Tangled Threads.
The next day began with a hollow sense of normalcy, as if the events of the night before were just another bizarre dream. Yet the lingering ache in my hands, still tingling from the energy of the thread, was all the proof I needed that it had been real. I dragged myself out of bed, the threads of sleep still clinging to me, and headed to school, my mind buzzing with questions I couldn't answer.
Mirae had barely spoken to me after our fight against the shadows. She'd given me a small nod of approval and walked away, her notebook clutched tightly in her hands. That nod should've been enough, but it wasn't. I needed answers.
---
In class, Mirae sat at her usual spot, her back straight and her face an unreadable mask. Her notebook was on the desk, closed this time, as if shielding its secrets from prying eyes. I couldn't help but stare at it, replaying the scene from the library. Who was that man? What did he mean about her being "watched"? And what the hell was the Loom?
Seulgi plopped into the seat beside me, pulling me out of my thoughts. "You've got that look again," she said, smirking. "The 'I'm hopelessly obsessed with Kang Mirae' look."
"It's not like that," I said quickly, though my reddening ears betrayed me.
"Sure it's not," she teased. "So, what's the plan today? Gonna corner her in the hallway? Slip her a love letter?"
"Seulgi," I groaned, dropping my head onto my desk. "Can you just, for once, not make this weird?"
She laughed. "Fine, fine. But seriously, what's going on with you? You've been spacing out more than usual."
I hesitated. Telling Seulgi about the Loom and the shadows seemed… impossible. She'd think I'd lost my mind. "It's nothing," I muttered.
"Uh-huh," she said, clearly not buying it. "Well, let me know when you're ready to spill."
---
By lunchtime, my frustration had reached its peak. Mirae was sitting under her usual tree, her notebook open as she scribbled something inside. Gathering every ounce of courage I had, I walked over to her.
"Hey," I said, standing awkwardly a few feet away.
She looked up, her expression neutral. "Hey."
I took a deep breath. "I need to know what's going on."
Her pen paused mid-stroke, and she sighed. "Jiho, this isn't something you can just… ask about. It's complicated."
"I don't care if it's complicated," I said, stepping closer. "I've been dragged into this, whether I like it or not. I deserve to know the truth."
For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes studying me as if deciding whether I was worth the effort. Finally, she closed her notebook and gestured for me to sit.
"Fine," she said. "But you're not going to like what you hear."
---
Mirae's voice was quiet but steady as she began to explain. "The Loom of Fate isn't just a metaphor, Jiho. It's real—a web of threads that connect every life, every decision, every moment. Some people, like you and me, are… different. We can see the threads. Manipulate them."
"Manipulate them?" I repeated, struggling to wrap my head around the idea.
She nodded. "Change the course of fate. Rewrite it. But it's not as simple as it sounds. Every thread is connected to another. Pull one too hard, and the whole web could collapse."
The weight of her words sank in, and a chill ran down my spine. "And the shadows? The ones we fought last night?"
"They're called Weavers," she said. "Corrupted beings that feed on the threads. They want to unravel the Loom and reshape it in their image. The man you saw in the library… he's part of a group trying to stop them."
"Trying to stop them?" I asked. "Isn't that what we're doing too?"
"Not exactly," she said, her tone darkening. "They have their own agenda. And if they think you're a threat, they won't hesitate to cut your thread."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. "So, what do we do?"
"We survive," she said simply. "And we keep the Loom intact."
---
The rest of the day passed in a haze, Mirae's revelations replaying in my mind. The Loom, the threads, the Weavers—it all felt too big, too impossible. And yet, I couldn't deny what I'd seen, what I'd felt.
That night, the Fate Rewrite app buzzed again.
Progress: 10%
A new thread has been woven.
Below the message was another image—a fragment of the Loom, its glowing threads stretching into infinity. But this time, there was something else: a dark, jagged line cutting through the web, like a tear in the fabric of reality.
"What does this mean?" I whispered, but as always, there was no answer.
The app offered two options: "Follow the Thread" or "Seek Guidance." I hesitated, my finger hovering over the screen. Finally, I tapped "Follow the Thread."
The screen flickered, and a new message appeared: "Your next step lies where the threads converge. Seek the unmarked path."
---
The next morning, I found myself standing outside the old textile factory on the edge of town. The place had been abandoned for years, its windows shattered and its walls covered in graffiti. Yet, as I approached, I felt the same pull I'd experienced with the thread in Mirae's notebook.
Inside, the air was cold and heavy, the faint scent of mildew mingling with something sharper, almost metallic. The Loom's presence was stronger here, the threads faintly visible in the dim light, crisscrossing like veins beneath the surface of reality.
"Jiho," a voice called, startling me. I turned to see Mirae standing in the doorway, her expression grim.
"You followed the thread too?" I asked.
She nodded. "The app guided me here. This place… it's a nexus. The threads are drawn to it."
As we moved deeper into the factory, the air grew colder, and the threads became more visible, their glowing lines weaving intricate patterns in the darkness.
But we weren't alone.
The Weavers emerged from the shadows, their forms shifting and pulsating like living nightmares. Mirae stepped forward, her notebook open, symbols glowing on the pages.
"Stay close," she said, her voice firm. "And whatever you do, don't lose your thread."
The battle was unlike anything I'd experienced before. Mirae's symbols flared brightly, creating barriers and lashing out at the Weavers. I clung to my thread, its energy surging through me as I tried to hold the Loom together.
But the Weavers were relentless, their claws tearing at the threads, their voices whispering dark promises in my ear. My grip faltered, and for a moment, I thought I would fall.
"Jiho!" Mirae's voice cut through the chaos. "Focus! You're stronger than them!"
Her words ignited something within me, and I tightened my grip on the thread. The Loom responded, its light pushing back against the darkness, forcing the Weavers to retreat.
When the last shadow faded, the factory was silent once more. Mirae lowered her notebook, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion.
"You did well," she said, her voice softer now.
I looked at the glowing threads around us, the intricate web we'd fought to protect. "What happens now?"
She gave me a small, weary smile. "Now, we prepare. The Weavers won't stop until the Loom is theirs. But as long as we hold the threads, they can't win."
As we left the factory, I couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning. The threads of fate were tangled, and the path ahead was uncertain. But one thing was clear: I wasn't alone in this fight.
And together, Mirae and I would face whatever came next.