The one who knows of the 'one' can never beco the 'one,' for to know the 'one' is to forfeit the privilege of becoming it. The one who wishes to be the 'one' will likewise fail, for a wish is but a plea for a reality that does not exist.
Yet, to even wish for the 'one' demands knowledge of its existence—a paradox, for one cannot know of existence while defying it.
But…
...to defy existence is to challenge the fates themselves.
And to tempt the fates is to provoke reality.
Yet...
…the one who becos reality's enemy cannot be the 'one,' for the 'one' must walk in favor with the fates.
To truly beco the 'one,' one MUST remain unaware of the 'one'.
But upon becoming the 'one'...
...one becos bound, a captive of destiny, as existence coils and orbits around the 'one,' ensnaring it within the very essence it sought to transcend.
...
When I was young, I often had these… thoughts. Strange, hazy ideas that tugged at my mind.
What if…
What if life were rely a chapter in a grand novel? Would that not an that my destiny was already penned? That this so-called "fate" was just a script, dictating my every step?
Actors, after all, read parts that often lead to their characters' deaths, yet they cannot alter the script.
Why?
I thought I knew the answer.
Perhaps it's because for the story to go on, the character must et their end. But what if—what if that character refused? Would not the story itself begin to fray, to twist?
So then...
...is fate inescapable?
In ti, I began to understand.
Why would anyone strive to alter their fate? It could only an they'd glimpsed so fragnt of what lay ahead, perhaps sensed the end awaiting them. So they struggle, they grasp at whatever power they can muster to twist their paths.
But if fate is truly immovable...
...then what becos of reality if one succeeds?
...
...
"You are here…" I heard a voice say, and I awoke.
Huh?
Where is this place?
I found myself here once again…
This void, this emptiness.
"Long ti no see… old friend," the voice continued. I spun around quickly, trying to locate its source, but…
…no one was here…
…other than .
"Who's there?" I asked, finally surrendering to the futility of my search.
"I am…
…the Weaver."
A chill ran down my spine. I frowned, recognizing that na.
I'd heard it sowhere before, but…
…where?
There exists a Weaver. I know neither his true intention nor his na… but I've seen it. He seems to be weaving a reality that should not exist into existence. And sohow, I feel as though I know who he is.
Yes… soone once told this.
But…
…I still can't rember when.
"Where am I…? Why am I here?" I asked, spinning in the void, desperate for answers.
"A debt," the voice said. I looked up.
"A debt?" I echoed.
"I've co to repay my debt, old friend."
"Huh? What do you an?" I wanted to ask, but suddenly, the world around shifted…
…Huh?
I was sowhere else now.
The entire place…
…it was blindingly white.
I looked down at my hands.
I could see them.
I took a step forward, but it felt as if I were moving backward.
"Where… is this place?" I asked, confusion mounting.
"Stolen ti…" the voice replied. I turned to face it, and there he was: a young man, blindfolded, floating mid-air. His white hair was frozen in place, as if tousled by an invisible wind, defying gravity. His skin was pale, and he was dressed… strangely.
"I don't… understand any of this. What is happening? Am I dead?" I asked, a sense of dread creeping into my bones. I rembered being stabbed multiple tis, so perhaps… am I dead?
If so…
…where is this place?
"I've spent an eternity in my quest to understand this elusive thing called ti. I sacrificed so much, lost so much, and made countless enemies along the way, one of them being the fates themselves," he said.
"Wait… so fate is an entity? No… entities?" I asked, my eyes wide with shock.
He smiled, a haunting smile. "There are things you should not know. There are truths you are still too weak to grasp. If I were to reveal the nature of the fates, it wouldn't matter if this ti were stolen—the fates would know. For fate itself is woven into the fabric of ti, and I fear… what might beco of you in the days to co."
"…"
"In all my years of studying ti, I've co to understand one thing. It is as you once theorized, my old friend."
"What?"
"At first, I doubted it. But over ti, I ca to understand. I have seen the past, I know the present, and I have glimpsed countless futures. And yet… in none of them have you triumphed. In none of them have you changed… your fate," he said, and a dull ache throbbed in my chest.
"I tried my best. I truly tried to change it; I tried to repay my debt, but the corrections…"
"The corrections?"
"…I once believed the fates were the only ones who prevented deviations from the script of existence…"
"But… isn't that the case?" I asked, frowning.
"No. Ti itself is the true enemy."
"Ti?" I repeated, bewildered.
"Ti is like a thread. A straight, unyielding thread that continues eternally. That's what I ca to realize. The end of a story is predetermined the mont it begins. So, when one tries to alter the story… to deviate from their destiny… they create a loose thread," he explained, his gaze shifting upward. I followed his gaze and saw it—a white thread suspended in the cosmos, shifting, straying.
"A loose thread?"
"Yes. One cannot alter what was always ant to be. For reality to accommodate such a change, another reality must co into existence," he explained, and suddenly, everything began to make sense.
"But… the problem lies in what you once called… arcs."
"Arcs?"
"Major, canon events that must occur to sustain the story?" he clarified. Suddenly, the loose thread began to recoil, moving back toward the original thread.
"What…?"
"It is inevitable. The loose thread… no matter how many there are, they will, at so point, return to the original thread, as that is the absolute."
Reviews
All reviews (0)