The horn's call echoed across the Spiral Wastes, a low, throaty note that rolled through the impossible terrain like thunder passed through silk. In its wake, the Threads shivered — not from wind, but from instinct. The Loom recognized the sound.
And it was afraid.
Corin stood near the fractured arch of the Spiral Tower's observation ledge, overlooking the shifting plains below. What he saw didn't make sense. Or rather — it made too much sense in all the wrong ways.
Figures were emerging from the edge of the horizon.
Dozens. Then hundreds.
They walked like men and women, but the Threads around them recoiled, twisting away as if burned. They bore no Loomlines, no anchors, no visible connections to the Pattern. The world refused to thread into them. They were blank spaces in a woven world — conceptually vacant.
Ashlyn cursed softly beside him. "What in all gods' Names are they?"
Corin's voice was low. "The Patternless."
She stared at him.
"I thought Kael was just talking in riddles."
"He was," Corin said. "But he was also right. They were buried memories — people or… things that the Loom excised from itself. Broken or flawed, maybe. Too dangerous. Or simply inconvenient."
Ashlyn's grip on her bow tightened. "You're saying the Loom just… deleted people?"
"Not deleted. Unwoven. Unmade in every thread except in what lingers in the Loom's subconscious."
She stepped closer to the edge. "And now they're walking back into the world."
Corin nodded.
Then the Threadlink on his wrist flared to life — a whisper from Fira, miles below and breathless.
"They're not just moving toward the tower," she said. "They're unweaving the ground as they go. The Wastes are collapsing beneath them — not metaphorically. Literally. The Threads that held these lands together are vanishing."
Corin shut his eyes and focused.
He reached into the Loom.
The sensation was dizzying — like dipping into a river where the current ran backward and forward at once. The golden-black seam on his chest pulsed sharply, granting him access he barely understood, but was learning to navigate.
What he saw turned his stomach.
Each Patternless figure was a wound.
A hole in the weave.
Where they stepped, Threads unraveled. Structures unbuilt themselves. Memory frayed. The very concept of stability rippled around them and bent. It wasn't active destruction. It was passive negation — reality forgetting to assert itself in their presence.
Ashlyn turned to him. "We need to leave. Now."
"We can't," Corin replied. "Not yet."
"Corin—"
"I need to understand them. If Kael feared them, then they're not on his side. That means something."
Ashlyn's mouth tightened. "We should be retreating and warning the Archive."
"No," Corin said. "We need to talk to them."
Ashlyn stared at him as if he'd suggested jumping into fire.
"They don't look like they're here for a tea invitation, Corin."
He agreed. And yet—
One figure broke from the front of the others.
It was tall, clothed in something that shimmered like regret, its face covered by a mask of interwoven glass and smoke. It did not walk — it moved. Simply there one moment, and then closer. With every heartbeat, the gap closed without steps.
Finally, it stood below the tower — not climbing, not calling — merely waiting.
Corin stepped back from the ledge. "I'm going down there."
Ashlyn caught his arm. "Absolutely not."
"I think they came for me," he said softly. "Or for what I did. Either way, I need to meet them."
Ashlyn looked like she wanted to argue, but something in his tone stilled her.
"I'll cover you," she said at last. "If things go wrong…"
"I know."
He descended the tower alone.
—
The spiral pathway bent oddly in places now. Since the Patternless had arrived, the Loom had begun rewriting the Spiral Tower's surrounding terrain. Ridges folded into steps. Time hiccupped. Sound distorted. But Corin's inner Thread kept him grounded, the mark over his chest pulsing like a drumbeat of identity.
As he reached the base of the tower, the air thickened — not with heat or smoke, but with uncertainty. The Loom was confused. It couldn't process what stood nearby.
The masked figure turned toward him.
Though it bore no mouth, a voice slid into his mind — not invasive, not sharp, but alien.
"Thread-bridged," it said. "You have walked the Unwritten Stair."
Corin swallowed. "Yes."
"You were seen."
"Yes."
The voice paused.
"You called the Loom to listen. It heard. And we awoke."
Corin stepped closer. "What are you? What were you?"
Another pause. Then: "We were intentions. Patterns not chosen. Designs discarded before creation. Some of us were half-born. Others were never allowed to be. All of us were forgotten."
Corin felt a chill.
"You were part of the Loom?"
"We were the Loom's doubt," the figure said. "And doubt has memory."
Ashlyn's voice came through the Threadlink again. "Corin, the rest are starting to surround the tower. Whatever you're doing, make it fast."
Corin didn't look away.
"You're not attacking. Why?"
The figure tilted its masked head. "Because the Loom still remembers our names. We are not enemies. We are potential."
Corin nodded slowly. "Then what do you want?"
"To be seen," the figure said. "To be part of the new Pattern. You opened a gate when you woke the Weft Below. The Loom listens now. We want our Thread re-written. Not erased. Reclaimed."
Corin felt the power stir within him. The Loom, through his Thread, reacted to the words. It was afraid… but curious.
Kael had feared the Patternless because they represented what he could not control: uncontrolled possibilities. Versions of the Loom that did not obey even his rewritten logic.
"What if the Loom rejects you again?" Corin asked.
The figure's voice softened. "Then we fade. But if even one Thread accepts us, we remain."
Corin stood silent for a moment.
Then he reached forward.
"I accept."
The figure lifted its head.
Light flared — not blinding, but encompassing. A single Thread uncoiled from the figure and slipped toward Corin, touching his outstretched hand.
The moment they connected, a pulse shot through the air.
The Pattern buckled — but did not collapse.
Threads rearranged themselves slightly.
And suddenly, the figure stood clearer. No longer empty. Not fully woven, but acknowledged. A Thread with name, shape, and place.
It bowed.
"Then we will follow."
Corin stepped back, stunned. "Follow me?"
"You carry the Loom's ear," the figure said. "We will walk behind it."
Ashlyn arrived moments later, weapons drawn, breath short.
"What happened?"
Corin turned to her. "They're not here to destroy."
She eyed the surrounding Patternless — hundreds now, watching in absolute silence.
"What are they here for, then?"
"To remember," Corin said. "And to be remembered."
—
Above them, the tower began to shift again.
Kael's sanctuary crumbled in places — not from collapse, but transformation. The Patternless had altered the base code of the Loom's own memory. The design was no longer Kael's alone to rewrite.
Fira's voice rang through the Threadlink.
"Corin… I'm getting energy readings from the north spiral. Something old. Massive. It's not Patternless — but it's moving."
Ashlyn frowned. "Another faction?"
"No," Corin said quietly. "It's the Loom itself. Responding."
Ashlyn's face paled.
"You mean it's… waking up?"
Corin nodded.
"And it's going to want answers."