The storm hadn't stopped since the moment they left the temple.
Ahri stood at the edge of a wide, overgrown staircase, the stone steps sinking into the earth like buried memories. The forest around her was heavy with mist, each breath thick with moss and something older—older than the Severed, older than the temple. Jin stood beside her, fingers brushing the silver-blue thread that connected them both. Behind them, the Elder said nothing, but the threads around his staff coiled tighter than usual, as if preparing for a reckoning.
They had followed a faint pulse in the golden thread, one that tugged like an old scar aching in the cold. It had led them here—to the ruins of an abandoned spirit weaver enclave known only as "Yasa's Hollow," a name Ahri recognized from one of the Elder's old scrolls. A place erased from official records after a betrayal that fractured fate itself.
Now, the Hollow was waking again.
As they descended the steps, the forest shifted. Trees twisted into unnatural shapes. The air crackled with quiet whispers—fragments of voices trapped in the ether, weeping or laughing without rhythm. Threads floated, frayed and broken, tangled in branches like forgotten dreams.
"Careful," the Elder murmured. "This is a wound in the weave. Spirits here are unanchored."
Jin knelt, touching the ground. "The threads are distorted. Not Severed, but... repelled. Whatever broke this place didn't just cut fate. It turned it away."
Ahri's golden thread trembled in response, drawing her attention to a stone doorway half-buried in vines. Her vision blurred for a second, and she saw it—flashes of fire, masked figures weaving symbols midair, and something bound beneath the stone in chains of black thread.
Then it vanished.
"This is where they kept them," Ahri said quietly. "The ones the Order feared."
Jin frowned. "You mean... other Threadseers?"
"Or worse," the Elder said grimly. "Those who heard the voice of the Severed... and answered."
They stepped through the doorway. Inside, the temple was swallowed by time. The walls bore remnants of protective glyphs, long faded. There were shattered lanterns, broken charms, and in the center—a mirror pool. Its surface was as dark as ink.
Ahri approached slowly. The golden thread around her wrist reached toward the water. As she looked down, her reflection stared back—then changed. Her face cracked like porcelain, and behind her stood the masked figure from her visions. Not the Severed Woman. Something older. A fox spirit with many tails—each tail a thread.
The vision ended in a blink.
"I saw it again," Ahri said. "The fox. But it wasn't threatening. It was... watching me. Judging me."
Jin's hand touched her shoulder gently. "Maybe it's waiting."
The Elder's voice was low. "The fox spirits were once guardians of story threads. Until they chose chaos over order. If it's watching you, child... you may be the fulcrum in something much bigger."
The pool rippled suddenly. From its depths, a shape emerged.
A spirit. Or what was left of one.
Twisted by time and severed memories, it floated half-formed—threads dangling like torn robes. Its face was featureless, except for a gaping mouth that whispered all at once:
"You shouldn't be here... we are forgotten... we are forsaken..."
Ahri raised her hand, weaving instinctively. Jin followed suit, silver-blue threads spiraling around her fingers like wind.
But the spirit did not attack.
It pointed behind them.
A deeper chamber. A sealed door.
With a final, broken sigh, the spirit dissolved, scattering frayed threads into the air.
They stood in silence for a long moment.
"We're close," Ahri whispered. "To something they didn't want us to find."
The Elder gave a solemn nod. "Then we open it. But prepare yourselves. The truths buried here may unravel more than you're ready to hold."
The door creaked open with a sound like tearing silk.
And behind it—darkness pulsed.
Not empty.
But breathing.