The frozen world cracked like glass.
Light folded inward, bending space itself, and Lena felt the ground disappear beneath her feet—not falling, not rising, but sliding sideways into something vast and immeasurable.
Color drained away.
Sound followed.
She gasped as she landed barefoot on smooth, reflective stone that stretched endlessly in all directions. Above her was no sky—only a weaving of glowing threads, billions of them, crossing and knotting and unraveling in constant motion.
Each thread pulsed with light.
Each one felt alive.
Lena staggered upright, heart pounding. "Okay," she muttered. "This is officially the strangest day of my life."
A laugh echoed—not mocking, not cruel, but impossibly old.
From the threads stepped a figure.
Neither man nor woman, yet both. Draped in robes made of shifting constellations, their face was obscured by light, eyes burning like distant stars. Every step they took caused the threads above to tremble.
"You arrive braver than most," the figure said. "Or perhaps simply too stubborn to fear."
Lena squared her shoulders. "You froze time. Dragged me out of my body. Nearly got me killed back there." She pointed upward. "You don't get to be mysterious without explanations."
The figure smiled.
"I am Fate."
The word settled into her bones.
Not thunderous. Not dramatic.
Certain.
Lena swallowed. "You said you brought me here."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Fate raised a hand.
The threads above them shifted, descending until one hovered inches from Lena's face. It glowed faintly gold—but unlike the others, it was frayed, scarred, and patched together with knots.
"This," Fate said, "is yours."
Lena stared at it. "That's… my life?"
"Yes. Or what remains of it."
She frowned. "What do you mean remains?"
Fate waved their hand again.
The thread pulsed—and suddenly, Lena was inside it.
She saw flashes of lives.
Children born into crowns.
Mages trained from infancy.
Warriors blessed by gods.
Chosen ones, prophesied heroes, destinies wrapped neatly in legend.
Then she saw herself.
Ordinary.
Unremarkable.
No blessing at birth.
No prophecy.
No divine protection.
Yet again and again—again and again—she watched herself die.
Burned.
Drowned.
Crushed.
Sacrificed.
Forgotten.
Each time the world continued on its doomed path.
She gasped, stumbling back into the present. "What—what was that?!"
"Your past attempts," Fate said calmly. "Your thread has been rewoven countless times."
Lena's voice shook. "You keep killing me?"
Fate shook their head. "The world does."
She clenched her fists. "Then why bring me back again? Why not choose one of them?" She gestured wildly upward. "The princes. The heroes. The blessed!"
"Because they fail," Fate said simply.
Silence fell.
"They fail because they are predictable," Fate continued. "They move as expected. Choose as foretold. They obey destiny instead of challenging it."
Lena laughed bitterly. "And you think I won't fail?"
Fate stepped closer.
"I know you will," they said.
Her breath caught. "What?"
"You will stumble. Rage. Disobey. Make mistakes born of impulse and defiance." Fate's eyes softened. "That is precisely why you were chosen."
The threads above trembled violently.
"This world is collapsing under the weight of its own design," Fate said. "Demon kings bound to thrones they did not choose. Kingdoms rotting beneath false nobility. Crops dying despite rain. Magic stagnating."
Lena's mind flashed to Kairos. The ice. The shadow. The drying fields.
"The balance is broken," Fate said. "And only a thread unbound can tear it open."
Lena stared. "You're saying… I don't belong here."
"No," Fate corrected. "You refuse to belong."
The golden thread flared brighter.
"You are not special because you are powerful," Fate continued. "You are special because you resist."
Lena's chest tightened. "Then what about the mark?" she demanded. "The one everyone keeps expecting?"
Fate smiled knowingly.
"It does not exist yet."
Her eyes widened. "Yet?"
"Marks are not given," Fate said. "They are earned. Yours will form when you choose."
"Choose what?"
Fate's gaze sharpened.
"Whether to save this world—"
"—or end it."
The threads erupted into blinding light.
Lena staggered. "You're insane."
Fate laughed softly. "Perhaps. But you are necessary."
A shadow rippled across the realm.
Fate turned sharply.
"Ah," they murmured. "He grows impatient."
Lena stiffened. "The shadow."
"Yes. My counterpart." Fate's voice darkened. "He seeks to sever threads entirely."
"Why me?" Lena asked again, quieter now.
Fate looked at her—not as a god, not as a judge—but almost… fondly.
"Because when you were meant to break," they said, "you clenched your fists instead."
The realm began to crack, time pulling her back.
Fate reached out, touching Lena's forehead.
"When the moment comes," they whispered, "do not kneel. Not to kings. Not to gods."
"Remember—your defiance is the miracle."
The world shattered.
Lena gasped as time snapped back into place.
Pain flooded her body.
Ashikai yelped.
Kairos's power wavered for a fraction of a second.
Lena lifted her head slowly, bloodied but smiling faintly.
Something unseen pulsed beneath her skin.
And somewhere beyond the throne, Fate watched—and waited.