CHAPTER 73: THREADS OF FATE

Aric’s world collapsed into darkness, the pain in his body slipping into a dull, distant ache.

Blood seeped from the wound, but it was no longer his concern. The voice had returned, as chilling as it was familiar, weaving its question into the silence that surrounded him.

"Is this the fate you wanted?"

In that instant, the battlefield vanished.

The clash of steel, the roar of ki, the sneer of Aszer—all dissolved as though swallowed by the void itself. Aric hung suspended in nothingness, his mind struggling to grasp the sudden shift.

For a moment, he wondered if this was death’s cold embrace. But no—this felt different.

He blinked, and when his eyes opened, the world had changed.

He stood in an endless expanse, not of earth or sky, but of something far stranger. Above him stretched countless threads—shimmering, infinite, weaving themselves through the air. They extended beyond sight, glowing faintly, as though alive.

They shifted and twitched, binding everything in their delicate design. Beneath his feet lay not solid ground but a reflective surface, showing him glimpses—flashes of lives he had never lived, moments he had never chosen.

"Where...?" Aric’s voice trailed off, confusion clouding his thoughts. This place felt unreal, as though he stood at the edge of something primordial. Every step he took echoed without sound, each movement resonating with the weight of a decision he feared to make.

He didn’t know how he had arrived here. One moment he was dying, skewered on Aszer’s spear, and the next...he was here, wherever ’here’ was.

Then the voice returned, gentle yet heavy, pressing against the very fabric of the air.

"You tread where few dare to walk, Helot of Fate."

Aric turned sharply, but no one was there. The voice was not behind him—it was everywhere, woven into the space itself.

"This place... is yours," it continued, "a reflection of the unseen, of the choices that bind the world, of the hidden current pulling at every life."

He swallowed, his hand moving instinctively to where the spear had pierced his side.

But there was no wound. No blood. Only the memory of pain.

"Why am I here?" he demanded, his voice echoing faintly through the void. His heart raced, though he tried to steady it. He was not ready to trust the voice—not yet.

"Because you were always meant to be," it replied simply.

"You, Aric Valerian, are more than a pawn. Fate does not toy with you—it has chosen you. But you have never truly understood what that means."

The words settled in his chest, but his thoughts still spun.

Fate? Chosen? So this was his sub-space. He clenched his jaw, desperate for some semblance of control in this alien expanse.

"You must be the weaver of fate, then," he spat. "I no longer want your games. I’ll make my own path."

A soft, almost amused chuckle rippled through the air.

"Ah, but even your defiance is part of the weave. Every choice, every battle, every loss—they are all threads. You believe you defy, but in truth, you spin the same loom that governs all."

Aric’s gaze lifted to the glowing threads overhead. They swayed gently, like leaves caught in a quiet wind.

"So I’m bound? No matter what I do, I can’t escape?"

The voice fell silent for a breath, humming with anticipation.

"Fate is not chains, nor is it freedom. It is a path made of infinite possibilities—yours to pull or sever, if you understand the cost. Every thread is a choice, every choice a ripple in the current. You, Aric, are not just another prince destined to die in obscurity. You are a weaver of these threads, more than any other. But such power...such knowledge comes with an immeasurable burden."

The words weighed heavily, as if carrying the gravity of centuries.

Aric’s breath hitched. He stared at the shimmering threads above, at the flickering lives beneath his feet. So many paths, so many horizons—an infinity of possibility.

The voice spoke again, quieter, almost intimate.

"Your significance stretches beyond the battlefield, beyond your enemies, beyond even your desires. You hold the power to reshape destiny itself. But with every thread you pull, something else must be lost."

Aric’s fingers flexed at his sides. The enormity of it pressed down on him. The choices he had made, and those yet to come, all coiled around his chest. Could he bear it?

"And now," the voice whispered, its final words wrapping around him like a cloak of inevitability, "the question is not whether you will choose... but whether you will learn to wield the consequences of your choices."

Aric’s eyes hardened as he scanned the infinite expanse again, the threads beckoning him like whispers in the dark.

But he did not tremble. Not now.

He stepped forward. His step. His choice.

Reality shifted, bending around him like glass under heat. He felt the weight of threads tugging at every direction, pulling him, binding him. The black void of his sub-space rippled—and shattered.

Suddenly, he was back on the battlefield.

Pain.

Sharp, searing pain radiated from his abdomen where the spear still impaled him. His trembling hand clutched the cold, bloodstained metal. With a grunt, he wrenched it free—Aszer let him.

Blood poured freely, but there was no time. The Byzeth king gripped the weapon again as Aric fell to one knee, gasping for air—then staggered back, gaining distance.

Yrsa was still struggling to rise.

Across the field, he saw her—unyielding, relentless.

She dragged herself from the rubble of the shattered building, her axe lifted high, charging back at Aszer. The ground quaked beneath each step, her fury propelling her forward. Her battle cry split the air.

But Aszer was waiting.

His eyes gleamed with savage delight, his spear spinning in his grasp like a living beast. Aric’s vision swam as he tried to stand, but his wound slowed him.

Blood soaked his armor. His strength was a fading shadow.

"Yrsa..." he whispered, his voice lost in the storm of war.

Yrsa’s axe swung with devastating force, strong enough to crush stone. But Aszer was no ordinary foe. He glided aside, graceful, effortless.

And in that opening, he struck.

His spear flashed—a blur of death.

Aric watched in horror as the blade tore clean through Yrsa’s neck.

Time slowed. Her body froze mid-swing. The axe slipped from her grip. Her head, severed, tumbled to the earth in a spray of blood. Her body crumpled moments later, eyes still wide with resolve.

Aric’s chest pounded.

His mind howled No! but his body was too broken to move.

Aszer turned, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he stepped over Yrsa’s corpse. His gaze fixed on Aric—bleeding, faltering. The battlefield hushed, suffocated by death.

"You were always weak," Aszer sneered, cold and detached. He advanced slowly, savoring every step. "The forgotten prince. You should’ve known better than to stand against me."

Aric’s fingers twitched, searching for his blade, but his body betrayed him. Pain drowned him, his strength spilling away with every drop of blood.

His sight blurred, black spots consuming his vision. Yet even as the darkness claimed him, his eyes never left Aszer.

The king raised his spear, the tip gleaming crimson in the dusk. "And now you die," he whispered.

The spear came down.

---

Aric blinked, gasping, as the vision shattered like glass. The battlefield splintered into nothingness. He stood once more in the void, in the place where he had taken his step.

His chest heaved, his heart pounding. The phantom wound still throbbed. The memory of Yrsa’s death seared into him.

But it wasn’t real. Not yet.

"That... was a fate," the voice murmured, soft yet ominous. "One of many. One you could choose... or change."

Aric’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at the void, the pressure of what he had seen pressing down on him. His fingers curled into fists as the truth settled in his mind. The sacrifice, the cost—it was all clear now. If he didn’t change the course, Ysir would die. He would die.

His choices would decide. His hand was already on the thread.

"Will you pull it?" the voice asked, softer now. "Or will you let it remain?"

"You know what you must do, but can you do it...are you willing to?"

Aric’s eyes narrowed. There was only one choice now.

He would pull...he would cause destruction, no matter how terrifying the outcome seemed.

[Ki and Mana is Merging]