“This one’s yours,” she said. “The one you cut first. The one you never tied off.”

The volcano shuddered. Towers cracked. And Soduru Kanthi’s left hand—the Thread-hand—turned to black glass, then shattered.

He was not a mage of fire or ice, of lightning or stone. Soduru Kanthi was a Threadmage, a wielder of the Vyati—the invisible strings of cause and consequence that bound all moments together. While others hurled fireballs, he merely plucked a single thread. A general’s heartstring, tied to a childhood fear of spiders. A king’s ambition-thread, frayed by a forgotten promise. He never destroyed. He redirected .

He must knot them all back together—starting with his own.