It had been less than twelve hours since the mark appeared on Luna's chest, but something in the air already felt different. Heavier. Quieter.
Like the world was holding its breath.
Rae Jin walked beside her in silence, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the empty streets of Songrim District. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and the world was still gray-blue, like it was caught between dreams and waking.
"I've never felt my thread burn before," Luna said quietly, fingers brushing her collarbone.
Rae didn't answer right away.
"That symbol," he finally said. "It's the same one the old guardians bore. Before the temples fell."
She turned to him. "Guardians?"
"They weren't Threadbearers. They were protectors. Chosen not by fate, but by the thread itself. People with one purpose—keep the Final Thread untouched."
Luna's steps slowed. "And now… that mark is on me."
He nodded. "Which means fate just chose its battlefield."
The entrance to the old shrine was hidden behind a veil of bamboo trees, crumbling stone walls barely visible under vines. According to Lola, the missing page might have been hidden there long ago—buried in a temple before the great severance.
Luna pushed the gate open, and dust rose like a whisper.
The inside was a ruin of old offerings, broken charms, and torn scrolls. The floor had collapsed in places, revealing tunnels beneath—dark and pulsing faintly with red light.
Rae crouched by the edge.
"There," he pointed. "Threads. Active ones."
They climbed down, careful, silent.
Below, the walls were lined with ancient symbols, and in the center of the cavern was an altar—wrapped in golden thread like a cocoon.
But something else was there too.
A voice.
Clapping, slow and echoing.
"Well, well," Aelius drawled, stepping out from the shadows. "Didn't expect you to find it this fast."
Luna's heart jumped. "You—!"
"Relax." Aelius raised a hand. "I didn't come to fight. Not unless you want to."
Rae stepped between them, eyes narrowed. "How did you find this place?"
Aelius smirked. "I built it."
Silence.
He walked around the altar, trailing his fingers across the golden thread.
"Your mother and I used to meet here," he said to Luna, quieter now. "Before she chose duty over me."
Luna's jaw tightened. "You killed her."
"I never laid a hand on her," Aelius snapped. "But I warned her. The moment she touched that Final Thread, she became a threat."
"To who?"
"To everyone," he said. "To fate, to order, to the gods who wove this world. And now… you're about to do the same."
He stepped back, motioning to the cocooned altar.
"You want the missing page? It's in there."
"Then why let me take it?" Luna asked, suspicious.
"Because once you read it, you'll understand." His gaze sharpened. "Understand what you really are."
And with that, Aelius disappeared into smoke—threads unraveling behind him.
Luna approached the altar. Rae hesitated. "Be careful."
She reached out and touched the golden threads. They melted at her touch—almost like they were waiting for her.
Inside, a small scroll lay wrapped in silk.
She opened it, hands trembling.
It wasn't just a missing page.
It was a prophecy.
"When the child of the severed mother bears the mark of threads,
The weaver of fates shall awaken,
And the Final Thread shall choose—
Bind the world, or break it."
Rae stepped forward. "The Final Thread… is you."
Luna looked at him, breath caught.
And before either of them could speak again, a low rumble echoed through the cavern.
The threads on the walls began to move—slithering, converging.
They weren't alone anymore.