The room they gave me was fit for a queen.
Crystal walls reflected the silver light of the moons, casting dancing shadows across floors of polished obsidian. A bed large enough for four people dominated the center, draped in silks of deep emerald and gold. Flowers bloomed along the balcony railing—flowers that glowed with their own soft light, their petals opening and closing like lungs breathing.
But I couldn't sleep.
I stood on the balcony, my ruined wedding dress replaced with a gown of deep blue that the servants had provided. It was soft against my skin, almost weightless, but it felt like a costume. Everything here felt like a costume. A dream I would wake from at any moment.
The city of Eryndor stretched below me, its towers gleaming, its streets quiet. From here, I could see everything—the crystal bridges, the floating lanterns, the silver trees that lined the boulevards. It was beautiful. Breathtaking.
And I wanted to go home.
Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I was Elara Russo—no, Elara Blackwood now. I had survived a forced marriage. I had survived falling through worlds. I had survived creatures made of bark and bone. I would survive this.
But the tears came anyway.
I leaned against the balcony railing, the cool crystal pressing into my palms, and let the sobs shake my body. I cried for my mother, who had watched me walk down the aisle with tears in her eyes. I cried for my father, who had sold me like a bargaining chip. I cried for the life I would never have—the quiet life, the simple life, the life where I wasn't married to a Mafia King who was also a Shadow King from another world.
And I cried because somewhere beneath the fear and the confusion, I felt something else.
The threads.
They hummed beneath my skin, vibrating with a frequency I couldn't ignore. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them—golden strands stretching across the darkness, connecting everything to everything. Some were bright, pulsing with life. Others were frayed, unraveling at the edges. And some… some were already cut.
Snap.
A thread broke somewhere in the distance, and I gasped.
I could feel it. A life ending. A fate fulfilled. The thread dissolving into nothing, its light extinguishing like a candle in the wind.
What am I?
I pulled back from the railing, stumbling into the room. My hands were shaking. The golden threads danced behind my eyes, demanding attention, demanding control.
"The Thread Weaver will either save this world or destroy it."
The Keeper's words echoed in my mind. I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to push the visions away.
I don't want this power. I never asked for this.
But the power didn't care what I wanted.
It surged through me like a river breaking through a dam. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the floor, my vision swimming with gold, my body trembling uncontrollably. The threads were everywhere—weaving through the walls, through the floor, through my flesh.
I saw them.
All of them.
A thread of silver connected to the palace, pulsing with the life of the old king. Thousands of smaller threads branched from it, connecting to every guard, every servant, every citizen of Eryndor. They wove together into a tapestry that stretched across the entire kingdom, beautiful and terrible and impossibly complex.
And at the center of the tapestry, where all threads converged, there was darkness.
A void. An emptiness.
A thread that should have been there, but wasn't.
I reached for it—I don't know why. My fingers moved of their own accord, reaching into the vision, grasping for the missing thread. The moment I touched the emptiness, pain exploded through my skull.
"Mine."
The whisper came from everywhere and nowhere. A voice like crushed glass, like burning shadows, like the end of all things.
"The Thread Weaver is mine."
I screamed.
The vision shattered.
I was on the floor of my room, gasping, my body drenched in sweat. The golden light faded from my vision, leaving behind only shadows and moonlight. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through.
Then came the knock.
Three sharp raps against the door. Urgent. Demanding.
I tried to call out, but my voice was gone. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't move. I could only lie there, trembling, as the door swung open.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
He had changed out of his torn suit into dark trousers and a simple white shirt, his hair still damp, as if he had been unable to sleep either. But it was his eyes that stopped my heart.
They were wild. Haunted. Terrified.
He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees beside me. His hands cupped my face, tilting it toward the moonlight, searching for injuries.
"What happened?" His voice was rough, urgent. "I heard you scream."
I tried to speak, but only a broken whisper came out. "I saw… threads. Everything connected. And there was darkness where something should have been. It spoke to me. It said—"
"I dreamed of your death."
The words fell from his lips like stones into still water. His hands were trembling against my cheeks, and for the first time since I had met him, Adrian Blackwood looked utterly, completely terrified.
"I saw the threads of your fate unraveling," he continued, his voice cracking. "One by one, they snapped. And when the last thread broke, you disappeared. You just… vanished. Like you had never existed."
I stared at him, my breath caught in my throat. "You saw the threads?"
"I see them every time I close my eyes." He released my face, sitting back on his heels. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into fists. "Ever since we arrived in this world, I've seen them. Golden strands everywhere. And yours… yours is the brightest. The strongest. But there's something wrong with it."
"What do you mean?"
He looked at me then, and the pain in his grey eyes stole my breath.
"Your thread is fraying, Elara. Every time you use your power, it frays a little more. And if it snaps—"
"I know," I whispered. "The Keeper said. Using my power shortens my life."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Then you won't use it."
"You can't command me, Adrian. You're not—"
"I'm not your king," he finished for me. "I know. But I am your husband." He reached for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "And I will not let you die. Not for this world. Not for any world."
The conviction in his voice made my chest ache. This was the man who had stood at the altar like a stranger, the man whose eyes had been cold and empty. But now, kneeling beside me in the moonlight, he looked anything but empty.
"Did you dream of anything else?" I asked softly.
He was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"I dreamed of him. Malakai." The name tasted like poison on his tongue. "He was the one who cut your threads. He stood over you with shadows in his hands, and he laughed while you faded away."
My blood ran cold. "Malakai. Aldric mentioned that name. Who is he?"
Adrian's expression darkened. "Someone who wants me dead. Someone who wants this world to burn. And someone who now knows that you exist."
"How do you know that?"
He met my eyes. "Because in my dream, he looked at me and smiled. And he said: 'I've been waiting for her. The Thread Weaver. The key to everything.'"
The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to deepen. I found myself moving closer to Adrian, my shoulder pressing against his, drawing warmth from his presence.
"What do we do?" I asked.
He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me against his side. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm I could anchor myself to.
"Aldric said he would train us. Help us understand our powers." His voice hardened. "We learn. We prepare. And when Malakai comes for you, I will be ready."
"You can't protect me forever, Adrian."
He looked down at me, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Something that looked almost like hope.
"Let me try."
We stayed like that for a long time, kneeling on the cold obsidian floor, wrapped in each other's arms. The moonlight shifted across the room, the silver and crimson lights chasing each other across the crystal walls. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled—a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the city.
When Adrian finally helped me to my feet, he didn't leave.
"Stay," I said, before I could stop myself.
He looked at me, surprise flickering across his features.
"I don't want to be alone," I admitted. "Not tonight. Not when I close my eyes and see that darkness reaching for me."
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he led me to the massive bed, helping me settle against the silk pillows. Then he lay down beside me—not touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Sleep," he said quietly. "I'll watch over you."
For the first time since we had fallen into this world, I closed my eyes without fear.
In the darkness behind my lids, the golden threads pulsed softly, and somewhere in their depths, I saw a silver thread intertwined with mine.
His.