We don't march.
We *move.*
Like threads pulled to their final place in the weave. Fast. Silent. Focused.
The Ash Spire looms before us now—black stone pierced by lightning scars, burned through in the war before names. No guards. No symbols. Just the feeling of something old remembering *it's still here.*
Lira draws her blade. "We go in quiet?"
I shake my head. "No point. They know we're coming."
Jeral cracks his knuckles. "Then we go in loud."
We pass through the broken gate. Inside, the hall's taller than I remember from the old maps. Dozens of pillars, twisted and crumbling. Between them—figures. Waiting.
Threadless.
Not all are masked. Some show faces. Some don't even *look* human anymore. Stitchwork fused with bone. Runes carved into their skin. Eyes sewn shut but glowing beneath.
At the far end, he waits.
The rival.
No mask. Just the ring of bone on his finger and the shadow of that same cold smile.
"You came," he says.
I stop a dozen paces away. "You wanted me to."
He spreads his arms like a preacher. "You've worn the mask. Felt its memory. Tell me—what did it show you?"
"Her end," I say. "Her silence. The sacrifice you wanted to erase."
He steps forward, the Threadless parting around him like water. "No. Not erase. *Rewrite.* She buried her strength. I would raise it."
"You mean *control* it."
"It's the same thing."
Wren's voice cuts through. "Not to her."
He glances at her. Frowns.
"She still lives through *him*," she says. "And he's not going to let you rewrite anything."
Lira's blade hums. Kett's threadlines hang like lightning from her fingertips. Sov moves closer, already channeling sight-runes around us.
The rival lifts his hand.
The Threadless move.
Everything erupts.
Seal-holders break formation, charging to meet them. Branvel's flame surges. Jeral cleaves through two shadow-bound figures. Voul channels the floor itself, turning stone to teeth that bite and shatter.
I lock eyes with the rival and run straight at him.
He meets me halfway.
Bone ring to blood ring. Silence to memory.
When we clash, the floor breaks apart.
Not just stone.
*History.*
He snarls, "You carry her weakness."
I growl, "I carry her *choice.*"
He presses harder. "And when they fall? What will you do?"
I grip his wrist, slam my ring into his chest, and whisper, "*Rewrite.*"
The mask glows.
The runes burn.
Behind us, the Ash Spire begins to shake.
And the war beneath the city finally roars to the surface.