Whisper in the Loom
651 Words
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Chapter Nine — Whispers in the Loom
The shrine collapsed behind them.
Stone cracked and tumbled inward as Kairos and Arielle stumbled into the skeletal forest beyond the arch. The hum of the Loom still buzzed in his bones, a vibration that refused to fade, like a song stuck between his ribs.
Kairos leaned against a tree, clutching his chest, trying to catch his breath. His veins glimmered faintly in the dark, light pulsing with each heartbeat.
Arielle stood a few paces away, pacing furiously. She ran both hands through her pale hair, muttering to herself in a tongue Kairos didn’t understand. Her normally composed demeanor was fraying at the edges.
He tried a grin, but it came out lopsided. “So… that went well.”
She spun on him. “Well?! The Loom itself spoke to you! Do you have any idea what that means?”
Kairos shrugged, trying to mask the unease gnawing at him. “That I’m special? Chosen one vibes? Probably get a free crown out of the deal?”
Her glare could have cut him in two. “Chosen? No. Marked. The Loom doesn’t speak. It binds. If it whispered to you… it’s already tied something into you. Something you’ll never undo.”
Kairos glanced at his hand. The faint glow under his skin was fading, but he still felt the weight of invisible strings tugging at him.
“Could’ve fooled me. Felt less like a curse and more like—” he hesitated, searching for words— “like a door opening.”
Arielle’s jaw tightened. “Doors open both ways. And you don’t get to choose what comes through.”
His shadow rippled at his feet, laughing softly. “She’s afraid of you. All of them are. That’s why they called you Threadwalker. That’s why they banished her. But you— you’re not afraid. You’re hungry.”
Kairos shook his head sharply, muttering under his breath, “Shut up.”
Arielle blinked. “What?”
“Nothing.” He straightened, forcing casualness into his posture. “So what now? We’ve got collapsing shrines, whispering Looms, monsters stitched together from nightmares—what’s step two of your brilliant plan?”
Arielle hesitated, and for the first time since they met, uncertainty clouded her face. “We can’t stay here. The Loom’s disturbance will ripple outward. The Wardens will come.”
Kairos tilted his head. “Wardens?”
“The guardians of the Loom. Hunters of Fraybeasts… and of Threadwalkers.”
“Ah,” Kairos said lightly, though his stomach dropped. “So the magic police.”
Her eyes hardened. “No. Worse. They don’t arrest. They unmake.”
The forest rustled around them, branches groaning though there was no wind. Both of them fell silent, instincts pricking.
Arielle’s needle-weapon slid into her hand with a whisper of steel. Kairos’s fingers twitched, resisting the urge to reach for a Thread.
Out of the shadows, shapes emerged. Figures cloaked in woven armor, their faces hidden behind masks stitched with glowing runes. Each carried a long staff tipped with crystal needles, humming faintly.
The Wardens.
Kairos swallowed hard, then smirked despite himself. “Well. Guess we’re popular.”
One of the Wardens stepped forward, voice echoing as though spoken through water.
“Threadwalker.”
The word wasn’t accusation. It was sentence.
Kairos glanced at Arielle. She stood stiff, jaw clenched, eyes flicking between him and the masked hunters. Her grip on her weapon tightened, but she didn’t move.
The lead Warden raised their staff. Threads of pale light stretched from the tip, weaving into a net in the air.
Kairos’s veins pulsed again, burning. The Threads sang to him, loud and sweet. He clenched his fists.
He knew what Arielle wanted him to do: don’t pull. Don’t make things worse. Don’t feed the Loom.
But the Wardens were already moving.
And Kairos wasn’t the type to wait
- Writer
