A thousand paths. A thousand doors.
All hidden between the folds of space, tied together by a web of memories and forgotten truths—that was the Library of Threads.
And it did not want to be found.
Kael, Lyra, and Valen stood on the edge of the Whispering Expanse, a vast field where the ground shimmered like woven silk and voices of the long-dead echoed through the wind. The very fabric of reality twisted here—each step could land you a mile ahead or a lifetime in the past.
"Is this even real?" Valen muttered, turning his spear as the horizon bent like melting glass.
"It's real," Kael replied, his divine essence tingling with warning. "But it was never meant for mortals. The Library was sealed behind the seams of time, only accessible through a memory forgotten by the gods themselves."
Lyra squinted into the distance. "So how do we find it?"
Kael reached into his satchel and drew out the obsidian shard Ezareth had given him. When he held it toward the horizon, the wind stilled. The skies parted.
And a thread of silver light unraveled from the shard, stretching forward into the distance.
"There," Kael said. "Follow the thread."
They walked. Hours bled into minutes, and minutes stretched into eternities. Stars flickered above them in odd patterns, and sometimes the land whispered Kael's name—not in fear, but in recognition.
Eventually, they reached a solitary door floating in midair.
No walls. No building. Just a door of ivory and ink, pulsing with ancient runes.
Kael placed his hand upon it.
"I remember," he whispered.
The door opened.
They stepped through—into a space that could not exist.
The Library of Threads was infinite and intimate, a tangle of staircases, floating platforms, and shifting corridors. Each book, scroll, and relic hung suspended by memory threads, glowing strands that connected knowledge to souls who had once known it.
A figure waited at the center: an old man with six eyes, wrapped in robes made of pages.
"You seek the truth of Tyrnex," the Librarian said without turning.
Kael nodded. "And how to stop him."
The Librarian floated a hand outward, and a single thread descended—deep red, knotted and frayed, flickering like dying fire.
"This is his truth," the Librarian said. "But truth cuts deeper than blades. Are you prepared to bleed for it?"
Kael stepped forward.
"I was reborn as a god to rebuild this world. I'll bleed a thousand times if that's what it takes."
The Librarian smiled sadly.
"Then hold the thread… and remember what was never meant to be known."
Kael grasped the thread.
And his mind was ripped open.
He saw it all:
The origin of Tyrnex—not born, but exhaled by the First Flame as its opposite. A counterbalance, a reflection.
The war before time, when Creation split in two: form and void, order and erosion.
Tyrnex's first victims—realities that collapsed into nothing, because they learned too much.
And the final truth:
Tyrnex cannot be slain. But he can be rewritten—if Kael dares to weave his name into a new Thread of Reality.
The vision ended. Kael collapsed, gasping, blood running from his eyes.
Lyra caught him. "What did you see?"
Kael looked up, pale but determined.
"Not just how to fight him... but how to unmake his purpose."
Valen raised an eyebrow. "Rewrite reality itself?"
Kael stood slowly.
"Yes. And to do that… I'll need something no one's dared touch since the birth of time."
Lyra's voice tightened. "Kael. What are you planning?"
He turned toward the far end of the Library, where a single, black-covered book floated alone.
"I'm going to find the Thread of Origin."
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