One year later.
The sea murmured outside her window, like it was trying to remind her of something she never knew she lost.
Luna's alarm clock buzzed at 6:00 AM sharp. She didn't snooze—she never did. Her life moved with clean, efficient rhythm. Wake. Brew tea. Sketch patterns. Bike to the studio. Lead the team. Return home. Sleep. Repeat.
Perfect. Predictable. Peaceful.
Yet, some mornings, she'd wake up with tears in her eyes.
She sat by her window with a cup of chamomile, eyes wandering toward the ocean as her fingers absently brushed the red thread bracelet on her wrist. A design she'd made on a whim, or so she told herself.
The thread was old and frayed—but she never took it off.
Today, it glowed faintly under the morning sun.
She didn't notice.
At the Aurelian Guild, her weaving studio buzzed with energy.
"Luna, your design for the Royal Exhibition is incredible!"
"Clients are requesting you by name again!"
"You're the reason this studio's on the map!"
She smiled, thanked them, laughed when appropriate. But there was a distance in her eyes—as if her soul was somewhere else, waiting for something that never arrived.
In her private workroom, Luna stared at her latest piece—a tapestry with vibrant colors: silver, gold, flame-orange, and a strange, persistent shade of crimson red.
Every time she tried to remove the red, her hands wouldn't move.
Outside, watching from the crowd—
A figure in a black coat leaned against the lamppost.
Rae.
He didn't speak. He didn't approach.
He only watched her from the crowd, blending into a world where he no longer existed.
Once, he would've set the world on fire to reach her.
Now, he could only leave behind white lilies at her doorstep, and letters he never signed.
Later that day…
Luna wandered through the local market after work. Her footsteps led her to a narrow alley where a street artist painted strange, abstract figures with thread patterns on the wall.
She paused.
The painting showed a girl with her back turned, standing between two men—one made of shadow, one made of flame. Threads looped and tangled between them. Crimson. Silver. Midnight blue.
Luna staggered slightly. Her hand clutched her chest.
The artist looked up and smiled, almost knowingly.
"Funny, right? How we paint what we don't even understand."
Luna nodded slowly, dazed.
She left the alley with her heart racing.
When she arrived home that night, she found an envelope inside her bag. No name. No handwriting.
Only a single card inside, with the words:
"Your heart remembers what your mind forgot."
Meanwhile…
A man stepped off a silver carriage at the edge of the city, his coat dusted with snow despite the warmth.
Callan.
Tall. Graceful. Midnight blue thread twining like veins across his gloves.
As he walked past strangers, none turned—except one girl across the street, who suddenly looked up and met his eyes.
Luna.
Her breath caught for a second. She didn't know him.
But the red thread on her wrist shivered.
Callan smiled softly.
"It's starting."
That night…
Luna dreamed again.
She stood in a room with no walls, only threads—burning, weaving, breaking. Two silhouettes stood at the edge of her vision.
One reached for her hand with trembling fingers. The other called her name.
She woke up gasping, a name slipping from her lips—
"Rae…"
And for a moment, the red thread bracelet glowed like it was alive.