As the last curl of seafoam faded into the mist, Luwi remained still.
Then, something shimmered in the air beside him—a thin strand of light-blue smoke winding around his feet, coiling up his legs, slipping around his shoulders. Rain beaded on his fur one last time… and vanished in a blink of silver light.
With a soft pop of pressure and a shimmer of magic, Luwi was no longer a cat.
In his place now sat a boy, legs crossed on the slick earth. He wore vintage black velvet clothes with dusty silver buttons, a crooked bowler hat, and a silver-tipped cane resting beside him. His black hair curled damply against his pale forehead. His skin was moon-pale, his eyes the color of the sea just before a storm, and a smug little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
> "You were following me, weren't you?"
From the mist above the cliff, a soft chuckle spilled—bright and airy, like wind chimes in a haunted hallway.
> "Whaaat? Me? Following? That's such a serious accusation!"
The air shimmered, and from it formed a white silhouette, floating upside-down like a lounging cat. Legs crossed. Fingers twiddling.
They looked like the idea of a person—no face, no clothes, just a glowing outline shaped like mischief itself.
> "I was observing creatively," they said, spinning lazily midair. "Very artistically. I wore a bush for five minutes. Five! Minutes!"
The boy tilted his head, unimpressed.
> "You blinked while hiding behind the bush. Seven times. In thirty seconds. Your glow gave you away."
> "Oh, rude!" the silhouette huffed, flipping upright. "You count my blinks now? What's next, accusing me of breathing too loudly?"
> "You don't breathe."
> "Exactly!"
The boy rose, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. His cane tapped once against the stone.
> "Why are you here, Weaver?"
The white figure paused mid-flip, going still. Then let out a delighted hum.
> "Weaver, hmm? I've been called Creator, Dollmaker, Trickster, Echo, the Absolute Devourer of Left Socks—but Weaver! That's new. Has a certain classy charm."
He spun again, arms out wide.
> "I like it! I'm keeping it. Stamping it on my business cards! Assuming I remember what business cards are. Why are you calling me that?"
Luwi watched him calmly.
> "You never told me your name. And my job is to guide them along the threads that connect the tapestry… or break them. I suppose you're the one who weaves it."
The Weaver clapped, delighted.
> "Ooooh, clever! Sharp as a haunted sewing needle. I knew I liked you."
He floated closer, peering at the boy.
> "But one thing puzzles me. You don't fear me. Not even a shiver? A polite whimper? Some people cry just seeing my shadow, you know."
Luwi blinked, expression unreadable.
> "Fear's boring."
> "So is smugness," the Weaver chirped. "But here we are."
He twirled once, then leaned in.
> "So tell me, Threadling—why'd you waste so much magic on that girl, hmm? She's got the emotional range of a squashed teacup, and you stitched a whole story around her. Now look—"
They pointed at the boy's wrist, where a faint shimmer pulsed.
> "You're running very low. One more moody rescue mission and poof—your next tale'll have the budget of cobwebs and regret."
The boy smirked.
> "Felt like it."
> "Felt like it?" the Weaver repeated, aghast. "What are you, a romantic?"
Luwi didn't answer.
The Weaver gasped dramatically.
> "You are! A soft little silk-wrapped sentimental puddle. If the Others could see you now…"
> "They won't."
> "Oooh, mysterious!" The Weaver posed like a swooning stage actor. "Next you'll say something cryptic and walk off into the fog."
The boy stepped past him, cane tapping rhythmically.
> "Maybe I will."
> "Wait—before you go!" The Weaver zipped beside him, nearly tripping over his own floating foot. "Want a title? I can give you one! Ooh, how about Threadwalker? Tale-Runner? Mystery Cat Boy Supreme? That one comes with a hat."
Luwi glanced sideways.
> "No title."
> "You're no fun," the Weaver pouted.
He snapped his fingers, and a list of ridiculous glowing names appeared in the air:
> "Threaded! Tangled Twine! Captain Knot! The Great Stitchinator! Lady Loop-de-Loop! Master of the Mending! The Yarn Whisperer!"
Luwi's eye twitched.
> "Just call me Luwi."
> "Okay, okay! Don't be so dramatic, Mr. Seriouspants. You could at least try Lady Loop-de-Loop. Very regal!"
> "I'm not a lady."
The Weaver burst out laughing.
> "Details, details! Titles are about flair, not accuracy. You should try a feathered hat sometime. Adds mystery."
Luwi glanced at his pocket watch. Inside, a blue needle spun lazily, pointing toward Windharrow Village.
> "Lighthouse, huh?"
The Weaver floated closer, wagging a finger.
> "Be careful, Luwi dear! Your magic's low. Keep a low profile. And get an umbrella or you'll catch a fever. Imagine the paperwork!"
Luwi rolled his eyes.
> "Shut up. Who are you, my mom now?"
The Weaver puffed up with mock pride.
> "Technically, yes! I'm your Thread Mama. Now take your vitamins. And no staying up past midnight!"
Luwi sighed.
> "Enough nonsense. Time to follow the thread."
He stepped forward, eyes fixed on the shimmering blue line stretching toward Windharrow, each step steady and sure.
The Weaver called after him, voice light as mist:
> "Good luck, Threadling! Don't forget your umbrella!"
Luwi didn't look back.