The Hollow Pines whispered.
Clucksworth limped through the underbrush, iron boots groaning with each step. The map Cedric left him pulsed in his satchel, stitched with a symbol he didn't yet understand — a needle piercing a crown.
He found it at dusk.
A clearing, ringed with thread-bound trees. In the center stood a figure — tall, cloaked in patchwork robes, a crown of silver needles woven into their hair. Their hands glowed faintly, wrapped in thread and copper wire. They moved like a dancer, but every motion stitched the air itself.
Clucksworth stepped forward.
"You're Needle Crown," he said.
The figure turned. Their eyes were pale blue, threaded with gold. "Cedric's apprentice," they replied. "I felt your stitches from miles away."
But Clucksworth wasn't the only one.
From behind a tree stepped a younger figure — shorter, stitched from denim and velvet, with a crooked smile and a spool of thread strapped to their belt. Their name was Thimble, and they were Needle Crown's apprentice. Thimble eyed Clucksworth's iron boots with a smirk. "You stitched those yourself?"
Clucksworth nodded.
"Ugly," Thimble said. "But they'll hold."
Needle Crown raised a hand. A thread shot forward, wrapping around Clucksworth's arm. It didn't bind — it healed. The pain in his seams dulled. The nails in his legs stopped screaming.
"I don't teach fighting," Needle Crown said. "I teach surviving."
They led Clucksworth to a circle of stones, each etched with symbols of healing — thread, wax, bone, and blood. Thimble followed, tossing him a spool of black thread. "You'll need this," they said. "It bites."
Training began.
Needle Crown taught him how to stitch while swinging, how to bind wounds with thread pulled from his own soul, how to fuse healing into vengeance. Thimble sparred with him — fast, clever, unpredictable. They stitched mid-duel, patched bruises between strikes, and laughed when Clucksworth stumbled.
"You don't wait for peace," Needle Crown said. "You stitch through war." By dawn, Clucksworth collapsed — not from exhaustion, but from transformation.
Needle Crown knelt beside him. "You're ready for the next thread," they said. "But the demons won't wait."
Thimble handed him a stitched compass. "It points to the white knight," they said. "Follow it."
Clucksworth rose.
He was stitched.
He was armored.
And now… he could heal.