The rain came quietly that morning, soft against the windows like it didn't want to disturb the world.
Luna sat at her loom, weaving a new piece. Crimson thread looped between her fingers, moving as if it had a will of its own. She blinked, paused, and stared at her hands.
For a split second—just one—her fingers glowed red.
She jerked them back.
"What…?" she whispered, pressing her palms to her chest.
The glow vanished.
She told herself it was the lighting. Or stress. Or too much tea and not enough sleep.
But deep down, something shifted.
Something was waking up.
At the Aurelian Guild, clients raved about her newest tapestry—colors layered with warmth and soul. But when Luna touched it that afternoon to adjust a detail, the fabric moved.
The threads slithered like tiny serpents under her hand, forming a spiral. She yanked her fingers back, her heartbeat drumming in her ears.
No one else noticed.
"Get a grip, Luna," she told herself in the mirror later. "You're not losing it."
But when she lifted her sleeve, the red thread bracelet shimmered like fire caught in silk.
Meanwhile—
In the hidden edge of the city, Rae stood under a forgotten bridge. Threads of light curled around his hand like smoke, reacting to Luna's pulse.
"She's feeling it," he muttered.
A voice echoed beside him—low, calm, and ancient.
Aelius.
"She's remembering too fast," Aelius warned. "Her thread was never meant to carry the weight of two timelines."
"I know," Rae said, jaw clenched. "But she's slipping through my fingers again."
A pause. A hum.
"She chose you once. But fate always circles back."
Rae turned away, voice sharp.
"Then I'll choose her again."
Back in the city—
Luna sat at the edge of a quiet café, sketching a dream she couldn't remember. Red. Silver. Midnight blue. The colors bled onto her page like her hands remembered what her mind didn't.
Then—he walked in.
Callan.
Same coat. Same calm, piercing gaze. Same smile that felt familiar for no reason at all.
"You again," Luna said, blinking in surprise.
Callan sat across from her without asking.
"Maybe the threads are pulling us together."
She laughed nervously. "That's… weirdly poetic."
He leaned forward, tapping her notebook. "You always used those three colors."
Luna froze.
Always?
She opened her mouth, but Callan stood.
"Careful with your dreams, Luna," he said quietly. "They sometimes bite back."
That night, the storm returned—but this time, it carried something else.
She woke to a sound that wasn't thunder.
Whispers. Threads moving. Her name being spoken.
She ran to her studio. The new tapestry she had left half-finished now shimmered with woven words stitched into the cloth—words she hadn't sewn.
>You once chose love over fate.
Would you do it again?
Luna's breath caught.
Her bracelet pulsed, hot. Her skin ached.
She stepped back. Then closer. Then—
A vision flashed before her eyes.
Two figures. One in shadow. One in flame. And herself in the middle, hands torn between them.
She clutched her chest.
"Who are you… Rae?"
Far away, Rae's hand burned as if her voice had touched it.
He smiled—broken and hopeful all at once.
"She's coming back."