"Even a dull thread can stitch something sharp if you know where to pull."Guild Motto, Second Branch (unofficial)
[Three Days After the Forest]
Elric didn't ask where they took him.
And no one offered to tell him.
The Second Branch Guild Outpost — that's what he heard someone call it. Not quite a fortress, not quite a village. A stone-built cluster of towers and threadforged halls perched near a faultline of pale mist and gravel. Everything here felt half-woven — like the land itself hadn't finished deciding what it was supposed to be.
But Elric didn't care about aesthetics.
He cared about information.
So he watched. And recorded. And thought.
[The Town: A Half-Spun Place]
From his small window, Elric sketched the settlement: three tiers built in a downward spiral. At the peak stood the Guildhall — blocky, towering, with banners of stitched red symbols swaying in thread-winds only initiates could feel.
Below that: the Tavern Square. Where contracts were taken, bribes exchanged, egos inflated, and rumors swirled like smoke over cheap soup.
Lowest tier: the Fringe Market. Blacksmiths, tailors, threadbinders. It smelled like rust and ambition.
Elric spent his mornings appearing aimless. In truth, every walk was a spiral inward — mapping gestures, mannerisms, alliances, and thresholds of power.
He noticed:
• Most initiates wore looseband markers — colored threads wrapped around the left forearm, each denoting rank and thread-alignment.
• The strongest didn't walk in groups. They watched. From higher rails, darker corners.
• Everyone wore gloves or bindings around their fingers. Thread contact wasn't casual. Touching the wrong weave at the wrong time could unmake you.
[Bram & Yin: The Unseen Guards]
He wasn't alone during this time.
Bram trailed him like a bored wolf, always a step behind or one table over. He didn't speak unless provoked. He chewed dried stalk-root like it was punishment.
Yin, by contrast, almost never appeared — but when she did, Elric felt her presence before he saw it. She would sit in the Tavern's quietest corner with a cracked ceramic cup, blindfold still on. She asked no questions. But Elric suspected she never missed an answer.
They didn't interrogate him.
That was what made him nervous.
[Elric's Learning: The First Thread]
On the second night, Elric finally found the Loomshard Room — a dusty, half-sealed chamber of unused threadfragments, overseen by an old clerk who didn't ask questions if you looked poor enough.
He touched his first sanctioned thread there — a flicker of Dullflame Fiber, low-tier Essentia that hissed like smoke and curled around thought.
Most initiates used a tool or glove.
Elric didn't.
He let his finger hover.
He saw it — not just the thread's surface, but the web beneath — its bonds, loops, its hunger.
A vision flickered:
A flame without heat. A torch that remembers every face it burned.
Names… written in smoke…
He pulled back — not out of fear, but reverence.
It didn't hurt him.
Not like before.
His mind… understood it. Not fully, but faster than it should.
The Loomshard clerk blinked. "That was fast."
Elric said nothing.
He returned the fiber and left.
[The Second Main Character Appears]
On the fourth evening, it rained threadlight — silver strands falling from the sky like hair from a comb. Harmless. Rare. Beautiful.
Elric stood outside the tavern, sketching it. Cataloging the patterns.
A figure stood on the upper balcony of the Guildhall, silhouetted by the pale shimmer. Cloaked. Lean. Watching.
Elric glanced once.
And for a flicker — their eyes met.
Not a threat. Not curiosity either.
Something else.
Recognition?
No — resonance.
Then the figure turned and vanished inside.
Elric didn't pursue.
But the moment stuck.
[Internal Monologue: Elric's Thread Journal — Entry 11]
"They're all so loud. The threads. The people. The Guild.
But loudness doesn't mean strength.
Everyone here pulls threads like they're yanking rope.
But rope frays.
I think I'll thread the gaps instead.
That's where the real power hides."
[The Evaluation Announcement]
Late that night, Bram knocked on his door — once.
"You've been summoned. Valuation begins tomorrow. Tier One Observation Hall. Sunrise."
He didn't wait for a reply.
Elric sat at his desk, candle burning low, pages of notes spread around him like a soft fortress of thought.
His fingers trembled — not from fear.
From anticipation.
They were finally going to test him.
But what they didn't know…
Was that Elric had been testing them all along.
End of Chapter 6: The Pale Looms