Chapter 7: Whispers Beneath the Candlelight
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay on the stone mattress in my chamber, staring at the flickering candle by the window. The shadows it cast moved like silent dancers on the walls. My fingers kept tracing the edges of the Divine sigil on my wrist — the mark that tied me to something greater.
Something I didn't ask for… and barely understood.
But it wasn't my sigil that haunted me.
It was his.
Kael.
A boy who supposedly had no fate… yet bore the same sacred marking as me?
That wasn't coincidence.
That was a warning.
The temple was quiet, the kind of quiet that made your thoughts louder. I wrapped my shawl around myself and tiptoed down the corridor. My sandals made the softest sounds on the marble floor, like whispers from a different lifetime.
I needed answers.
And there was only one place where secrets sometimes revealed themselves — the Chamber of Records.
It was forbidden after dusk. But I'd already broken so many rules, what was one more?
The door creaked open, ancient hinges groaning in protest. Inside, shelves stretched up into darkness, lined with scrolls, books, and dusty tomes that hadn't been touched in years.
I lit a small lantern and let my fingers brush the spines.
Prophecies. Bloodlines. Myths.
Then I saw it — a faded, leather-bound book titled: The Threadless Ones.
My breath caught.
I opened it slowly. The pages were fragile, but the ink still held its voice.
> "There are rare souls not bound by the Divine Thread. Not because they are broken… but because they were never meant to exist. These souls walk between light and shadow — powerful, unpredictable… and sometimes, necessary."
My hands trembled.
Kael wasn't a mistake.
He was a variable.
A divine loophole.
"What are you doing here?"
The voice startled me.
I turned fast — and found Kael leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised.
"You scared me," I muttered.
"I get that a lot."
He walked in, the lantern light casting golden lines across his face. He looked tired. Not physically — soul-tired. Like someone who hadn't known rest in years.
"You knew I'd come here," I said.
"I guessed," he replied. "You looked like the kind of girl who can't ignore a puzzle."
I held the book tighter. "You're in this. Not by name, but… your kind."
Kael sat beside the table, eyes downcast. "I've read that book. When I was younger. They said I shouldn't have been born. That I was dangerous. A distortion."
"Do you believe them?"
He looked at me. Really looked.
And then, softly: "I used to. Until I met you."
My breath hitched.
There was no sarcasm in his voice. No smugness. Just… quiet truth.
"I don't know what I'm becoming," I whispered. "I can feel something changing inside me. When I'm near the mirror… when I hear the bell… it's like I'm slipping into someone else's skin."
Kael reached forward, gently taking the book from my hands and closing it.
"Then don't become what they expect," he said. "Become what you choose."
Silence stretched between us again.
But this time, it wasn't heavy.
It was warm.
Comfortable.
Like maybe, in this world of prophecies and gods and broken threads… two lost souls had finally found something unspoken.
A beginning.
Outside, the candlelight flickered, and a faint breeze stirred the edges of the old book.
Somewhere in the distance, the Divine Bell rang once — low, soft, and uncertain.
Almost like it, too, didn't know what came next.
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To be continued…