Not all designs are forgotten.
Some are buried.
Because they were too powerful… or too true.
---
A Map in Threads
Back in the atelier, Sloane studied the Loom Key.
Since returning from the Seam, it had started whispering. Not in words, but in patterns.
Cassien sat nearby, watching.
"It's drawing," she said.
The loom wove a single golden thread across the floor in a jagged arc, pausing at points like a trembling hand sketching something half-remembered.
"It's a map," Cassien realized.
Ari entered, breathless. "I've seen that symbol before — it's on the imperial blacklists. A forbidden site. No teleport threads allowed near it."
"The Archive," Sloane whispered.
"The what?"
"The place they buried techniques too dangerous to use. Styles so potent they could unravel systems, rewrite memory, or alter time perception."
Elian appeared from the shadows.
"They call it the Threadgrave."
---
Journey to the Forbidden Zone
To reach the Archive, they had to cross Zone Zero, a militarized wasteland guarded by the Obsidian Models — living mannequins imbued with war couture.
They dressed for stealth: muted weaves that adapted to their surroundings, cloaking emotional signatures.
The land itself resisted them. Fabric storms raged — remnants of discarded designs that had gained partial sentience.
As they reached the perimeter of the Archive, Sloane felt the Loom Key hum against her chest.
"I think it's reacting to something inside."
Cassien drew his blade-thread. "Or something's reacting to it."
---
Inside the Threadgrave
The Archive doors loomed, untouched by time, stitched shut with ghostweave — thread made from forgotten memories.
Sloane reached out.
The door pulsed, then parted, as if recognizing her.
They entered.
The air was thick with dormant power. Scrolls hovered in midair, spindles spun themselves, mannequins wore incomplete dreams.
"This is where the Empire hides the truth," Elian said, voice hushed.
Sloane approached a central display — a sealed chamber titled:
> THE FIRST WEAVER
Inside was a shattered loom.
Beside it, a plaque:
> "From this weave, all fashion was born."
Cassien frowned. "That's just a legend."
"No," Sloane said. "It's a secret."
She reached toward the glass — and it shattered without touch.
The broken loom lit up.
And suddenly, the walls of the Archive dissolved — revealing a recorded memory stitched into the space itself.
---
A History Rewritten
They saw the past.
A world before the Empire.
Where Weavers were revered like gods — not for conquest, but creation.
Where fashion healed, mended, remembered.
Then came the First Tear — the Seam that split the world in two.
And a voice, female and familiar, narrating:
> "We built the Loom to unify emotion and matter. But some wanted power instead. They twisted couture into control. And so, the Empire was born."
A face appeared.
Not the Empress.
Not even the Supreme Weaver from the alternate world.
It was… Sloane's mother.
Cassien's breath caught.
"That's…"
"I thought she died when I was a child," Sloane whispered.
The image of her mother turned toward them.
> "If you're seeing this… the Seam is open again."
> "And only my daughter can reseal it."
---
Betrayal in the Archive
Suddenly, the ground trembled.
Explosions outside.
Elian cursed. "We've been followed!"
The Obsidian Models poured in — led by a new figure cloaked in reflective fabric.
It was Maelis, Sloane's old mentor — now working for the Empire.
"You always were a gifted child," Maelis said. "But curiosity kills couture."
Cassien stepped forward.
"You won't touch her."
Maelis smiled. "I don't need to."
She raised a silver thread and yanked — the Archive began to collapse in folds of imploding design.
Sloane grabbed the shattered Loom and ran.
But not before locking eyes with her mother's fading image.
> "Follow the final pattern," it mouthed.
> "Trust the thread."