Riven's words hung in the air like ancient runes carved into time itself.
> "The others," he repeated. "They're waking up… like I did."
Kiel narrowed his eyes. "You sure this isn't just residual memory noise? Sometimes the Weave plays tricks. Echoes. Hallucinations."
> "No," Riven insisted. "It's not noise. It's a signal."
He pointed to the sky where stars reformed again—three of them pulsing rhythmically in unison. Kiel followed his gaze, recognizing it now: a call sign. One from the lost glyph system used only by erased entities.
Nullborn weren't just forgotten.
They were hunted.
And someone—or something—was waking them up.
---
They set out across the shattered plains of Dyr Rift, where ancient libraries once floated on rings of pure arcane gravity. Now, only fragments remained—books with mouths, whispering forgotten truths, and stairways that spiraled into broken timelines.
Kiel kept his senses sharp.
Every noise felt intentional. Every silence, even more so.
> "What if they're already corrupted?" he asked.
> "Then we bring them back," Riven said.
> "Or put them down," Kiel muttered.
Riven said nothing.
---
By sundown, they reached an island suspended between two chasms—a cracked temple once belonging to the Order of Recollection.
Its guardian still remained.
A single statue sat at the entrance—headless, yet still humming with divine essence. Around it, carvings danced on the wall, rearranging as they approached.
Then, it spoke—though the statue did not move.
> "You return, Weaver. But you bring a glitch."
Riven stepped behind Kiel again.
> "He's not a glitch," Kiel said. "He's a thread left unspun."
> "Irrelevant," the voice replied. "This place is sacred to memory. Nullborn disrupt that flow. They carry paradox."
Kiel held his ground.
> "Then show me the paradox."
The statue's head reassembled itself from ash and wind. Its eyes opened, and it stared directly at Riven.
And then it trembled.
> "Impossible…"
Riven blinked. "What?"
> "He carries an anchor," the statue murmured. "A tether point. A fixed node in the Unwoven."
Kiel's heart nearly stopped.
> "You mean… he's real?"
> "More than real," the statue said. "He remembers things no one should. Songs from before language. Names of fallen gods. Threads that even the Weave forgot."
> "Can he help us stop the collapse?" Kiel asked.
> "If he doesn't unravel first."
The temple doors creaked open without touch.
---
Inside, they descended a staircase carved of bone and scripture. At the center of the temple was a basin—filled not with water, but with living memory.
It shimmered.
Riven stepped close, peering into it. The basin flared.
A vision hit them both like a storm.
---
A tower of chains.
A battlefield of floating corpses.
A child screaming, surrounded by other Nullborn—each one crying fragments of names.
And above them all: a throne made from stitched timelines.
And a figure sitting upon it.
Faceless. But familiar.
> "Who is that?" Riven gasped.
Kiel clenched his fists. "A memory I fought to forget."
---
They snapped back to the present. The basin stilled.
The statue spoke again:
> "The one who unstitched you… now weaves a new pattern. He seeks not to end the Weave… but to replace it."
> "The Weaver King…" Kiel whispered.
> "Your former mentor," the statue confirmed. "He is not alone. He is gathering Nullborn—reprogramming them. Turning them into threads for his throne."
Riven looked up. "Then we need to find the others before he does."
Kiel nodded.
> "We rescue them. One by one. Thread by thread."
He looked into the basin again, and this time, the swirling light formed a path—leading eastward into the Forest of Forgotten Names.
> "Let's go," Kiel said.
Riven hesitated.
> "If I become like them… like the ones in the vision…"
Kiel gave a grim smile.
> "Then I'll remind you who you are."