Kaelen didn't sleep.
After the ritual, his body demanded rest, but his mind was ablaze—lit not by fear, but by something else. Resolve, maybe. Or the quiet dread of becoming something he didn't fully understand.
The silver thread within him pulsed faintly, steady now, no longer unraveling… but it felt different. Tighter. Like a door had been unlocked, and something vast waited behind it.
Lirael sat across the ashes of the fire, sharpening a blade by moonlight. She hadn't spoken since the ritual ended.
At dawn, she stood.
> "Come. We go north."
Kaelen rose stiffly. "Where?"
"To Thalara. A place where even ghosts are made to speak their truths."
He didn't ask what that meant.
He simply followed.
The forest changed as they moved deeper.
Trees grew in massive columns, their roots woven with moss and singing stones that hummed faintly as Kaelen passed. The air thickened with a quiet, old magic. Not threatening—just aware.
By midday, the silence between them finally broke.
"You're quieter than usual," Kaelen said.
Lirael glanced back. "You're different."
He considered that. "I feel it. Not stronger—just… more awake."
"Good. You'll need that clarity."
They reached a ridge marked by three spiraling trees. At its center, a living arch twisted from braided branches opened like a gate. Beyond it, nestled in the dense canopy, was **Thalara**.
Thalara was not built—it was grown.
Towers curled from ancient oaks, shaped by generations of songbinding. Walkways of root and vine arched between them. Crystalline lanterns glowed with soft blue light, and waterfalls poured from hollowed trunks into suspended basins of moonstone.
Elves moved like shadows through the city. Cloaked. Silent. Watching.
Kaelen felt every eye.
Their steps slowed near the heart of the glade, where the trees opened into a circular court. Dozens of elven figures stood waiting—elders, guardians, and weavers. Their expressions were unreadable.
Lirael stepped forward, her voice low but clear.
> "I bring Kaelen of the Second Thread. Soulbound. Reawakened through fire. Bound by ritual and witness."
Murmurs spread.
A tall elder stepped forward. Her hair was silver moss, her staff twisted from petrified root. She regarded Kaelen with solemn interest.
> "The stars remember that thread," she said. "But it was cut long ago."
Kaelen stepped forward, heart steady. "I'm not here to revive a dead hero. I'm here because I need to understand who I've become."
The elder's eyes narrowed, as if weighing his soul.
> "Then you will stand before the Moonwell."
The Moonwell was deeper within the glade—an open hollow beneath the trees, lit by moonlight and surrounded by whispering reeds. The water glowed faintly with silver-blue light, still and deep.
Kaelen stepped to the edge as instructed. The crowd fell silent.
"Place your hands in the water," the elder said. "The Well will not lie."
Kaelen knelt and did so.
The moment his fingers touched the surface, the visions came—not like the Gate's chaotic blaze, but *layered*, soft, insistent.
He saw a war camp under a burning sky. Rows of elves kneeling before a fire-lit banner. His own face, younger. Sharper. Bearing a name that vibrated through his skull.
> "Starsworn."
He flinched.
The vision shifted—flashes of blood, betrayal, a sword plunged into someone he cared for—and then silence. The water hissed, rejecting the memory.
He staggered back.
The gathered elves looked on, unreadable.
A voice rose behind him.
> "I remember him."
Kaelen turned.
A younger elf with storm-grey eyes stepped forward from the crowd. He wore ceremonial armor of layered bark and crystal, and carried himself like a soldier forced to play a diplomat.
> "He was my captain. Starsworn of the Flameguard. I watched him fall. And now you wear his soul."
Kaelen met the elf's gaze. "I didn't ask for this. But I won't deny it either."
The elf's eyes darkened. "Then prove you deserve it. Or we'll burn the thread clean."
The elder raised her hand. "Enough."
She looked at Kaelen, more thoughtful than before.
> "Your presence ripples. Not just through our people—but through what remains of the Loom. You will remain in Thalara… and you will learn. But your presence is *not* welcome. It must be earned."
Kaelen bowed his head, steady. "Understood."
That night, Kaelen sat on a hanging platform beneath the stars, staring at the Moonwell below. Lirael joined him, a quiet weight settling beside him.
"They don't trust me," he said.
"They're not wrong to be cautious," she replied. "Soulbound haven't returned in generations. And the last one… well."
"I was him."
"You *were*." She looked at him. "Now you're something else."
Kaelen exhaled, the silver thread humming beneath his ribs. "Then let's find out.