A month passed.
The frost never quite left Hollowrest, but spring whispered at the edges. Snow retreated to the corners of rooftops. The crows circled less often. Children laughed again, sometimes. Not everything had healed — but something had shifted.
And in a quiet field near the village's edge, Lumen and Rin crossed wooden blades beneath a pale sky.
"Watch your balance," Rin snapped, sidestepping his swing.
Lumen staggered, then caught himself with a thread lashed to a branch overhead — a pale, glowing line that snapped taut like a tether.
"I am watching," he muttered, flipping backward and landing in a crouch. "You just cheat."
She grinned. "That's not cheating. That's winning."
Their sparring had evolved into something more than training. It was dance, rhythm, challenge. And though Rin still held the edge in raw strength and experience, Lumen was fast—faster than before. Smarter, too.
Especially with his new tricks.
He spun, thrusting his palm outward. A ripple of glowing thread twisted in the air, condensing into a dense orb. It launched toward Rin like a slingstone.
She barely ducked. The orb exploded into threads, catching her sleeve and yanking her backward half a step.
Rin blinked. "...You made thread bullets?"
"I call it Threadshot," Lumen said, proud.
"You're the weirdest scarecrow I've ever met."
"High praise."
She lunged. He rolled beneath her blade and flung another thread upward. A long, thick line snapped into the trees, catching on a high branch. He yanked — and was suddenly airborne, swinging around her in a wide arc.
"Oh, now you're learning how to run and fly?" Rin shouted as she blocked.
"It's called Threadline. You're just mad you didn't think of it first."
They clashed midair — wooden sword against wooden sword — and both hit the snow at the same time, laughing as they tumbled apart.
For a moment, they just lay there in the frost, breath misting, eyes on the sky.
"I'm gonna miss this place," Rin said.
"Me too," Lumen admitted. "Even the crows."
As if summoned, one flapped overhead and dropped something suspicious near his boot.
Rin snorted. "They still remember what you did."
"I tripped one of them with a thread!"
"It was flying."
He raised an eyebrow. "No such thing as off-limits in training."
Later that afternoon, the little girl approached them by the chapel — a bundle of bread wrapped in cloth in her tiny hands.
"For warriors," she said, solemn.
"We're not warriors," Rin replied, but took the bread anyway.
"You smell like you fought a tree," the girl muttered and ran off.
"She's not wrong," Lumen said, brushing splinters off his cloak.
They walked the village one last time that evening. A low wind swept the fields, rustling the old scarecrow post — now empty, save for a red thread tied tightly around it.
When they reached the old woman's hut, the cat was already waiting on the windowsill. As they approached, it hopped down and twined around Lumen's ankle.
"She likes you," the old woman said from the doorway.
"Cats don't like anyone," Lumen replied.
"Exactly."
Inside, the hearth crackled with soft orange light. Herbs hung from the beams. Scrolls rested where they'd always rested — and above them, the six ancient symbols stared down like echoes from another world.
The old woman studied Lumen with tired but sharp eyes.
"You've changed," she said.
He nodded. "Still me."
"For now."
She poured tea and said nothing else. Just watched the two of them.
Rin held the silence a while, then finally asked, "You're sure the ridge is the right path?"
"No," Lumen said. "But it's the one calling."
That night, they stayed in the old woman's spare room — cramped, warm, and filled with dried lavender.
The next morning, as frost melted slowly into dew, they packed light.
As they reached the edge of the village path, Rin slowed.
"I should tell you my sigil," she said.
Lumen tilted his head. "You haven't already?"
"I didn't want to show it. But you've earned it."
She raised her hand.
A mark of equilibrium pulsed just beneath her glove — a scale crossed by a wind-carved arc. Not elemental. Not brute force.
Balance.
"I'm called a Bearer of the Equinox," she said. "Sigil of Balance."
"Sounds fancy."
"I've trained two basic skills," she explained as they walked. "Echoguard — I can reflect physical force. And Weightstep — makes my movements immune to outside pressure."
"Like... gravity?"
"Or a punch to the chest," she said with a smirk. "Not yours though. You hit like a wet noodle."
Lumen laughed. "Yeah? Say that when I shoot you in the face with Threadshot."
She raised an eyebrow. "You missed last time."
"It was strategic misdirection."
"You hit a goat."
They both laughed again. The path opened ahead — not welcoming, not safe, but certain.
Rin tightened her gloves.
Lumen looked down at his left hand, threads twitching faintly in the air, ready to fly.
The scarf the old woman gave him — once her husband's — was tied around his neck, warmth without weight.
Behind them, Hollowrest faded into the mist.
Ahead, the ridge and the unknown waited.
They didn't hurry.
They just walked — side by side — into the beginning of something far larger than either could name.
And as the sun sank behind the frostbitten hills, Lumen reached for the mask not as a shield, but as a name — the face not of who he was, but who the world would soon remember.
🛠️ [System Update: Skills Acquired]
— Threadshot: Condensed thread projectiles
— Threadline: Mid-range tether mobility
🛠️ [Companion Sync: Stable]
— Ally: Rin
— Sigil: Balance
— Skills: Echoguard, Weightstep
🛠️ [Next Objective: Reach Ridge Marker]
— Threadkeeper's Hollow: Entry Window Reopening
— Thread Fusion Potential: Detected
░Two blades cross. Two threads pull. What comes next will not bend.░