The sky was dim with the soft violet hue of early twilight when Luna woke up. For a brief second, she felt peace—until the ache behind her eyes reminded her of the thread again.
Silver.
She stared at the ceiling of her dorm room, unmoving. The tangled emotions from the night before still clung to her chest like heavy mist. The words of the boy from the bridge—Aelius—echoed inside her head like a ghost refusing to leave.
"Not all threads bring peace. Some bring ruin."
She sat up slowly, pressing her palm to her forehead. Her memories were a blur. It wasn't just the bridge—it was something deeper. Something... older?
That silver thread had glowed when Aelius touched her. And then there was that strange sensation, like her heart had been split in two—half drawn to him, half wanting to run away.
The knock on the door startled her.
"Luna? You up?" Rae's voice came, gentle but firm.
Luna stood, ran a hand through her messy hair, and opened the door.
Rae stood there with two cups of coffee and a worried look. His red thread pulsed faintly at his wrist, and he seemed more tired than usual.
"You didn't reply to my texts. I figured you'd need this," he said, offering her a cup.
Luna took it. "Thanks."
He looked at her for a moment longer, studying her. "You okay?"
Luna hesitated. "Not really."
Rae didn't push. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe and asked, "Want to talk about it?"
She opened her mouth to say no—but the truth slipped out instead. "I saw something last night. Or someone. He said things that didn't make sense. But also... did."
Rae's expression tightened. "You mean Aelius?"
Luna blinked. "You know him?"
Rae paused. "Only by name. He's... connected to something I've been trying to figure out. I didn't expect you to meet him. Not like that."
She frowned. "He touched my thread. It changed. Turned silver."
Rae's jaw clenched. "Damn it."
"Rae, what's going on?" Luna asked. Her voice was trembling now, not from fear, but confusion. "Why do I feel like I've met him before? Why does my heart ache like I've lost something I shouldn't have?"
Rae looked away, his voice low. "Because maybe... you have."
The two of them sat on the rooftop of the dorm later that evening, wrapped in jackets, sipping lukewarm coffee that had long gone cold. The wind tugged at Luna's hair as she stared at the horizon.
"Tell me everything, Rae," she said, her voice steady. "No more half-truths."
Rae looked at her for a long time, then finally nodded.
"There's a reason your thread turned silver. It's not a mistake. It's not random. Some threads aren't woven by the world—they're rewritten."
"Rewritten?" she echoed.
"Yes. People like Aelius... they're not just Threadbearers. They're Weavers. They can alter fate. Twist it. But there's a cost. Every time they do, something breaks."
Luna's heart thudded in her chest. "And me? What am I?"
He met her eyes, hesitant. "You're a fragment."
"A what?"
Rae's voice was heavy. "A piece of a life that was erased. A memory that shouldn't exist. Someone rewrote your thread a long time ago. Hid you. Hid your truth. And now... it's unraveling."
The wind howled around them, but all Luna could hear was the blood rushing in her ears.
"Who did it?"
"I don't know," Rae whispered. "But I'm going to find out."
The next day, Luna found herself drawn back to the bridge. She didn't know why—maybe to find Aelius, maybe to confront the feeling that something had been taken from her.
Instead, she found an old woman standing at the edge of the railing, feeding birds with cracked hands and a faint blue thread looping around her fingers.
"You're late," the woman said, without turning around.
Luna froze. "I don't know you."
"But I know you," the woman said. She turned, revealing eyes that were clouded, yet piercing. "You're the girl who forgets. The one who remembers things that never happened."
Luna took a step back.
"I knew your mother," the woman said softly. "Before she vanished. Before her thread was cut."
Luna's breath caught. "My mother died in an accident. That's what I was told."
"She disappeared," the old woman corrected. "And her name was not the one they gave you. Her name was Yuna. And she was a Weaver, like Aelius."
The world tilted. Luna had to hold onto the railing to stay upright.
"She hid you from someone powerful," the woman continued. "Someone who wanted to erase your fate."
"Who?" Luna whispered.
The old woman leaned closer. "His name has been forbidden. But he is returning. And when he does... your thread will be the key."
That night, Luna stood in front of a mirror, staring at her own reflection. The silver thread at her wrist now pulsed faintly with a heartbeat she didn't understand.
A knock came again.
It was Aelius.
His eyes met hers with the weight of lifetimes.
"I need to show you something," he said.
Without a word, she followed him.
They ended up in a place that didn't exist on any map—an old theater covered in vines and silence. Inside, the floor was cracked, the velvet curtains torn, and the chandeliers broken.
But in the center, a glowing tapestry hovered midair.
It shimmered with thousands of threads—red, blue, gold, and one that shimmered like moonlight.
The silver thread.
Hers.
"This," Aelius said, stepping beside her, "is your truth."
The tapestry shifted, revealing flickers of memories—her as a child with a woman who looked like her, a man with storm-grey eyes, and laughter... so much laughter.
And then fire.
A thread burning.
Screams.
Luna clutched her head. "Stop. Stop!"
Aelius touched her shoulder. "You weren't supposed to see this until you were ready."
Tears streamed down her face. "Why are you showing me this now?"
"Because time is running out," he said. "And the one who erased you... is waking up."
The air around them cracked, and a sharp, cold presence filled the room.
The tapestry trembled.
From the shadows, a voice emerged—silken, cruel.
"Well, well. The little fragment found her way back."
Luna turned.
A figure stepped into the light—cloaked, faceless, with a thread of pure black coiled around his hand like a whip.
And with a flick of his wrist, the silver thread around Luna's arm snapped.