First time in days, I wasn't terrified of the thread.
I was terrified of what it meant.
Riven had barely spoken since training ended. He'd given me a dusty book—Threadweaving for Initiates—and disappeared deeper into the Cell, muttering something about alert patterns and boundary wards.
The silence between us wasn't cold. It was loud.
Heavy.
Like something was building between us and neither of us wanted to name it.
I flipped a page in the book. Thread types. Thread colors. Threadbinding symbols etched into skin.
My hand paused over a sketch: a mark across the collarbone, shaped like a half-broken loop.
The Desire Mark.
Threadwielders who awakened early—or too powerfully—were sometimes "Marked" by the thread itself. Not by ink. Not by scar. But by the bond's will. Once it appeared, it could only mean one thing:
The thread had chosen permanence.
I glanced down at my chest, nervous.
Nothing.
I exhaled, then felt foolish. It was just a drawing. Just a book.
Until I heard the whistle.
Not from Riven. From the wards.
A low-pitched screech, distant and growing sharper by the second.
Riven raced into the room, coat flying, already drawing the fateglass blade. "We're not alone."
"Who—?"
"Not who. What."
The Cell trembled. Threads in the air snapped and recoiled like struck harp strings. Dust rose from the ceiling.
Then I heard it.
A shriek that wasn't human—but wasn't entirely beast either.
"Threadfiends," Riven spat. "They tracked your awakening."
"What do I do?!"
"You don't fight. You stay behind me." His voice left no room for argument. "These things unravel whatever they touch. Including magic."
The wall split open as if torn by invisible claws. Something slithered through.
Twisted shadow. Teeth like silver pins. Its eyes were hollow sockets sewn shut with thread.
It lunged.
Riven moved like lightning—blade flashing, weaving threads midair that hardened into glowing spears. He impaled the creature midair, then spun to block a second one bursting through the floor.
I backed up toward the glowing hearth in the center of the Cell, trying not to scream.
Another fiend dove at me.
I lifted my hands by instinct.
Red fire roared from my palms.
The creature screamed as its body burned mid-leap, twisting in air before collapsing into ash.
My breath caught. I looked at Riven.
His eyes were wide—but not with fear.
With recognition.
"You're not just bonded," he said slowly. "You're Marked."
I looked down.
A faint red glow pulsed just below my collarbone—the loop, the Desire Mark, etched not in ink but light.
The mark had appeared.
Permanent. Chosen.
I was no longer just connected to Riven.
I was bound.