The Threadbound series : Unraveling

The Purpose

Frin

In the days of old, there existed two kinds of magical beings among the people of Milandor: the Veilweavers and the Veilbinders. Veilweavers wove threads to work their magic, while Veilbinders used threads to bind magic to their will. The Veilweavers had to bind themselves to a mystical veil to access their magical powers, whereas Veilbinders could enhance their abilities through binding but weren't required to do so.

For a long time, these two groups peacefully coexisted alongside humans in Milandor. However, a dark chapter known as the Threadwars would soon unfold. The Veilweavers believed that the presence of Veilbinders weakened their own magical potential. Fueled by this belief, they engaged in a brutal conflict that led to the annihilation of the Veilbinders. Bloodshed and violence scarred the land. It was a time of unimaginable brutal killings, where even children fell victim to the merciless clash of powers. Families were torn asunder, their lives shattered by the unrelenting violence. Threadhunters, once protectors of the realm, became perpetrators of heinous crimes. They violated the sanctity of women, leaving scars that would forever haunt if they survived - but no one did. The land was awash with the tears of innocent souls, their cries unheard amidst the chaos of war. When the dust of the Threadwars finally settled, the Veilweavers stood victorious. However, in their relentless pursuit of power, they had eradicated the Veilbinders from existence

In the aftermath, the five powerful Veilweaver families—Lark, Bhama, Ignis, Hadeth, and Morova—established the Elder Senate. They ruled with an iron grip, reshaping history to erase any traces of the Veilbinders' existence. The Threadwars were rewritten as a conflict between rogue Veilweavers and noble families. These nobles were portrayed as defenders of the nation, seeking the aid of mysterious Veilgods to combat the rogue sorcerers.

After a period of peace, tensions simmered, leading to a Coldwar. Eventually, a rebellion emerged, demanding greater equality and representation. Although the initial uprising was brutally suppressed, some concessions were granted. Elections for Senate seats were introduced, open to not only the traditional noble families but also Veilweaver families with three generations of practitioners, wealth, and influence.

However, despite these reforms, the trials of the election process remained challenging. None of the new nobles succeeded in becoming an Elder, preserving the old order. The old order, steeped in a history of bloodshed and manipulation, clung to power with an iron grip. Every young Veilweaver on the cusp of adolescence faced a perilous trial during their threadbinding ceremony. Little did they know that this rite of passage would become a sinister charade, orchestrated by those who had sworn allegiance to the ruling nobles and Elders.

As the ceremony unfolded, the priests, entrusted with their sacred roles, would suddenly turn executioners. In a twisted perversion of faith, they would declare that the Veilgods had found these innocent children unworthy. With a heavy heart and a heavy hand, they would cut short the lives of these budding sorcerers, their potential snuffed out before it could fully bloom.

The families of these young victims, their hearts wracked with grief, were subjected to a double tragedy. Not only did they mourn the loss of their beloved children, but they were also burdened with the shame of birthing the "unworthy." Unbeknownst to them, they were innocent of any wrongdoing, caught in the machinations of a corrupt system.

The ruthless order that ruled Milandor considered these acts a necessary evil to maintain their stranglehold on power. The dark truth was hidden from the masses, passed down as a closely guarded secret within the ruling families. To them, the preservation of their dominance justified the continued suppression of the Veilbinders and the perpetuation of their oppressive regime.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm the storm raging within me. My hands trembled, and my breath came in short, shallow gasps.

My mind, inundated with the revelations from the journal, spiraled out of control. Memories I had locked away came flooding back, vivid and painful. I saw flashes of a cheerful boy with kind gray eyes—my best friend, James. His warm smile and infectious laughter were etched into my heart. He was a beacon of kindness, a true friend who cared for everyone and everything around him.

James had died during the threadbinding ceremony, a victim of the cruel machinations of a corrupt system. The very gods we were supposed to revere had deemed him Unworthy. He had always wanted to make the world a better place, his heart overflowing with love for animals. I remembered how he'd always had a black cat by his side, a furry companion he'd adopted from the streets and cared for with unwavering devotion.

The loss of James had shattered me, and I had harbored a deep hatred for the gods ever since. I questioned why they had chosen me to survive that fateful ceremony while taking him away. My mother, in her wisdom, had told me that I had a purpose, but I never truly understood what it was. I shrunk into myself day by day. However, it wasn't the Gods who were to be blamed.

Now, in the wake of these revelations, everything became painfully clear. I understood why my mother had despised the Veilweavers.

The walls I had built to shield myself from the harsh realities of the world were crumbling, and I felt everything—all the pain, all the anger, and all the determination.

The room seemed to close in around me, its walls squeezing my chest, making it difficult to breathe. Panic welled up inside me, like a tidal wave threatening to engulf me. My mind raced with overwhelming thoughts, and I struggled to hold back tears.

In the midst of my turmoil, Ginger came rushing to my side. With an empathetic understanding that only animals seemed to possess, she raised her front paws towards me. It was as if she wanted to offer me her support, her silent presence a source of comfort. Then I saw the note tied to her paw.

As I gently untied the small parchment that Ginger had carried, I couldn't help but wonder about its contents. The words on the parchment sent shivers down my spine: "Thalfrin Freeman, your mother was killed." The sentence was abruptly striked off. Below it, another sentence was hastily scrawled: "Thalfrin Freeman, Elder Lark is behind your mother's murder."

My hands trembled as I crumbled the parchment and closed my eyes, attempting to calm my racing heart. For years, I had carried a heavy burden within me, a belief that it was my harsh words—"Go kill yourself then"—spoken in a fit of anger that had somehow compelled my mother to end her own life. I had shouldered the weight of guilt, believing that I was her killer, that I was the embodiment of the darkness she had come to associate with our kind.

The weight of these newfound revelations bore down on me. I couldn't be certain if the message on that parchment could be trusted, but if my mother had indeed delved into forbidden history and associated with rebels, the Elders would have undoubtedly wanted her silenced.

For a time, I stood in silence, my mind reeling from the shock of it all. Then, I became aware of a sound—a sound that seemed strangely distant at first. It took me a moment to realize that the one sobbing was me. I couldn't hold back the deluge of emotions any longer.

I fell to my knees on the floor, the coolness of the surface against my skin grounding me in my distress. Ginger remained by my side, her presence offering solace. This time, she didn't shriek or resist my touch. I scooped her into my trembling arms, holding her close as my tears flowed freely.

As my tears fell for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I allowed myself to grieve.

I allowed myself to cry.

I cried for James. I cried for my ma. I cried for the thousands unjustly killed and forgotten. I cried for the children who continue to die. Finally, I cried for myself.