Arabella | totcf au

Chapter 12: A God that walks amongst mortals

Cale groaned as he felt something was wrong. He sat up from the bed and looked at where his sister was supposed to be.

Empty.

Her bed was empty.

He immediately sat up and took his robe to look for his sister.

It was dead in the night at Puzzle City, there was just no way she would walk around, especially with Choi Han guarding the door and Ron being a light sleeper. He went out of the bedroom, his eyes widened at Choi Han asleep on the floor.

"What the.." Everything was quiet. Not even the supposed sounds of the drunkards having fun this late at night wasn't heard from the outside. It's.. It's like time has stopped. He has to find his sister.

The time had stopped.

No one was moving.

Time.

A God's territory.

Cale's jaw tightened.

A God's territory meant only one thing—someone powerful enough to twist the laws of the world had taken interest. And that never meant anything good.

He stepped over Choi Han's still form, crouching briefly to check for injuries. None. Just frozen mid-breath, eyes half-lidded like he'd been caught between wakefulness and sleep.

The stillness was eerie. Even the candle flames in the hallway were locked in place, unmoving, like they were painted on glass.

Cale's senses stretched outward, searching for the faintest ripple of power. He found it—like a thread of golden light, winding through the frozen air, pulling him forward. He followed it, each step muffled in the unnatural silence.

And then he saw her.

Arabella stood barefoot in the courtyard, her nightgown billowing despite the absence of wind. The moonlight pooled around her unnaturally, as if drawn to her form. And across from her—

Cale's breath caught.

It was three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs, knitting a huge pair of socks using a dark red yarn.

Cale knows them from Arabella's memories of her first life. The Fates. What the hell are they doing here?

The sight was so absurd that, for a moment, Cale thought he might still be dreaming. Three old women, identical in the lines of their faces but distinct in their mannerisms—one stern, one distracted, one smiling faintly—sat calmly in the middle of the frozen courtyard, their rocking chairs creaking in a rhythm that did not belong to this world.

The yarn in their hands glimmered faintly in the moonlight, that deep crimson not quite red, not quite black—thread that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it.

And Arabella... Arabella stood before them, her head tilted slightly as though listening to a song only she could hear. Her pale face was unreadable, but Cale saw the tension in her shoulders.

The stern one's voice cut through the silence. "You came late this time."

The smiling one clicked her tongue. "But still right on time."

The distracted one glanced at Arabella's hair and murmured, "The thread is tangled... as always."

Cale stepped forward, the invisible weight of divine power pressing against him, urging him to stay back. "What do you want with her?" His voice was low but steady.

All three turned their heads toward him in eerie unison. Their eyes were pools of starlight—distant, cold, and infinite.

"She was not meant to die." the stern one said, her voice sharp like she was cutting through cloth.