LORD OF DESTINY : Chapter 12: The King’s Thread
Kael didn’t run.
He knelt.
“Everyone, hands on the knot,” he said. “Now.”
Twelve small hands pressed against the pale knot in the center of the Spire. The rope around Kael’s wrist went hot.
The world went white again.
But this time it wasn’t ten thousand voices. It was one. Loud. Angry. Scared.
_I will not let them take it from me._
Kael saw him.
The King of Karthos. Young. Maybe 25. Crown too big for his head. And in his hands — a thread.
Not black. Not gold.
Red. Thick. Pulsing.
And tied to the end of it was a tiny black thread. A child’s thread. Snipped off.
The King was pulling Karthos sideways. Trying to force every choice in the city to go one way: _him in power, forever._
“Where did he get that?” Lyra breathed.
“The child,” Kael said. His jaw clenched. “He took one of ours.”
The vision snapped. The children gasped. The baby from Orrin started crying.
The oldest girl wiped her nose. “He hurts,” she said. “The little one. In Karthos dungeon.”
Kael stood. The rope on his wrist tightened. “Then we go.”
“Kael,” Lyra said. “If he’s pulling that big, the city could tear. And if he has a child’s thread, he can pull without paying the price. He’s cheating.”
“Good,” Kael said. The scar over his heart ached, but not with fire. With cold. “Then we teach him what happens when you pull and don’t pay.”
He looked at the twelve kids. Their threads were braided above them, humming.
“First lesson was small pulls,” Kael said. “Second lesson is this: sometimes you have to pull big. But you never pull alone.”
He held out his hand. The rope lifted off his wrist and split into twelve smaller ropes. One for each child.
They tied them on.
The Spire shook. Outside, the bone-mountain groaned.
“To Karthos,” Kael said.
They didn’t take the road.
They pulled it.
Kael stood at the front. The twelve behind him. Together they grabbed the thread of the path itself and yanked.
Mountains flattened. Rivers moved. Three days of travel became three hours.
When they crested the last hill, Karthos was below them.
And the sky over it was red.
In the center of the city, in the palace courtyard, the King stood on a platform. The red thread was wrapped around both his hands, and it was pulling up into the sky. Buildings tilted. People stumbled.
At his feet, in a cage, was a child. Maybe 2 years old. A black thread around her wrist, cut and bleeding light.
The King saw Kael. And smiled.
“Lord Veyr,” he called. His voice boomed over the whole city. “You gave these things free will. I’m taking it back.”
He pulled harder.
Kael felt it. The whole city being dragged toward one future. One king. One choice.
The children behind him grabbed his cloak.
“Teacher?” the oldest girl whispered.
Kael looked at the cage. At the bleeding thread. At the King who didn’t want to pay.
Then he looked at the twelve kids.
“No more hiding,” Kael said. “Time for the second lesson.”
He raised both hands.
Twelve threads rose with him.