The Spiral Tower had no walls in the conventional sense. Its interior was a shifting column of interlaced Threads, each one a different narrative. Some whispered of futures yet to be, others hummed with forgotten myths that had never come true. And in the heart of that impossible space, Corin stood face to face with Kael.
The architect of fracture.
The man who had once been his teacher.
Ashlyn's bow was drawn, its Thread-arrow flickering between reality and intent. Beside her, Corin's fingers hovered near the golden-black seam over his chest — the mark left by the Weft Below. It pulsed in time with Kael's own power, which shimmered around him like oil over ink: refracted, fluid, and quietly violent.
Kael studied him, eyes the color of dusk before a storm.
"You wear the mark well," he said. "I had wondered if the Loom would grant it. But it seems you've been given more than I ever dared."
"I didn't ask for it," Corin replied. "But I won't let you tear down the world just because you think you can write a better one."
Kael gave a soft, almost pitying smile. "Ah, but that's exactly why I can. Because I'm not afraid to."
A pulse of energy shuddered through the room. Threads along the tower's walls bent inward slightly, aligning with Kael's presence — as if the very Loom recognized a kindred will. Patterns rearranged themselves around him, subtly, like dust curling toward gravity.
Ashlyn whispered, "Corin… something's building."
"I know," he said. "He's not just manipulating the Loom anymore. He's part of it."
Kael took a step forward, arms open.
"Do you remember what the Seers taught us? That the Loom was perfect? That the Pattern could not be altered without consequence?"
Corin said nothing.
"They lied," Kael continued. "The Loom is not perfect. It's stagnated. Frozen in the designs of terrified architects. The First Pattern wasn't chaos. It was wild freedom — full of choice, yes, but also beauty. Motion. Creation without chains."
He turned toward the spiraling void above. Threads parted before him.
"I'm not trying to destroy the Loom, Corin. I'm trying to return it to what it was before the Seers tamed it. Before they locked it in mirrors and named it sacred."
Ashlyn scoffed. "You call this freedom? You've left fractures across cities. Threadbeasts roam free because of what you've undone."
"Temporary dissonance," Kael replied calmly. "Friction before clarity. The Loom will adapt. The world is meant to shift. Death is only failure to change."
Corin stepped forward. "So that's your justification? You'll kill thousands just to 'wake' the Loom?"
Kael's smile faded.
"I will do what must be done," he said softly. "And if that makes me a monster, then so be it. But you, Corin… you can still choose."
A hum rose beneath their feet — the tower itself responding.
A new staircase began to unfurl from the ceiling, spiraling downward toward them. Each step was a memory: flickering images of people Corin had known, moments from childhood, sparks of fear and joy and pain all woven into one descending thread.
Ashlyn lowered her bow slightly. "What is this?"
"The Unwritten Stair," Kael said. "One of the final constructs. It shows only what the Loom has not yet decided. To walk it is to let the Pattern ask you: who are you, really?"
He turned to Corin.
"If you still doubt me — if you still think I'm wrong — then take the Stair. Let it show you what your Thread truly means."
Corin hesitated.
The staircase hovered before him, each step pulsing with a familiar ache. Not pain. Not comfort. Just truth.
He glanced at Ashlyn.
She gave a small nod. "I've got your back."
Corin exhaled and stepped onto the first stair.
—
He was nine years old again.
The orphanage gardens shimmered around him, dew-slick and smelling of ash. The sun was wrong—warmer than it ever had been in that place. He saw himself kneeling beside a younger boy, threading a broken necklace together with crude yarn.
"Why did you fix it?" the boy asked.
"Because it matters," young Corin replied. "Even broken things want to be remembered."
The vision faded.
—
Second stair.
He stood over the burned remains of a Loomguard station, Threads unraveling in the air like smoke. He held a child in his arms, her body still. He looked down at his hands, coated in soot and guilt.
"They said it was fate," someone whispered behind him. "That her Thread had frayed."
Corin turned, fury in his voice. "Then the Loom is flawed."
—
Third stair.
He faced himself.
Older. Worn. Alone.
"You walked away," the older Corin said. "You could've fought, but you feared the cost. So you waited. And the Pattern buried us."
—
Fourth stair.
Kael stood beside a massive loom — not the metaphysical one, but a physical construct of brass and bone. He offered Corin a thread.
"Take it," he said. "And weave."
Corin hesitated.
Then stepped past him.
—
The stairs ended.
He stood at the apex of the tower again.
Kael's expression was unreadable. "Well?"
"I saw it," Corin said.
"And?"
"You're right about one thing," Corin said. "The Loom is flawed. But your solution is no better. You're not restoring freedom. You're replacing tyranny with obsession."
Kael's hands clenched. "You speak of balance, but balance is stasis. Only chaos births new patterns."
Corin shook his head. "Not chaos. Choice. There's a difference."
Then his Thread flared.
Golden-black light erupted from his chest, arcing into the surrounding air.
The tower shuddered.
Threads buckled — not in destruction, but in reformation.
Corin's Loomsense expanded like wildfire, stretching outward into the Wastes, down through the Spiral Fold, brushing against the deep roots of the world.
And in that moment, he understood something new:
Kael wasn't alone.
He wasn't the only one reaching into forgotten threads.
Other minds stirred beneath the Loom. Factions who had once obeyed silently were no longer passive. The Pattern's design was being contested not by two men — but by dozens of hands weaving at once.
Kael saw it too.
He staggered, his eyes going wide. "No… they're not supposed to be awake yet."
Ashlyn raised her bow again. "Who?"
Kael backed away, Threads wrapping tightly around him like armor. "You've accelerated it. You fool. Do you even know what you've invited?"
Corin's voice was calm. "I've given the Loom what it always needed — contrast. Choice."
From far below, a horn sounded.
Fira's voice crackled through a Thread-link. "Corin! Reinforcements just emerged from the eastern breach. Not Kael's. Something else. And they're... wrong."
Kael's gaze snapped to the spiral beneath the tower. "They're here. The Patternless."
Corin frowned. "The what?"
Kael's face was pale. "The ones who were never woven. The mistakes the Loom tried to forget."
Ashlyn stared out the window. In the distance, shadows were moving. Not Loomshades. Not Threadbeasts.
Something worse.
Things that did not follow the Loom.
Kael turned to Corin.
"This is what happens when you make the Loom listen."
And then, without another word, he vanished — threads unraveling him mid-step.
Ashlyn ran to Corin's side. "What the hell did we just unleash?"
Corin didn't answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the eastern horizon, where the Spiral Wastes now shimmered with red light. The Threads in the sky trembled — not in pain, but in anticipation.
"We didn't unleash them," he said.
"We woke them."