"To face fate is to question whether you are its master or its pawn."
"The weight of destiny is not in what is seen, but in what lingers unseen, in the choices yet to be made."
The village felt muted. Not silent—there were distant sounds of movement, of doors creaking open, of hushed conversations—but it was subdued. Lifeless. Ryuxian's eyes flickered, tracing the dim red threads attached to the villagers. Weak. Some were even unraveling, the strands fraying like old, brittle rope. It wasn't natural.
What happened here?
His footsteps were light as he entered the village square. A few villagers noticed him, their gazes wary but not hostile. Their expressions, however, were strange—less suspicious and more... resigned. Their eyes held a hollow look, as if their spirits had already been leached away. Like they had already decided something about him. Before he could speak, a voice cut through the stillness. "Traveler. "An old woman stood near a stall, her frail frame wrapped in a faded shawl. Her eyes—milky with age—were locked onto him with an unsettling intensity. "You should not have come here."Ryuxian didn't react immediately. Instead, he studied her. Unlike the others, her thread was still strong, but it had a faint golden tint—something rare, a sign of profound wisdom or perhaps a connection to something beyond the ordinary.
She's different.
He took a step closer, his voice even. "Why? "The old woman exhaled, shaking her head. "The village is cursed. "Murmurs spread around them. The villagers, who had been pretending not to listen, turned away quickly, avoiding eye contact, their shoulders slumped with a weariness that spoke of long-suffering. Ryuxian remained unfazed. "What kind of curse?" The woman hesitated, then gestured for him to follow. "Come. If you truly wish to know. "The Elder's Warning Her home was small but tidy. Herbs hung from the ceiling, their faint scent mixing with the smoke of a dim lantern, creating a warm, earthy aroma. She motioned for him to sit, settling herself across from him, her aged hands clasped tightly in her lap. "You see them, don't you?" she asked suddenly, her voice a low, raspy whisper. Ryuxian's fingers twitched.
She knows about the threads.
His guard rose a fraction. "See what?"She smiled knowingly, a faint crinkle around her milky eyes. "The unseen threads that bind us all. Fate. Life. Death. "Silence.
"Fate is not a path, but a weave—tug one thread, and the whole fabric shifts."
"To see is not to understand; even light can blind if one stares too long."
"A wound in destiny does not heal on its own. It must be mended—or cut away."
Then, Ryuxian leaned back slightly. "And if I do? "The old woman's expression darkened, her face etched with worry. "Then you already know why this village is dying."He thought of the fading threads outside. The way they frayed unnaturally, like a tapestry being torn apart strand by strand.
This isn't a simple illness.
"Something is stealing their fates," the woman murmured, as if reading his mind. "Something unseen. And soon, there will be nothing left." Her gaze was heavy as she leaned forward, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Leave while you still can."Ryuxian's jaw tightened. His mind was already turning, trying to piece things together. A village cursed. Fates unraveling. A mysterious observer leaving behind a black thread. These weren't coincidences. And he wasn't leaving. He asked, how you can know!? She replied, "I'm from a long line of carriers of stories. You're one of the stories that we kept after generation after generation. ""What's that?" He asked! "That you guys are the connecting portals of life. Who wield life with the crimson thread, and you guys rarely interest in mortal life."" No," he said simply, meeting her gaze. "I'm staying. "A long pause. Then the old woman sighed, a sound of resignation and a flicker of a sad, knowing understanding. "Then I hope you're ready to face the unseen."
The Night ApproachesAs darkness settled, Ryuxian stepped outside, his senses sharpening. The village was too quiet. Not the peaceful kind—this was the quiet of something waiting, of something holding its breath. A shiver crawled down his spine. Then, just on the edge of his vision—A black thread. Flickering in the distance, a dark pulse against the night .Ryuxian exhaled slowly, his hand moving to the small obsidian stones in his pouch .
The unseen was watching. And this time, he was ready. The black thread flickered like a dying ember in the darkness, its presence sending a ripple through Ryuxian's senses, a cold, unsettling vibration. Something—or someone—was near. He didn't move immediately. Instead, he let his vision adjust, his Fate Weaver sight sharpening. The thread wove through the empty air, stretching toward the forest beyond the village, a dark path beckoning.
A lure? A warning? Or something else?
His fingers tightened around an obsidian stone in his pouch. The village behind him was still, but he could feel the weight of unseen eyes pressing against his back, a suffocating pressure. Then—movement. A shadow slipped between the trees, a fluid, almost liquid motion.
They're testing me again.
Ryuxian exhaled. Fine. Let's see who breaks first. With a slow, deliberate step, he followed.
The Forest's EdgeThe air grew colder as he walked, the distant chirping of insects fading into an unnatural silence, a void of sound. The further he went, the more the trees seemed to shift, their outlines bending like mirages, as if the very fabric of reality was warping.
This place feels wrong.
The black thread pulsed faintly ahead, winding through the trees like a guide. Or a trap, a dark trail leading to an unknown danger. Still, Ryuxian didn't hesitate.
If this thing is connected to the village's curse, I need to see it for myself.
His footfalls were soundless as he pressed forward. Then—A whisper. Low.
Almost melodic. Not a voice, but something more ancient. More distant. A sound that seemed to resonate from the very earth itself. His golden eyes narrowed. He shifted slightly, angling his body defensively. Then the forest moved. No—something moved within it. Shadows peeled away from the bark, stretching unnaturally, limbs forming where there should have been none, like dark tendrils reaching out.
A figure emerged—not solid, not entirely real, shifting like a living ink stain against the moonlit backdrop, a formless entity of pure shadow. Ryuxian's breath slowed.
No thread. Not human.
The entity took a step forward, its head tilting in an eerie, soundless motion, a gesture that seemed to mock the very concept of life.
Then—it spoke. "You see. "Its voice was layered, like multiple whispers threading through the air at once, a chorus of dark echoes.Ryuxian didn't answer. "You weave. "Still, silence. "But do you truly understand? "The black thread pulsed at his feet, twisting like a living thing, a dark serpent coiling around his fate.Ryuxian's grip on the obsidian stones tightened.
I don't know what you are. But I will find out.
Fate's Question The entity remained still, watching, its formless eyes seeming to pierce through him. Then—it moved. Not by stepping. Not by shifting. It was simply closer. Too close. A breath away.
Ryuxian's body reacted before his mind could fully process. His arm shot forward, obsidian stone slicing through the air—But the moment it touched the entity—Nothing. The stone passed through like mist, vanishing into the dark void of its form, like a solid object dissolving into smoke. Ryuxian felt a jolt of cold, a sense of utter futility. The entity let out a sound—soft, like laughter, but hollow, a sound that chilled him to the bone. "What you grant, you must also take."Ryuxian's heart pounded.
The Serpent Code's words. It knows.
The entity leaned closer, though its form never quite touched him, a phantom presence."Will you take, Fate Weaver?"Ryuxian's breath came slow. Controlled.
It's testing me. like the observer before. Like fate itself.
His fingers loosened from the obsidian. Instead, he let his vision shift fully into the realm of threads. And there—behind the entity—A knotted black mass. Not one thread, but many. Tangled. Suffocating. Consuming. The threads pulsed with a dark, malevolent light, like a living wound in the fabric of fate. There were shapes within the knot, distorted faces and twisted limbs, the remnants of stolen lives.
It doesn't have a fate of its own. It feeds on others.
The realization sent a chill through his veins, a wave of revulsion and a dawning understanding of the entity's true nature. The village. The fading threads.
The unnatural curse. This thing was at the center of it all. And yet—it hadn't attacked. It was waiting. For him. For a choice.
The Loom of Destiny The entity tilted its head, as if intrigued, expectant. The weight of its presence pressed against him like a question unspoken but undeniable.
Ryuxian's jaw tightened. He had spent years understanding the weave of fate, the delicate balance of life's threads. This thing—this wraith—was a parasite, consuming what it could not create. Yet, it was bound by the same laws it sought to manipulate. It could not weave its own existence. It needed him. A test. A challenge. A temptation. The entity whispered again, its words curling through the air like smoke.
"You see the wound. Will you mend it? Or let it bleed?"Ryuxian exhaled slowly, his eyes locked onto the seething mass of black threads.The choice before him was clear.But fate was never so simple.
"Monsters are not born from darkness alone; they are woven from forgotten choices and neglected consequences. "The one who weaves fate must decide: to restore what was lost, or to sever what should not be."