The sky above Terraflux shimmered with threads invisible to the naked eye, an unseen tapestry woven by forces no mortal could fully grasp. Within the sprawling metropolis of Virelia, among the neon haze and towering arcologies, power wasn't just currency—it was destiny. Fate wasn't a whisper in the dark; it was law, stamped into existence by a force that governed the hierarchy of all beings. Those born Threadless existed in the cracks of society, voiceless and discarded. And for the few born with Frayed Threads, life was a breath away from despair.
Tobias Nilsen stirred awake on the creaking cot that barely held his weight. The light filtering through the half-broken blinds of his cramped apartment flickered against the peeling walls. His room was cluttered with books on fate theory, newspapers stacked with reports on thread anomalies, and an old, rusting kettle that hissed with steam.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. His decent facial features which consisted of two beauty marks; one found directly under his right eye and the other just slightly tilted to his right jaw below his lips; his eyes caught the dull glint of morning light—slightly hollow cheeks, a narrow jawline, and short black hair tousled into a wavy mullet. His eyes, a tired grey tinged with resolve, reflected both weariness and will. His skin, honey brown and warm, had paled slightly from stress.
The sound of labored breathing reached him from the adjacent room. He walked softly to the cracked door and peered in. His mother lays on a narrow bed, her face pale and eyes shut in an eternal sleep-like sickness that doctors hadn't dared to name. The illness wasn't natural—it was the consequence of a Frayed Thread left untended. She hadn't moved in years. Machines buzzed beside her, ancient and barely functioning, sustained by whatever scraps of electricity Tobias could scavenge.
He poured the last of their instant rice into a bowl and placed it by her bedside. "Morning, Mom," he whispered, forcing a smile. "Still holding on, huh? Good… that's good."
But it wasn't good. Not really. Every morning he repeated the same words like they meant something—like they could will her back awake. The truth scraped against the inside of his skull like glass. She was slipping away in slow motion, and he could do nothing. Frayed Threads weren't given choices. They were handed suffering and told to endure.
A knock sounded at the door.
He opened it to find Nate—tall, tanned, and energetic, with a mop of curly brown hair that stuck out from under his hoodie. Nate was always the opposite of Tobias—loud where he was quiet, optimistic where he was cautious. Still, the two had known each other since childhood.
"You look like you haven't slept," Nate said, brushing past him into the apartment. "Still watching the thread monitors? Still no luck with the thread doctors?"
Tobias nodded, sighing. "She doesn't respond to healing, even from mid-tier Weavers. They say she's... caught in a thread snarl. Something old. Something twisted."
"They just say that when they can't fix it," Nate muttered, sitting beside him. "But... maybe it's not hopeless."
Tobias gave him a flat look. "Hope's a luxury. You know that better than most."
Nate smirked. "Yeah, but I also know you. You don't just sit around for no reason. You're planning something."
"I'm not," Tobias said. But he didn't sound sure. "Not yet."
"Liar. You've got that look in your eyes again. The one that says 'maybe I'll punch fate in the face today.'"
Tobias laughed softly, the sound dry. "Fate doesn't have a face. It has rules. Laws. Chains."
"Chains break." Nate nudged him. "And so do gods."
Tobias didn't respond. He leaned against the wall and watched his friend dig through a bag of cheap groceries.
"You still not eating right?" Nate said with a frown. "Man, Tobi, I know things are rough, but—"
"I'm fine," Tobias interrupted. "You didn't come all this way to lecture me."
"No, I came 'cause I wanted to walk with you today. Big announcement happening at the Central Loom. Fate Registry's publishing the new thread evaluations."
Tobias rolled his eyes. "Not like it matters to us. We're still at the bottom....however I have nothing else to do.."
They started walking down the cracked streets, the city humming around them. Giant screens projected news about the latest Ascended Mortal to clear a thread gate. A new Skyreach candidate. The people clapped in awe. But Tobias just kept his head low.
"You ever think about why we even have ranks like 'Threadless'?" Nate asked suddenly.
"All the time." Tobias replied.
Nate stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I mean, think about it. We're categorized before we can even talk. Threadless, Frayed, Dull, Luminous, Woven, Myth and the rest... It's like the system decides who matters and who doesn't."
"The Loom does decide," Tobias muttered. "It's the law of this world. The threads shape everything—what we're worth, what we can be, who we get to become. We practically have no free will. We're a slave to a flawed existence."
Nate shook his head. "I don't buy that crap. There has to be something else. I mean, look at you. You've got more potential than half those smug Threaded kids at our academy. Just 'cause you're Frayed doesn't mean you're broken."
Tobias gave a weak laugh. "It means exactly that, Nate. I'm frayed. The Loom didn't see a purpose in threading me and my mother whole."
"You don't actually believe that?" Nate questioned, trying to grasp his friend's philosophy.
Did he? Sometimes, he didn't know. Some nights he stared into the cracked mirror in his bathroom, wondering what it would be like to just disappear...to fade into the background of a world that didn't care. Other nights, he burned with rage so hot it scared him. Why had fate denied him everything? Why his mother? Why their life? Why not someone else?
He paused, staring ahead at a massive building carved with symbols of fate—interwoven spirals, eyes of thread, and an hourglass split in half.
"I believe I want a way out of such a life," Tobias finally said. "I don't know why… but something tells me I'm not supposed to stay in a state like this forever."
Nate bumped his shoulder with a grin. "That's the spirit. Hey, maybe one day, you'll even be the first Frayed to punch a Threadborn in the face."
Tobias chuckled. "I thought you said I wasn't Frayed?"
"You're not. You're just… pre-destiny."
As they approached the square, Tobias glanced up at the massive thread weavers above, turning slowly in the wind like ghostly looms suspended in the sky. They whispered fate into motion, casting lines into those deemed worthy.
He didn't need power yet. He just needed time. Time to learn how to cut his own path.
And maybe—one day—to find the loom… and pull the thread himself.....
....A Threadgate had opened.
They were rare—but not unheard of. Tears in the Loom's design, created by strain, neglect, or violent interference. They bled energy and allowed foreign entities to cross into Terraflux.
And if left unchecked—Threadborn.
The broadcasts always described them as mindless horrors. Beings made entirely of chaotic fate—unformed, hungry, driven by instinct to unravel the threads of others. But rumors said they had been appearing more frequently. Because too many Threadgates had gone uncleared. Because too many Ascended cared more about power than duty.