reminded him on the third day.
Lumen stood beside the well, watching frost collect on the stones. "I know."
But he looked toward the chapel — toward the little stitched doll still sitting by the fire. He didn't say more.
On the fifth day, the snow stopped. And the smoke rose.
It wasn't from the chimney. It was from the trees.
Rin saw it first. "Riders."
They moved like shadows through the frost-bitten pines, cloaks torn, teeth bared. A dozen of them, maybe more.
Some wore stolen armor. Some wore none at all. One had a mask made of animal jawbones. Another wore gold around his neck — not coins, but sigils melted into jagged ornaments. Gilded teeth flashed as he smiled.
Bandits.
But not ordinary ones.
🛠️ [System Scan: Combatants Detected]
Estimated Threat Tier: Variable
Legend-Tier Signature Present: ❗ Confirmed
"They're not here to trade," Lumen said.
Rin had already drawn her blade.
The village square emptied as the bandits rode in. Snow crunched beneath boots and hooves. Children were pulled behind doors. A farmer grabbed a rusted pitchfork.
The one with the gold teeth dismounted first. He smiled, slow and oily.
"Hello, neighbors."
No one replied.
He stepped toward the well, dragging a blade shaped like a butcher's hook. Another bandit — eyes like ash, lips stitched — lit a torch with a grin.
"Nice place. Shame it's still standing."
Rin stepped forward. "So go the other way."
The gold-tooth man tilted his head. "And miss the party?"
He gestured, and two bandits began kicking over baskets. One grabbed a girl — too young. The mother screamed. A man lunged with a shovel and was clubbed down.
Lumen moved.
He stepped between the mother and the bandit. No blade. No threat. Just a sigil glowing faintly beneath his skin.
🛠️ [Threadbinder Protocol: Engaged] Sigil Charge: 68%
Tactical Threads: Unspooled
Perception Threads: Active
The bandit blinked — then screamed.
Because suddenly he was surrounded — by dozens of Lumen. Each one slightly off. Each one real enough.
Thread illusions.
He stumbled backward — into one of the illusions, which didn't move. Then another — which reached for him. He swung wildly.
The illusions unraveled — but so did his courage.
"Witch!" he yelled. "He's got ghostlines!"
Gold-Teeth stepped forward. He was smiling wider now.
"Tricks," he said.
🛠️ [System Alert: Sigil Detected – Tier: LEGEND] Designation: Hollowbrand
Type: Consumption / Absorption
Danger Level: ❗ High
His blade ignited — not with fire, but with emptiness. Like space around it bent. Like it ate light.
"Let's dance, Scarecrow."
Lumen didn't flinch.
But Rin moved to his side.
"No." she said.
"We fight together."
And then —
The villagers stepped out.
Pitchforks. Axes. Pots and hammers. Old, trembling hands and young, shaking legs. But they stepped out.
The baker. The boy with no shoes. The man who'd never spoken.
Behind Lumen.
One of them said it first.
"Scarecrow."
Then louder.
"Scarecrow!"
Until it wasn't just a name. It was a chant.
Rin smiled. Lumen blinked. Then nodded.
"Right," he said softly. "Let's sew this mess shut."
The fight didn't last long — but it burned into memory.
Rin moved like lightning, cutting through two before they understood she'd moved. Lumen used illusions — not to hurt, but to disorient. To give the villagers chances to strike.
The Hollowbrand's blade came within inches of him — once. It sliced an illusion. Then another. Then missed completely.
Because Lumen had already looped a thread around his foot.
Snap.
He fell.
And the baker — yes, the baker — drove a rolling pin straight into his face.
Gold teeth scattered across the snow.
When it ended, the last bandit ran. No one followed.
They didn't need to.
The villagers stood in the square, panting. Bruised. But alive.
Rin leaned against the well, sword dripping. "Nice trick with the illusions."
Lumen bent over, catching breath. "Nice swing by the baker."
The old woman just grunted.
A boy retrieved the Scarecrow doll from beside the fire and handed it to Lumen. It was burned slightly at the edge.
Still whole.
He looked down at it. Then at the village.
Then up — to where, in the trees, a puppet had watched.
Still silent. Still still.
But its threads were tighter now. Its head tilted.
And it whispered — not with voice, but with motion.
"The scarecrow has teeth."
🛠️ [System Update: Title Acquired]
New Reputation Node: "Scarecrow of the Threadline"
Influence Spread: Local
Myth Rating: Growing
🛠️ [Legend Sigil Neutralized – Hollowbrand Locked]
Thread Record Archived
░The scarecrow stands not for fear—but for defiance.░