The fire crackled softly as Kaelen sat beside it, watching the flames shift in color—blue, silver, a flicker of gold. Lirael had said nothing more after telling him to survive. The weight of her words still lingered.
He glanced across the fire. She was polishing her bowstring, hands steady, eyes distant.
"What happened to this world?" he asked. "Before… whatever tore it apart."
Lirael looked up. The shadows danced across her face.
"Once, this was a place of order. The Loom held everything together—life, death, time. But the gods grew greedy. They tried to rewrite the weave. They called it 'The Shattering.' We called it betrayal."
Kaelen leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You said I had a thread. And that it's part of the Loom. Is it… fate? Or something else?"
She nodded slowly. "It's not fate. It's potential. A path carved through magic, memory, and purpose. Soulbound are echoes of people who came before—strong enough to return when they're needed most."
"So I'm not Kaelen Starsworn… but I'm not not him either."
Lirael almost smiled. "Exactly."
Kaelen ran a hand through his golden hair, still not used to the texture. "And what happens if I don't follow the path?"
"The world doesn't end," she said. "But it starts to bleed."
A silence stretched between them—comforting, but threaded with unspoken tension.
Then she stood. "You should rest. We leave for Nytheril at first light."
They departed before sunrise, moving swiftly through the dew-drenched trees. Fog curled around the trunks like ghost-silk. Birds stirred overhead in musical tones Kaelen had never heard in his old life.
"Nytheril," he repeated. "What is it, exactly?"
"A ruin," Lirael said. "But once, it was more. The Verdant Crown. A place where the soulbound trained. Where they remembered who they were."
Kaelen swallowed. "And you think going there will help me remember?"
She hesitated. "Maybe. Or it might help you choose who you want to be."
---
Nytheril appeared slowly from the mist—shattered towers draped in ivy, crescent archways open to the sky, and statues half-swallowed by roots. It didn't feel dead, only sleeping. The wind whispered through its bones like a hymn.
Kaelen stood at the edge of a broken marble bridge, staring down into the flooded courtyard.
"This is beautiful," he said quietly.
Lirael stood beside him. "It's one of the last places where the old magic still lingers."
They entered through a collapsed archway, stepping over fallen stones and past half-buried glyphs. As they moved deeper, the air changed. It shimmered faintly, like breathing through memory.
"This whole place feels… aware," Kaelen said.
"That's because it is," Lirael replied. "The elves didn't just build with stone. They wove their structures with seed-speech and heartlight. Our homes remembered us."
Kaelen paused beside a wall. Faint carvings traced its surface—spirals, stars, and a circle of twelve figures around a central flame. One of them bore a sword made of fire. The etching shimmered faintly under his fingers.
"That's him, isn't it?" Kaelen asked. "The original Kaelen."
"Kaelen Starsworn," Lirael confirmed. "He was the last to awaken the Godflame."
"The Godflame…" he repeated. "You've mentioned that twice now."
She stepped up beside him. "It's older than the world. Fire that doesn't burn wood or flesh—but burns *fate*. He used it to seal away something that can't be killed."
Kaelen's voice dropped. "Ulmarak."
She nodded. "The Thread-Eater. A being that devours connection. It unravels the Loom—soul by soul."
Kaelen exhaled slowly. "And it's waking up again."
"Because you returned," she said. "The thread was quiet for five centuries. Then it pulled you here. That means the Loom is weakening."
He looked down at the silver glow under his skin. "This thread… it's not a gift, is it?"
"It's a burden," she said. "But also a choice."
They moved through the inner sanctum of the ruin—an open-roofed chamber where plants grew in spirals from broken stone. At its center, a shallow pool still held water, reflecting the sky above and the ruins around them. Floating across its surface were pale silver leaves, glowing faintly.
Kaelen approached it carefully. As he stared into the water, his reflection shimmered—and for a heartbeat, it changed.
He saw himself in dark armor laced with gold, wielding a burning blade. His eyes glowed like stars. But the face wasn't his. Not exactly.
A voice echoed faintly in his mind.
**"Burn the path or lose the world."**
He staggered back.
Lirael caught his arm. "You saw him."
He nodded. "I don't know if it was a memory, or a warning."
"Both," she said. "Here, the old threads stir. Nytheril remembers the soulbound."
They camped in a stone garden that night, surrounded by the ruin's strange, watchful peace.
Kaelen sat beside Lirael as she carefully unfurled an old parchment scroll recovered from a dry alcove. It was faded, but the ink still shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
"What is that?" he asked.
She traced her finger along a ring of runes. "A map of the Tethered Gates. Twelve anchors scattered across the world—where the Loom was once woven strongest. If Ulmarak breaks them, there will be no way to reseal the tear."
"And let me guess," Kaelen said. "I'm supposed to stop that."
She smiled faintly. "Not alone."
He looked at her. "So… are there others like me?"
"Maybe," she said. "Some threads are tangled. Others… fray."
He went quiet.
Then: "Do you think I'm strong enough?"
Lirael met his eyes, and for a long time, she didn't answer.
At last, she said, "I don't know. But you've already died once. And something still called you back. That has to mean something."
He looked down at the glowing silver line under his skin.
"Then I guess I follow it.