The dream came at 3:47 a.m.
Marcus stood in the clock tower, but it was different now. The walls were covered in threads—thousands of them, woven together into a vast, beautiful tapestry. At its center, a single thread glowed with a cold crimson light.
The Crimson Thread.
A figure stood before it. Tall. Ancient. Made of shifting patterns of light and shadow. Its face was featureless, but its presence was overwhelming.
YOU HAVE SEEN THE TRUTH. BUT THE TRUTH IS NOT THE END. IT IS THE BEGINNING.
Marcus stepped forward. "What do you mean?"
The figure's voice was patient, ancient.
THE TRUTH YOU DISCOVERED WAS ONLY A FRAGMENT. A PIECE OF A LARGER PUZZLE. THE CREATORS SEVERED THE CRIMSON THREAD BECAUSE THEY WERE AFRAID. BUT THEIR FEAR WAS NOT UNFOUNDED. THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE. SOMETHING T
