The dream came softly.
Warm sunlight poured over cobbled streets lined with flower pots and laughter. Children ran through the fields, their feet kicking up petals and dust, their wooden swords clashing in games of hero and monster.
"You're cheating again, Elaina!" one of the boys shouted, laughing as she darted behind a tree.
"Am not! I'm just using my hero's secret move!" she yelled back, fingers outstretched like threads in the air.
Her small hands twisted, imaginary strings flowing from her fingertips. "Starlight Thread—weave!"
The other kids groaned dramatically and fell over. She grinned wide, lifting her chin like a real champion.
That was her favorite hero, the one who fought darkness with glowing strings of starlight from his hands. Caelis, they called him in stories. The Weaver of Fates. He didn't swing swords. He moved stars.
From the porch of their small wooden house, her older brother watched with amused eyes, arms crossed, hair a mess from training.
"Using thread powers again, huh?" he called.
"Of course! He's the coolest!" she ran up to him, tugging on his sleeve. "You said I could be a hero like him one day, remember?"
He knelt and ruffled her silver hair. "I did. And I meant it. But heroes… they don't just fight. They protect. Remember that."
"I will!" she beamed.
Their mother called from inside, the smell of stew drifting through the window. Their father worked the forge nearby, shaping iron with a hum on his lips. Villagers passed by with friendly waves. Peace was everywhere, in every step, every smile.
But peace is a fragile thing.
It shattered in the night.
A horn blared. The sky burned red. Screams tore through the wind like broken wings.
The village was under attack.
Demons, black as oil and twisted in shape, surged from the trees. Houses fell like paper. Fire roared where flowers once bloomed.
Elaina's father shoved her into her brother's arms. "Run. Don't stop."
"But—Mom—Dad—"
"GO!" her brother roared, his sword in one hand, Elaina clutched in the other.
Behind them, their mother stood in the doorway, hands raised in defiance, a barrier of light flaring briefly—before it shattered under claws and flame.
Elaina screamed.
They ran through the forest, branches slicing past like whips. Her brother bled from his shoulder, but never slowed. Not once.
"Why—why is this happening—"
"Elaina." His voice was shaking, but steady. "Listen to me."
She looked up through tears.
"You need to live."
"No—!"
"You live. You carry us with you. That's what heroes do." He looked down at her, eyes burning bright through blood and shadow. "Even when the threads break… you tie them back together."
He stopped at the riverbank. The demons were close. He turned her toward the water.
"Run. Don't look back."
"But I can't—"
"You can. You must." He pressed his forehead to hers, breath trembling. "You were always meant to shine. Now go."
He shoved her forward.
And then he turned, sword raised.
The last thing she saw before diving into the freezing river was her brother charging alone into the dark.
That night, the world ended.
The days that followed blurred. Cold. Hunger. Silence.
She wandered without knowing where to go, the world colorless without the village's laughter or her brother's steady hands.
And then, she saw him.
A man cloaked in black, walking through a snow-covered path. In his arms, two sleeping children, seemingly lifeless. No name. No face she recognized. But there was something about the way he walked, desperate, quiet, strong, yet deeply alone.
He was in pain.
He was crying...
Something inside her stirred.
Even when the threads break… you tie them back together.
She followed.
She didn't know why. But something told her: this man, too, was broken. And maybe, just maybe, if she walked beside him… they could both find the pieces again.
Elaina woke with a slow breath, morning light touching her cheek. The scent of firewood and old sheets lingered in the inn room. She blinked and sat up, glancing at the figure by the window.
The adventurer stood there, cloak already on, looking out into the street.
"You're up," he said, not turning.
She stretched and rubbed her eyes. "You didn't brush my hair today. That's very brotherly neglect of you."
He glanced back with the faintest smile. "Get ready. We've got a long road ahead."
She looked at him for a quiet moment, the dream still lingering in her chest. The past hadn't vanished. But she was still here. And so was he.
"Right. Let's go, then," she whispered. "Thread by thread."