Chapter 4: The Second Tide
The reset snapped Kael back to Moonfall's docks, his breath hitching as the rift-moon's violet shadow deepened across the sky. Dusk bled slowly into the restless ink of night, but he could still feel the cold pulse of what had just happened—or would happen again. Around him, the world resumed its rhythm, unaware it had been rewound. Gavyn hauled his net with practiced grunts, seaweed and half-rotted fish spilling from the mesh. Lysa's sharp eyes glittered as she counted her coin purse beneath the flickering lanternlight. The crowd, clustered in nervous groups along the boardwalk, murmured and moved with a tension they couldn't name.
None of them knew.
None of them remembered.
But Kael did.
His chest still heaved from the battle, his muscles screamed from the impact of shadowed claws, and deep in his core, the hum—always louder near the cliffs—was relentless now. Like a second heartbeat, one not his own. He clenched his fist, and the runes etched into his palm flared faintly with violet light. Cold. Urging. Calling.
The drowned cave. Gavyn had mentioned it. So had Lysa—in dreams warped by the rift. And now Kael had seen it himself.
He had bled in it.
He moved with purpose this time, cutting a line through the crowd without apology. His boots struck the dock planks with rhythmic force, the sound nearly lost beneath the ever-churning surf.
He found Gavyn first, his figure hunched but alert. The fisher's broad shoulders were soaked from hauling the sea's burden, his salt-crusted beard twisted as he turned. The faintest frown lined his brow when he saw Kael.
"You again," Gavyn muttered, lowering the net with a grunt. "Swear I saw you—no. That's wrong. Haven't seen you before, have I?"
"Doesn't matter," Kael said, voice like flint. "The cave. Where is it?"
Gavyn's eyes narrowed, suspicion and memory warring in his gaze. "Under the cliffs. West side. You won't see it from the path. Got to know where to look." He glanced up at the sky. "Tide's low now. You've got an hour, maybe less. Won't be later."
"Good enough." Kael turned away without another word.
Behind him, Gavyn spat into the sea. "You'll need more than a knife if it's what I think it is," he called.
Kael didn't slow.
He approached Lysa next. Her stall was a splash of faded blue cloth in the market chaos, a crooked table piled with trinkets, carved bones, and salt-charms that might've once held meaning before the rift had swallowed truth. She sat behind it, spinning a coin through her fingers with unnatural precision. Her eyes, bright and unreadable, lifted as he drew close.
"You've got storm-walk in your stride," she said coolly. "And that violet flicker in your veins. Rift-touched?"
"No," Kael replied. "Marked. There's a difference." He leaned forward. "The cave. Your dream. Tell me more."
Lysa stilled, the coin pausing mid-flip.
"Dark," she said slowly. "Cold and wet, like drowning in sleep. Something moved inside it—big. Covered in threads. Not threads like yours, though. Wrong ones. Black and tangled." Her voice lowered. "It knew I was watching. Tried to pull me in."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Did it speak?"
"Didn't have to. I heard it anyway." Her gaze sharpened. "You're not here to trade, are you?"
"No trades. Just cutting."
He held out his palm. The runes on it flared like violet lightning frozen mid-strike. Lysa inhaled sharply, recognition or fear flashing in her eyes.
"I don't envy what you're walking into, Threadbearer," she whispered. "Whatever's in that cave…it wants out."
Kael nodded once, turned on his heel, and strode toward the western cliffs. Behind him, the crowd murmured, but no one followed.
Except Gavyn.
The older man had already taken up his spear and fallen into step beside Kael without a word. They moved fast, keeping to the shadows as they left the market behind. The path twisted westward, hugging the cliffs like a scar. Waves pounded the stone below, their rhythm thrown off by the unnatural tide that the rift-moon always summoned.
"You sure you're ready for what's down there?" Gavyn finally asked, his voice low, barely audible over the roar of the surf.
"No," Kael said. "But I'm going anyway."
The cliffs bent sharply inward, forming a jagged cove. Gavyn stopped and pointed. "There. You see that cut in the stone? That's your hole. Smugglers used it back in the day. Place floods faster than you'd think."
Kael stepped forward, staring into the mouth of the drowned cave. A rank, briny wind exhaled from its depths, carrying with it the scent of rot and old magic. Faint runes glimmered along the stone rim—withered sigils from another age, warped by the rift's influence. They pulsed like dying stars.
"Stay here," Kael said. "This isn't a fight you're meant for."
Gavyn grunted. "Didn't plan on dying tonight anyway."
Kael stepped inside.
The air thickened with each stride, the humidity clinging to his skin, soaking through his clothes. Moss clung to the walls like drowned fur, and the floor squelched beneath his boots. His palm glowed brighter with every step, the runes guiding him. The hum in his bones became a drumbeat now—resonant, vast, and hungry.
The cave opened into a wide chamber, where a pool of still, black water rested like an eye. Nothing moved on its surface. No reflection greeted Kael, though he stood just at its edge.
And at its center, the rift shimmered—small, jagged, pulsing with threads of energy. It looked like a tear in reality itself, like something forced its way into this world without permission.
Then it moved.
Something rose from the pool—towering, armored in jagged chitin, runes scrawled across its form like blasphemy made flesh. Its limbs ended in massive claws, dripping with shadow. Threads, darker than night, coiled around it like snakes.
The Moonweaver's guard.
A Gifted-tier rift-beast, born of nightmare and sealed within the drowned dark.
Kael stood frozen, breath shallow.
Then the voice came.
"Kael…" it whispered, and though it came from the rift, it echoed through the creature. "Soon…"
The Sleeping Tyrant's voice—distant but reaching.
Kael's grip tightened on his dagger. "Not yet," he muttered. "Not you. Not now."
The beast surged from the pool with a roar, its claws crashing down like falling towers. Kael flung himself to the side, threads erupting from his feet.
"Thread Step: Phantom Drift!"
Violet light warped the air as he vanished and reappeared to the left, just as the claw struck where he had stood. Shards of stone exploded from the impact, and Kael sprang into action.
"Thread Dance: Crescent Slash!"
He twisted mid-air, slicing an arc of thread through the creature's leg. It staggered, roaring, as violet mist sprayed from the wound.
But it was only wounded, not weakened.
Its other claw came at him like a pendulum. Kael vaulted high.
"Thread Step: Sky Fang!"
The threads launched him upward, flipping him over the incoming strike. He twisted and landed on a jagged ledge.
"Thread Lance: Falling Star!"
A beam of light shot from his hand, spearing the beast's shoulder. It shrieked, collapsing part of the ceiling in its agony.
"Still standing," Kael panted. "Let's change that."
But the rift pulsed again. Energy surged into the beast, and it reared up, its claws now burning with shadow-flame. It charged.
"Thread Wall: Vortex Shield!"
Kael's barrier formed just in time, catching the blow—but barely. He gritted his teeth, the threads humming against his palms as he held the line.
The beast didn't stop.
"Damn you," Kael growled. "You don't get to win."
He poured more power into the shield, then twisted it outward.
"Thread Dance: Spiral Tempest!"
A cyclone of threads erupted around him, blasting the creature back. One of its claws snapped from the force, bouncing off the cavern wall with a bone-splitting crack. Kael didn't hesitate.
"Thread Step: Flicker Dash!"
He blurred forward, sliding beneath the creature's remaining arm.
"Thread Reave: Echo Break!"
His dagger plunged upward into the beast's exposed underbelly. Violet fire exploded from the point of impact. The creature wailed, its threads unraveling as it collapsed backward into the pool, thrashing once—then still.
Silence.
Kael staggered, dropping to one knee. His arm bled freely. His breath came in ragged gasps. The rift had dimmed, its edges flickering.
But the voice lingered.
"Soon…"
A shadow on the horizon of his mind.
Footsteps echoed from behind.
"Kael!" Gavyn's voice rang from the tunnel. "You alive?"
"Barely," Kael muttered, forcing himself to his feet.
Gavyn emerged, eyes wide at the sight of the carnage. "Storm take me. You killed that thing?"
"Moonweaver's pawn," Kael said hoarsely. "One of the Tyrant's guards. There's more."
Gavyn knelt by the water, awe plain on his face. "You've got threads like lightning, boy."
Kael didn't reply. Instead, he pressed his glowing palm into the air.
"Thread Reset: Tide's Turn!"
Violet light surged outward. The air warped, the cave dissolved.
Time unraveled.
And Moonfall rewound.
Kael stood once more at the edge of the cliff, the market alive behind him. Gavyn hauled his net. Lysa counted her coins. All unaware. All reset.
But the hum remained.
Two days. Maybe less.
He flexed his palm, the runes burning faintly. The drowned cave waited. The rift pulsed beneath the surface of the world.
And the Tyrant watched from beyond.
Kael stared into the violet-streaked sky, knowing what came next.
He would cut again.
And again.
Until the Second Tide ended.