The dreamspace opened like a breath held too long.
It wasn't sudden this time—no violent pull, no spiraling lights. Just a hush, like a theater curtain parting before a performance no one had rehearsed for.
Ayame stood in a field of silver grass.
It shimmered under a sky too vast for stars, painted with pulsing threads of pale lavender and midnight blue. The air was warm, weightless, and laced with a gentle, humming vibration—like the whole realm was waiting for a note to be played.
One by one, the others appeared.
Kael next, blinking against the strange light. His form flickered for a moment before stabilizing—his presence anchoring Ayame's.
Then Mio, calm as always, her hair drifting like she was underwater.
Then Yuzu, upside-down and mid-yawn. "Seriously? No flying tigers or candy oceans this time? What happened to dream flair?"
And finally Haru, who landed flat on his back. "I *knew* I should've skipped that second curry bun…"
Ayame stepped forward.
"This place feels… different."
Mio nodded. "We're not in a generic dream construct. This is something older. A memory-echo."
"A dream left behind," Kael said softly, "by Serephine."
The field stretched into the distance, ending in a twisting forest of black-barked trees, their leaves crystalline and whispering without wind.
A single thread—silver and luminous—snaked through the grass toward the woods.
Ayame reached for it.
It pulsed faintly at her touch.
"She left this," Ayame murmured. "Her thread."
Yuzu squinted. "Should we… follow it?"
Haru shrugged. "Or should we *not* walk into the very obvious magical trap?"
But they all knew the answer.
Together, they stepped onto the path.
—
The forest swallowed sound.
Every step muffled. Every whisper smothered by the dense air.
The silver thread guided them, winding through roots and trunks and strange shapes in the mist. Occasionally, they saw flickers—images suspended like droplets in time.
A girl singing in a room lit by hundreds of candles.
A page torn from a book.
A pair of hands cradling a broken mask.
Ayame stopped at one echo.
The girl had dark curls and eyes like starlight.
She stood at the center of a circle of glowing runes, arms raised, voice trembling in ancient verse.
"Serephine," Ayame whispered.
Kael stood beside her. "She looks… young."
"She was," Ayame said. "But powerful."
Suddenly the echo shimmered—and cracked.
Serephine turned, startled. She looked directly at Ayame.
*"You see me?"*
Ayame gasped. The others flinched.
Mio stepped back. "That shouldn't be possible—this is a memory, not a projection."
But Serephine's gaze was clear. Present.
*"You followed the thread," she said softly. "Then you've come far. Too far."*
Ayame found her voice. "We're trying to stop the Weaver. To break the loom."
Serephine's expression darkened.
*"It was never meant to be undone. But if you are here… then maybe it must be."*
The image flickered.
*"I was the first," she said. "The first to defy it. The first to *remember*."*
The thread on the ground pulsed once more, then extended deeper into the forest, glowing brighter.
Serephine reached out a hand.
*"Find the chamber. Beneath the silver roots. That is where I hid the last truth. But be warned—your own threads are fraying. The Weaver knows you now."*
With that, the memory collapsed.
Silence again.
And then—the ground shook.
Yuzu backed up fast. "Oh no. Nope. That's a bad sign. Why is there always an earthquake after creepy warnings?"
Haru pointed ahead. "Look!"
The forest opened.
A clearing waited, ringed with pale, gnarled trees whose roots stretched into the sky like petrified lightning.
At the center—stone stairs, spiraling downward into blackness.
"Beneath the silver roots," Kael said.
Ayame stepped forward. "This is it."
—
They descended together.
The walls of the stairwell were lined with carvings—stories of Serephine's resistance. Of a village that once remembered too much. Of a betrayal. Of the first rewriting.
Ayame felt each image like a tremor against her bones.
When they reached the bottom, the chamber opened into a vast cavern.
A pool of water stretched across the floor, smooth as glass, glowing faintly from within. In its center stood a pedestal.
Not stone.
But thread.
Woven tightly into a column, pulsing with light.
And atop it—an orb.
Silver. Singing.
Ayame stepped forward.
The others flanked her, silent.
The orb pulsed at her approach. Images flickered within its depths—Serephine standing over a ruined tapestry. The Weaver's true face—shifting, faceless, vast.
And then… Ayame herself.
Falling through threads.
Screaming into nothing.
"No," Kael whispered. "This is a trap."
Ayame shook her head. "It's a warning."
Mio moved closer. "That orb—it's her memory. All of it. The root truth."
Ayame reached out.
Her fingers brushed the orb.
And the dreamspace cracked.
*Everything* shook.
The forest above screamed in protest.
And then—
They were pulled.
Not backward.
Not forward.
*Inside.*
—
Darkness.
Then a *voice*.
Not Serephine. Not the Weaver.
Something older.
*"You have touched what was forbidden."*
Ayame stood alone.
No forest. No friends.
Just endless black.
"Where are they?" she demanded.
*"Scattered. Safe—for now."*
The voice hovered, breathless and vast.
*"You carry the memory. But you do not yet understand it."*
"I will."
*"Then see."*
A flash.
A city crumbling.
A girl screaming names no one remembered.
A silver loom tearing itself apart.
And then—
A choice.
Two threads. One golden. One crimson.
The voice whispered: *"When the time comes, which will you sever?"*
Ayame staggered back.
"What does that mean?"
But the darkness faded.
The dream dissolved.
And she opened her eyes in her bedroom.
Gasping.
Kael was already awake, sitting up beside her, pale and shaken.
"Did you see it too?" he whispered.
Ayame clutched the pendant around her neck.
"I saw everything."
And she knew—
The choice was coming.
And someone would not walk away from it.
---