The creature struck like a tightened thread snapped—racing through the air, arms slashing in curves of shining unraveling magic. Kael acted on reflex, the darkness coalescing into a shield that counterattacked the Unthreaded's blow with a resounding boom.
Elira sprinted up beside him, moonlight bursting from her hands. Her soulthread flared like a meteor, slithering around the creature's cloak. Where her magic struck, the air howled.
Tahlira spun around after them, her sword singing. A bellow, and she severed one of the monster's arms at the shoulder. It jerked back, laughing—its mask cracking as if it were smiling with several mouths.
"You think you still count," it whispered. "The Loom is already bleeding. The Pattern is fraying. There is no sewing left—only the feast."
Kael's heart pounded. "Then we'll be the thread that sews it together."
