The bells rang seven times before silence returned to Havenfall.
By sunset, the western gate was crowded with people clutching hope like it was something that could keep a loved one alive.
Kael stayed on the hill until the last echo faded.
The stray dog had disappeared.
Only the cold feeling remained.
"...Not yet."
The whisper lingered in his thoughts.
He searched the watchtower one last time.
Nothing.
No footprints.
No one hiding among the fallen stones.
Just wind.
He shook his head.
I'm imagining things.
The city's evening bell rang, and he hurried back toward the orphanage.
Dinner was louder than usual.
The younger children whispered excitedly.
"They say only four hunters came back."
"My brother heard there was a giant wolf!"
"No, it was an Abyss beast!"
"My cousin says the Knights killed it in one strike!"
Matron Elen silenced them with one look.
"Eat."
The room obeyed instantly.
Kael noticed the empty chair near the end of the table.
"...Where's Tomas?"
The matron's expression softened.
"Still at the infirmary."
Kael nodded.
Tomas had been born with weak lungs.
Winter always hit him hardest.
"I'll visit him tomorrow."
"I know you will."
She smiled faintly before returning to serving soup.
After dinner, Kael slipped outside with his practice sword.
The orphanage yard was little more than packed dirt surrounded by an old stone wall.
A single lantern illuminated the center.
Perfect.
He inhaled slowly.
Then began.
Forward.
Slash.
Recover.
Step.
Again.
His movements were clean.
Disciplined.
Nothing flashy.
Just the same forms repeated hundreds of times.
Sweat soon dampened his shirt.
His shoulders burned.
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His palms stung where old calluses had split open.
He didn't stop.
Twenty-five Threads.
Too weak.
Again.
A downward strike.
Reset.
Again.
A thrust.
Recover.
Again.
Again.
Again.
"You'll wear the poor thing out."
Kael lowered the wooden sword.
An old man leaned against the gate, carrying a bundle of firewood over one shoulder.
Old Garrick.
Caretaker.
Groundskeeper.
Unofficial grandfather to half the orphanage.
"I've still got another hour."
Garrick chuckled.
"The sword disagrees."
Kael looked down.
The practice blade had cracked near the tip.
"...Oh."
"I've been telling you."
"You hit like you're trying to split stone."
"I thought that's what practice was."
"No."
The old man walked over, taking the sword gently.
"Practice isn't about hitting harder."
He tapped Kael's chest with a weathered finger.
"It's about hitting with this."
"My heart?"
"No."
He grinned.
"Your head."
Kael laughed despite himself.
They sat together on the low stone wall.
The evening breeze carried the scent of fresh rain.
Garrick turned the cracked sword over in his hands.
"You know why knights train forms?"
"So they don't forget them?"
"Partly."
He pointed toward the city walls.
"Imagine two soldiers."
"One's stronger."
"The other's better."
"Who wins?"
Kael answered immediately.
"The stronger one."
"Wrong."
"The smarter one."
He handed the sword back.
"Strength matters."
"So does experience."
"So does courage."
"So does knowing when to run."
Kael stared at the crack in the wood.
"...People only see Thread numbers."
"They do."
"And they're not wrong."
"They're just..."
Garrick searched for the word.
"...Incomplete."
Kael frowned.
"What do you mean?"
The old man smiled.
"I mean I've met fools with six hundred Threads."
"And heroes with less than one hundred."
He stood.
"My knees hurt."
"That's how I know I'm finished giving advice."
Kael laughed.
"I thought it was because you're old."
"I was trying to sound wise."
"You ruined it."
Long after Garrick went inside...
Kael remained.
Incomplete.
The word stayed with him.
When he'd first been tested, the Academy examiner hadn't looked angry.
Only disappointed.
"Twenty-five?"
The crystal had been tested twice.
Then a third time.
The result never changed.
He remembered the sympathetic smile.
"You seem healthy."
"But your Soul Threads..."
The examiner had hesitated.
"They're unusually... sparse."
Sparse.
Weak.
Incomplete.
Different words.
Same meaning.
Not enough.
The next morning arrived with clear skies.
Kael delivered water buckets before sunrise, helped prepare breakfast, then made his way toward Havenfall's central square.
Today wasn't just another workday.
Today the Royal Academy was holding public demonstrations.
Half the city had gathered.
Children climbed onto barrels for a better view.
Street vendors sold roasted nuts and honey cakes.
Banners bearing the kingdom's silver lion fluttered proudly overhead.
At the center stood a raised platform.
Five instructors in dark blue cloaks waited silently.
Beside them rested a crystal nearly as tall as a man.
The Measuring Stone.
Every child in the kingdom dreamed of standing before it.
Every parent dreamed of hearing a large number.
One instructor stepped forward.
"As always..."
He placed a hand upon the crystal.
"We remind everyone."
"Soul Threads are not destiny."
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Kael almost smiled.
No one believed that.
The instructor continued anyway.
"They are only one measure of potential."
More murmurs.
Still unconvinced.
Then came the demonstrations.
A girl no older than twelve stepped onto the stage.
"One hundred and eighteen Threads."
She ignited a small flame above her palm.
Applause.
Next.
A boy.
"Ninety-six Threads."
A burst of wind.
More applause.
Then...
A familiar voice.
"Darius Valen."
The crowd erupted before he even appeared.
Tall.
Confident.
White training uniform embroidered with gold.
He walked like someone already certain of victory.
The instructor smiled proudly.
"Two hundred and nine Soul Threads."
Gasps echoed through the square.
Even Kael couldn't help staring.
Two hundred...
At seventeen.
Remarkable.
Darius rested one hand on the crystal.
Golden light spread through it.
Without warning—
He drew his practice blade.
One smooth strike.
The target dummy behind him split cleanly in half.
Thunderous applause.
Darius accepted it as though it were expected.
His eyes swept across the crowd.
Then stopped.
On Kael.
Recognition flashed briefly.
Followed by the faintest smirk.
Not cruel.
Not yet.
Simply confident.
He remembered.
The boy with twenty-five Threads.
Kael looked away first.
As the demonstrations continued, an elderly instructor approached the Measuring Stone.
His hair was completely white.
Unlike the others, his robes bore no medals.
Only a single embroidered thread running down the sleeve.
He rested both hands on the crystal.
"For generations..."
"Our kingdom has measured Souls."
The crystal glowed softly.
"We count Threads."
"One."
"Ten."
"One hundred."
"Five hundred."
His voice remained calm.
"But remember."
He looked across the crowd.
"A single thread can mend a torn cloak."
"It is not always the largest rope that saves a life."
Some laughed politely.
Others looked confused.
Kael felt something stir.
Those words...
They reminded him of Garrick.
Incomplete.
The old instructor smiled as though he knew exactly what everyone was thinking.
"Numbers matter."
"They simply do not tell the entire story."
For just a heartbeat...
His gaze settled on Kael.
Not with pity.
Not with disappointment.
With curiosity.
Then he turned away.
The moment passed.
But Kael couldn't shake the feeling that, for the first time in years...
Someone had looked at him without seeing only the number twenty-five.
Far beneath the Black Forest...
In darkness untouched by sunlight for ages...
A single black Thread pulsed once.
As though answering a call no one else could hear