Threadless : A growing novel

"Some gods weren't born — they were edited into the margins until they believed they were needed."

The light in the chamber shifted.

Not brighter.

Just closer — like a presence leaning in from the other side of the veil.

Elu didn't blink.

Kaen did — once — and saw something she couldn't explain:

"That shadow… it's stitched from ink."

The memory engine pulsed. Then spoke again:

"I am not a ghost. I am the rewrite that was never submitted."

Kaen stepped forward.

"You're Threadwriter. The original storyteller."

"Not quite," the voice replied. "I was meant to write beyond the story.

I broke the script when it started choosing who was worth remembering."

The chamber trembled. Elu activated a memory freeze, capturing the threads mid-motion.

"Then why show yourself now?"

Silence.

Then, gently:

"Because someone chose silence.

And silence leaves a space too loud to ignore."

Kaen clenched her fists.

"They erased me once. I was nobody until I fought to stay in the draft.

Are you saying that was your fault?"

The voice didn't answer.

Instead, a new thread appeared — floating.

It unfurled across the chamber. A name Kaen had never told anyone.

Her first threadname.

She stared, mouth dry.

"Why would you remember that?"

"Because you weren't meant to be gone. You were meant to be louder than they allowed."

Elu spoke quietly.

"If you're not the protagonist… who is?"

The answer came slowly. As if unfolding through memory, not logic.

"I chose one. The system rejected them.

So I left them a key."

A light pulsed through the engine.

Then words in glowing thread:

"Aro."

"Rin."

"They were never meant to meet. So they did."

"Watch them," the voice whispered. "And when the loop begins to tear… don't fix it."

The chamber lights dimmed.

A heartbeat later, everything returned to stillness.

Only one thing remained on the screen:

TW//01 — INTERVENTION PENDING