“He’s failed again.”The words rang like a hammer against glass. The Grand Hall of Healers held its breath as Erynd Varell stood over the examination table, his trembling hands slick with sweat.A boy’s corpse lay before him, pale, waxen, lips bluish from the poison that had taken him. Around them, a hundred apprentices watched from the gallery, robes whispering as they leaned in for the spectacle.“Erynd,” said Master Kael Orun, his tone like silk wrapped around a blade, “this is your third attempt. If you cannot even restore breath, perhaps you belong in the kitchens instead of the Hall.”A ripple of laughter followed.“I—I can do it,” Erynd stammered, his voice thin, shaking. “I just need”“You need competence, boy,” Kael snapped. “The patient’s heart has stopped for ten minutes. You claim you can revive him? Then show us.”Erynd swallowed, eyes darting to the other students, Liora Deyn stood among them, arms crossed, eyes cold. “He’s pathetic,” she whispered to the girl beside her

The road north wound through jagged ravines, where the wind howled like wounded beasts and the sky crouched low with storm-gray clouds.Erynd walked beside the wagon now instead of riding, every time he closed his eyes, he saw threads. Threads unraveling. Threads screaming.Each time he blinked, he wondered if they would disappear again… or dig deeper into him. The caravan master, Ressa, gave him a sideways glance. “You look like a ghost chewed you up and spit out the bones.”Erynd attempted a smile. “I didn’t sleep well.”“Try harder.” She slapped the reins. “We hit the Mirewood by dusk. And out there, bad dreams come looking for you.”He didn’t ask what that meant. By midday, the caravan halted for rest near a ruined shrine, its stone arches choked in vines, its statue of a winged healer decapitated long ago.The other travelers avoided the place entirely, muttering about old curses. But Erynd felt… drawn. He stepped inside the shattered sanctuary. The air was thick with silencem an

The Mirewood thinned as the caravan pressed north, trees shrinking into scraggly brush as if afraid to follow. But Erynd couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest wasn’t retreating it was watching.Every breath of wind felt like a whisper at his back. Every shadow felt one second behind him. Ressa kept him at her side, one hand always resting on the hilt of her curved dagger.She was alert. Too alert. Like she expected the road itself to rise up and attack. “How much farther?” Erynd asked, desperate to fill the silence.“Half a day to Denfar crossing. A healer’s guild there might take you in.”Erynd doubted that deeply. “And after Denfar?”Ressa shrugged. “Depends if you want to keep running.”Erynd didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know. As they crested a rocky rise, a scream tore through the air.A guard slumped against a wagon wheel, clutching his skull. Blood streamed from his nose, and threads, faint and bright, flickered at his temples.Erynd’s vision sharpened before he could r

Erynd had seen a soul break. He had seen one heal. But he had never seen a child glow with starlit veins.The girl stood in the settling dust of the battlefield, wisps of golden motes drifting from her like fireflies. Her small face was solemn, too wise, too knowing.Ressa’s hand hovered an inch above her dagger. “Step back, Erynd.”But he didn’t. He couldn’t. “Who are you?” he asked quietly.The girl blinked once, slow, like she was sorting through lifetimes. “I was given many names,” she murmured. “Some called me Starborn. Some called me Threadseer. But you…”She pointed at Erynd, her eyes reflecting the divine seal burning through his skin. “You once called me your sister.”The world slowed. Sound thinned. Erynd’s pulse crashed in his ears. “No…” he whispered. “That’s impossible.”The girl tilted her head. “Everything about you is impossible.”Ressa exhaled sharply, stepping between them. “Enough riddles. Who sent you?”The girl’s gaze flickered toward the distant Grand Hall, thoug

Dawn crept across the sky like a reluctant truth. The caravan creaked over the final hill, and the city of Denfar Crossing rose from the valley, sprawling wood-and-stone walls, smoke curling from chimneys, its banners stitched with a silver serpent twined around a staff.A healer’s symbol. But not theirs. Ressa’s shoulders eased slightly. “We’re here.”Erynd clutched the wagon seat, the girl’s frail weight leaning against him. “Will they help us?”“They might,” Ressa said. “Or they’ll pretend to.”Which, in this world, was apparently the better outcome. As they descended, Erynd spotted armed wardens patrolling the roads, not soldiers, but healers carrying iron staves etched with runes.Guarding, Watching. The healer’s guild here wasn’t just a place of healing. It was a fortress.A warden halted the caravan with two fingers raised, a gesture that spoke of absolute authority. His face was hidden behind a half-mask shaped like an open eye. “State your passage,” he commanded.Ressa replie