The boy stood alone amidst the ashes of Varn'Kelis. Buildings that once touched the sky now lay in ruin. The ninth door behind him pulsed with a heartbeat not his own. Whispers bled from it not words, but memories.
"Who walks the thread unspun?"
The voice came from the shadows, not behind him, not in front, but from within the ninth door. The child did not answer. His hands, small and blistered, clenched around the hilt of the rusted sword he had pulled from the corpse of a knight.
He had no name. Not because he had forgotten it.
But because the world had erased it.
The Shadow of Dominion
Far above the ruined city, the Ashen Host gathered on broken skybridges. Their wings were forged from bone and cloth, each a remnant of a forgotten war.
The King Who Never Was stood at the center of them, his hollow crown casting no shadow because it already contained all of them.
"The child awakens," murmured one of the Wraiths.
"The seed is sprouting in fractured soil," said another.
The King lifted his hand.
"Let it grow. He will lead us to the thirteenth."
Whispers in the Sword
The boy wandered into the remains of the cathedral. What once had been a place of light and hymns now bled darkness through the shattered stained glass.
The sword in his hand black with rust and dried blood began to hum. A voice, cold and female, seeped into his mind.
"You are the echo of a forgotten prince."
"I'm no one," the boy muttered.
"No. You are Dominion's heir. The Chrono Thread sleeps inside you."
His breath caught. The air grew cold. Time slowed around him.
"They will hunt you now. All of them. Even the Loomkeepers."
The cathedral groaned as something moved in the walls not rats, but shadows with eyes.
He turned.
Rheon's Revelation
Miles away, Rheon stopped walking. He clutched his chest.
Kael turned. "What is it?"
Rheon's eyes glowed for a moment, briefly catching the reflection of a boy wielding a rusted sword beneath a cathedral of rot.
"He's alive," Rheon whispered.
"Who?"
"The other one. The child we thought was stillborn. My twin."
Kael froze. "That's not possible."
"And yet… the Doors opened for him."
The Hunt Begins
The Red Weaver moved her hands over the tapestry. Blood streamed from her palms, soaking the threads.
"A name long unwoven has returned," she hissed.
"Do we kill him?" asked the Black Stitcher.
"No," the Weaver said. "We unmake him. Stitch by stitch."
Far across the sea of broken time, agents of the Loomkeepers Clockhearts, Threadborn, and Shardknights were dispatched.
The hunt for the nameless heir had begun.
Back at the Cathedral
The boy pressed the rusted blade to the shadow's chest. But the creature laughed.
"We are the first. You are the last."
With a roar, the shadow leapt only to be torn apart by a pulse of light from the blade.
The boy staggered, panting.
"You've only just begun," said the voice in the sword. "But if you falter, the Chrono Dominion falls with you."
He looked out the cathedral's shattered window.
And then he ran.
Threads of Blood and Memory
The forest that stretched beyond the ruins of Varn'Kelis had not known sunlight in years.
Its branches twisted like the fingers of a corpse, and beneath the roots, ancient whispers writhed. The boy with no name ran, rusted sword in hand, chased by the cold scent of death and prophecy.
He didn't know where he was going only that something behind him had awakened. And something ahead was waiting.
Echoes from the Tree of Threads
Deep in the heart of the forest, the Tree of Threads stood crooked and wounded. Its bark was inscribed with names that had been erased from history, each a thread unwound from the Loom of Fate.
As the boy approached, the sword in his hand began to vibrate again.
"Touch the tree," the sword whispered.
He reached out, trembling.
The moment his fingers brushed the bark, visions erupted behind his eyes.
A throne built of gears and bone. A crown shaped like an hourglass. A war not yet fought but already lost. And a voice, soft and cruel.
"You are not the first to carry that blade."
Blood dripped from the tree as a single thread loosened itself, wrapping around the boy's wrist.
The sword pulsed. "The Thread of Memory is bound to you now."
"What does that mean?" the boy whispered.
"It means they will find you faster."
Meanwhile: In the Sky Citadel
Within the floating Sky Citadel of Valtorin, the Council of Forgotten Stars convened. Twelve figures cloaked in constellations circled a pool of temporal light.
"The Chrono Thread trembles," said the Star-Scribe. "A child has touched the Tree."
"A mistake," spat the Iron Astrologer. "The Tree should have been burned after the Dominion War."
"It would not burn," replied the Eclipsed One. "And now the heir awakens."
A silent vote was cast. No words, only thoughts.
Find the boy. Unravel him. Or watch the Epoch shatter.
A Warning from a Stranger
The boy stumbled into a clearing where a man in black sat beneath a stone monolith. His eyes glowed violet. A mark shaped like an unraveling thread was etched on his throat.
"You should not be here," the man said without looking up.
"Neither should you," the boy replied.
The man smirked. "Fair."
He stood. From the folds of his cloak, he pulled a silver hourglass with black sand.
"You've taken the first thread. That binds you. But there's no going back, boy."
"I don't want to go back."
"Good. Because time doesn't bend it breaks."
Without another word, the man vanished, leaving behind a single word carved into the stone:
CHRONOCLAST.
Darkness Awakens
Beneath the earth, in the Vault of Hollow Hours, something shifted.
Chains, ancient and etched with prayers, cracked.
A voice deep and dripping with malice rumbled in the dark.
"Another child bears the Thread. Bring him to me."
From the vault, black-robed figures emerged. Their eyes were stitched shut. Their mouths sealed. They moved without sound.
The Hollowborn had been awakened.
Final Scene: Names Remembered
That night, the boy curled against a dying tree. He looked up at the stars what few remained and whispered to himself.
"I don't remember my name."
"You will," the sword replied. "And when you do, the world will bleed for forgetting it."
The wind howled through the trees.
Far away, the thirteenth door cracked.
And something ancient smiled.