That night, Kaelen sat on the edge of his platform, the moonlight casting silver fire across his bruises. The stars overhead felt closer here, woven into the sky like beads in the great pattern of the Thread.
He had endured.
Vaerin's blade had broken his pride. Tessari's lessons had sparked raw, dangerous magic in his blood. Ilyren had shown him echoes of pain he didn't yet understand.
He was becoming something new. Slowly. Unevenly. But undeniably.
The wind stirred the branches above him.
Then—an explosion.
Not distant. Not magical. Real.
A moment later, someone stumbled through the lower corridor of the training glade, cracking a vine barrier and shouting curses in a language he didn't understand—one not native to Thalara.
Kaelen stood, instinctive tension rushing up his spine.
And then, she appeared.
She was shorter than him, built like a coiled spring, and lit with fire—literal sparks flickering between her fingers, and figurative ones flashing in her vivid orange eyes. Her tightly bound braid swayed behind her like a fuse. Her tunic was scorched at the sleeve, her boots muddy.
They locked eyes.
"Oh," she said, exhaling. "You're the thread-boy."
Kaelen blinked. "What?"
"You don't look like much," she added, circling him once like a predator sizing up a deer. "I thought you'd glow. Or hover. At least have decent posture."
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
Then, finally: "Who are you?"
She grinned like someone used to having the upper hand. "Nyessa. Flamehand of the South Vale guard and, apparently, your new sparring partner."
Vaerin, of course, approved.
"Good. You'll need someone to keep you honest. And bloody."
Nyessa fought with speed and flare—half-blind feints and sharp bursts of kinetic flame. She moved like she was born in battle. Their first spar lasted twenty seconds. Kaelen landed zero hits.
"Stop thinking like a human," she said, helping him up. "Start thinking like something becoming dangerous."
"Thanks," he muttered, rubbing his ribs.
"Anytime, Threadling."
Their rivalry blossomed fast—and not always in friendly ways.
They clashed during blade training, during spellform drills, during a meditation exercise that ended with Nyessa accidentally igniting three leaf-scrolls and Tessari laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.
But slowly—unexpectedly—Kaelen found himself looking forward to seeing her. She challenged him. She mocked him. But she never lied to him.
And in a place full of riddles and half-truths, that was rare.
One night, while walking alone under the blue-glass lantern trees, Kaelen found her seated on a high branch, kicking her boots against the bark, tracing flame-lines in the air.
He climbed up without invitation.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
Nyessa shrugged. "Didn't want to."
They sat in silence for a while. Below them, Thalara glowed in soft green and silver, a city of lights suspended in a living forest. The air smelled of moss and wind.
Kaelen broke the silence. "I don't remember who I lost. But I know I lost someone."
Nyessa's hands stopped moving. The flames faded. "That's what pain does. It leaves a shape even after the fire's gone."
He looked at her. "You speak like someone who knows."
"I burn because I promised I would," she said softly. "I won't forget the ones who didn't make it."
She didn't elaborate. He didn't push. Some wounds needed silence more than words.
But in that moment, the space between them changed.
Not warmth, not yet.
But recognition.
The next morning, all of Thalara shifted.
Not physically—but magically. Kaelen woke with a jolt, his breath catching as the silver thread inside him hummed like a taut chord being plucked. Birds scattered from the high branches. Lights blinked. Runes flared briefly across the wardstones embedded in the city walls.
Moments later, Tessari burst into the training ring, her cloak askew, scrolls trailing behind her.
"Thread-surge!" she shouted, eyes wild. "Not just one signature. *Two!*"
Kaelen blinked. "Two?"
Nyessa stood nearby, gripping a short-blade, her knuckles white. Her skin shimmered faintly—barely visible lines of molten light traced the inside of her arms.
"I touched your training blade yesterday," she said, voice tight. "Just for a moment. But I saw\... something."
Kaelen stepped toward her. "What did you see?"
Her eyes locked with his.
"A silver gate. A battlefield. A banner burning. I heard your name—*not Kaelen. Aravel.*"
The thread in Kaelen's chest pulled tight. His legs felt like hollow wood.
Nyessa steadied herself on the edge of a bench. "What the hell did we awaken?"
Tessari's expression turned uncharacteristically serious.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But if your threads are resonating… this is bigger than prophecy now."
Lirael arrived moments later, called by the shift in magical current.
Her gaze swept over Kaelen, then Nyessa, and she paled slightly.
"You two share a fragment."
Nyessa frowned. "A fragment of what?"
"The same broken thread," Lirael said. "Two echoes of a single story—rising again."
Kaelen looked at Nyessa.
And for the first time since awakening in Thalara, he didn't feel entirely alone.