Some designs are not meant to be worn.
Some are meant to be lived.
And once woven, they cannot be undone.
---
Fleeing the Archive
Smoke coiled behind them. The Archive imploded in silent folds — threads pulled inward by a reverse-stitch bomb Maelis had triggered.
Cassien dragged Sloane behind a dune of broken mannequins. Elian covered the rear, his scarf shielding them from static dust.
"We lost it," Sloane gasped, holding the cracked Loom Key.
"No," Ari said, appearing beside her. "You are it now. When the loom broke, its code transferred into your dress's thread lattice."
Sloane looked down. Her gown shimmered subtly — unfamiliar golden glyphs scrolling like forgotten script along the hem.
"It's writing something," Cassien muttered.
Sloane's mother's last words echoed again.
> "Follow the final pattern."
---
The Rebellion Fractures
Back at the Resistance base, tensions erupted.
Some leaders blamed Sloane for exposing them. Others demanded she decipher the new pattern immediately.
"This isn't just a weapon," she snapped. "It's a language."
Elian threw his jacket across the table. "We don't have time to philosophize. They're moving on all districts. Soon they'll shut down creative weaves completely."
"Then let me work," Sloane said, breath shaky. "I need silence. I need… space."
Cassien took her hand. "Come with me."
He led her into the abandoned top floor of the atelier — the once-sacred Design Chamber.
---
The Loom Within
For hours, Sloane sat alone, eyes closed, breathing with the thread.
The Loom Key didn't behave like a machine anymore.
It responded to thought.
Emotion.
Intention.
She whispered childhood songs, tears falling silently. She spoke to her mother — even if no one answered.
And then…
A shape emerged.
Not drawn, not stitched, but imagined into existence:
A threadframe — a living diagram of motion, emotion, and choice. A design meant not for wearing… but becoming.
---
Cassien's Confession
Cassien entered quietly. She didn't turn.
"I know you're watching me," she said.
He stepped beside her. "I always have."
She met his gaze. "There's something about you I've always trusted. Even before I knew why."
Cassien reached into his coat and pulled out a fragment of a burned letter.
"My sister was taken by the Empire five years ago. For experimenting with thread-moods. You were her apprentice. She never told you who she really was. She kept it secret… to protect us both."
Sloane took the letter. Read it.
Her breath caught.
> "If I die, protect her. She's the future. And she'll be alone if you don't."
"She died trying to protect this pattern," he said. "And now you're the only one who can finish it."
Sloane touched his cheek, eyes soft.
"I don't want to be alone anymore."
He leaned in. Their lips met — finally, fully — not desperate, but certain.
Like two threads finally woven into one.
---
The Final Pattern
Later that night, Sloane wove.
Each line of the pattern hurt. Not physically — emotionally.
It forced her to remember.
To forgive.
To trust.
She saw every moment that broke her. Every kiss. Every betrayal. Every stitched secret.
And she understood:
The pattern wasn't meant to create a weapon.
It was a mirror.
A map of who she truly was — and how to remake the Empire not with force… but vision.
As the last line completed, the Loom Key dissolved.
Her gown transformed — pure white, yet threaded with every color she had ever loved, hated, or feared.
Cassien stood in the doorway.
"You're glowing," he whispered.
"No," she said.
"I'm ready."
---
A Choice Ahead
Outside, the Resistance readied for war.
Inside, Sloane prepared for something greater.
She didn't just plan to fight the Empire.
She planned to unmake it — by rewriting the laws of fashion itself.