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The silver trees whispered as though alive, their leaves flickering with strands of memory.
Rin took a tentative step forward. The ground beneath her feet shimmered faintly, like walking across moonlight solidified. Kael remained close beside her, hand on the hilt of his sword, gaze never straying from the girl waiting ahead.
Reika Noctis.
She hadn't aged a day from the vision—just as Rin remembered from the fragmented soul-threads. Her presence radiated something sharp and ancient, like poetry written with a blade.
"You came through the mirror," Reika said. Her voice was soft, yet carried across the garden with clarity. "Not many survive the descent."
"We didn't come to survive," Kael replied evenly. "We came to remember."
Reika's eyes flicked to him briefly, then returned to Rin. "And do you?"
Rin felt the weight of the cracked mirror still clinging to her thoughts. "Pieces. Not all. But enough."
"Then you know what this place is." Reika's voice didn't ask—it tested. "A convergence. Where fate coils and recoils. The garden is a boundary. Between what was, and what still might be."
Kael stepped forward. "You were part of the Anchors."
Reika nodded. "The Second. I held the thread of dusk. Mikado was dawn. Elias—midnight. And you, Rin…" She tilted her head. "You were the one who made us whole."
Rin flinched. "I don't remember being someone that important."
"You weren't important," Reika said. "You were necessary. The threadbinder. The one who tied souls together before the cycle began to unravel."
The silver trees pulsed faintly, echoing her words.
"But I failed," Rin whispered. "Didn't I?"
Reika looked away. "No. You were betrayed."
Kael stiffened beside her.
Rin's voice was hollow. "By who?"
Reika's answer came slowly, as if she weighed every syllable.
"By someone who loved you."
The silence that followed was thick with buried ache. Rin's breath caught—but Kael didn't look at her. Not yet.
Reika stepped closer, her expression softening just slightly. "We've all failed in some way. Elias tried to save the future. Mikado tried to rewrite the past. I tried to hold the balance. But you…"
She placed a hand over Rin's heart.
"You gave everything to protect what mattered most. And now the weave wants to pull it from you again."
"I won't let it," Rin said fiercely.
Reika smiled. "Then follow me."
She turned, leading them through the garden. As they walked, the world shimmered. Petals rained down from the silver trees—not flowers, but memories. Images flickered through them: Reika training beneath moonlight, Elias laughing beside a bonfire, Mikado carving symbols into stone with trembling hands.
And in one, Rin saw herself—
—sitting across from Kael, beneath a red tree in full bloom. His hand brushed hers. Their eyes met.
It was a moment so intimate, so quietly profound, her heart ached.
She slowed.
Kael noticed. "You saw something."
She nodded, not meeting his eyes. "A memory. From… before."
He didn't press. Just walked beside her in silence, respectful, patient.
Reika led them to the center of the garden—where a massive silver stone stood, etched with overlapping runes that pulsed faintly with violet light.
"This is the Threshold," she said. "Beneath it lies the chamber of Threads. But once you enter, what you choose to restore—will begin to reshape you."
"Reshape?" Kael asked.
Reika looked at him directly for the first time. "Every soul carries echoes. Who we were, who we could be, who we never dared to become. The more Rin remembers, the more the boundaries of self and fate begin to blur."
Rin stepped forward. "And what's the cost of not remembering?"
Reika's jaw tightened. "Everything."
Kael's hand brushed Rin's gently. She turned to him, heart caught somewhere between memory and present.
"We've done this before," she said quietly. "In another life."
His eyes searched hers. "Then I'd do it again. A thousand times."
Her breath caught.
For just a heartbeat, the garden fell away. She saw it again—the red tree, the soft fall of petals, the way he had looked at her then. And the way he looked at her now.
"Kael…" she began.
He smiled faintly. "Later. When we're not standing on the edge of unraveling time."
She laughed—soft, tired, grateful.
Reika pressed her palm to the stone. The runes flared, spinning outward like a slow-moving star. A gate shimmered into being—woven from light and thread, vibrating with raw potential.
"This is the last chance to turn back," Reika said. "Once you step through, the Weavers will notice you. They don't like their patterns disturbed."
Rin stepped forward. "Let them notice. I'm done being a piece."
Reika nodded once. "Then go. Find Elias. The third thread. He holds the memories of the unraveling. If he still breathes."
Kael offered his hand.
Rin took it.
Together, they stepped through the gate of threads.
And vanished.
Behind them, the silver garden flickered once…
…then fell silent.
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