Cursed Causality

The sea roared below, its waves clawing at the cliffs like a starving thing. Kael hit the water first, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. Lysandra's scream dissolved into the churn as the current dragged them under. He didn't fight it. Demons didn't drown.

When they washed ashore, it wasn't a beach that greeted them.

The village of Vorsa hung suspended in time, its cobblestone streets spliced with fragments of other eras:

A fisherman's hut merged with the rusted hull of a warship, mast spearing through the thatched roof.

A stone well overflowing with liquid starlight, pooling in iridescent puddles.

A child's swing creaking in the wind, its chains rusted to dust mid-arc.

The sky was a patchwork of dawn and dusk, the sun and moon locked in a fractured dance. The air reeked of burnt ozone and rotting kelp, a nauseating blend that clung to the back of Kael's throat. Lysandra coughed seawater onto the sand, her silver thread frayed but still tethered to his wrist like a shackle.

"Wh-where are we?" she stammered, her voice trembling as much as her hands.

He ignored her, scanning the horizon. The raven circled overhead, one wing bent at a grotesque angle, its storm-cloud eyes now streaked with gold. Elyra's little spy. Useless.

"Stay close," he growled, kicking aside a crab that scuttled too near his boot. Its shell cracked under his heel, oozing black ichor instead of meat. "Or I'll leave you for the riftwolves."

---

They found the villagers in the square. Or what was left of them.

A temporal rift yawned above the crumbling chapel, its edges dripping molten time that sizzled where it struck the cobblestones. Below, the townsfolk knelt frozen in mid-prayer, their bodies threaded with gold filaments:

A priest's mouth hung open in a silent hymn, his tongue petrified mid-word.

A mother clutched a swaddled infant, their faces blurred as if smeared by a god's thumb.

A blacksmith's hammer hovered over an anvil, sparks frozen like fireflies.

Lysandra reached for the child's outstretched hand, her own fingers trembling.

"Don't." Kael yanked her back as the child's fingers crumbled to ash, disintegrating into the wind. "Touch anything here, and you'll end up like them. Worse."

She wrenched free, her thread tightening around his wrist like a noose. "You're a monster."

He backhanded her. Not hard, but enough to split her lip. "And you're a liability. Next time I say run, you run. Next time I say jump, you jump. Or I'll cut that pretty thread and watch the Ordos carve you apart."

The girl glared, blood smeared across her chin like war paint. But she stayed silent.

---

They found shelter in a butcher's shop, its walls plastered with yellowed maps of cuts of meat that no longer existed:

Pig.

Cow.

Things with too many legs.

Kael barred the door with a rusted cleaver, its edge crusted with decades-old blood. Lysandra huddled beneath a splintered table, clutching her doll. The thing's button eyes were missing, its stuffing leaking like guts.

"Why do they want me?" she whispered, her voice small but sharp.

"Because you're a mistake." He peeled back his sleeve, revealing the sigils crawling up his arm like black veins. The runes pulsed faintly, their heat a constant gnawing beneath his skin. "The Weave doesn't like mistakes."

A howl split the air—long, keening, wrong. Not animal. Not human. Chronohounds.

Kael smirked. Seraphine was getting desperate.

The wall exploded.

Seraphine stood framed in rubble, her glaive crackling with temporal energy. Three Chronohounds flanked her, their bodies shimmering like heat haze:

Teeth dripping liquid time that hissed where it struck the floor.

Eyes hollow sockets filled with swirling sand.

Paws leaving hourglass prints in the dust.

"Last warning, demonkin," she said, her voice stripped of mercy. "Give me the girl."

Kael lunged, not at Seraphine, but at the nearest hound. His obsidian dagger sliced through its throat, and the creature dissolved into a scream of rewinding seconds, its body unraveling like a snapped thread. The second hound lunged for Lysandra—

And froze.

Silver threads coiled around its limbs, pinning it mid-air. Lysandra stood trembling, her eyes wide, blood trickling from her nose in twin rivulets.

"I… I didn't mean to—"

"Do it again," Kael snarled, wiping black blood from his blade.

She flinched but obeyed. Threads lashed the third hound, and Kael gutted it before it could howl. Seraphine's glaive sang toward his skull—

He grabbed Lysandra and threw her into the rift.

---

They fell through chaos.

The rift spat them onto a beach of black glass, the sky a seething bruise of purples and greens. Waves crashed silently in the distance, their spray frozen in mid-air like jagged crystals. Veyra waited, perched on a throne of driftwood and bone:

Her void-like eyes tracked them as they stumbled ashore.

Her needle-teeth glinted like shards of ice.

A vial of swirling smoke dangled from her fingertips.

"You're late," she said.

Kael shoved Lysandra behind him, his grip bruising. "You first."

Veyra tossed him the vial. The liquid inside writhed, as if alive. "A gift. Swallow it, and the sigils stop burning. For a time."

He uncorked it, sniffed. The scent was cloying, sweet as rot. "What's the price?"

"The girl."

Lysandra's thread tightened around his wrist. Kael studied the vial, tilting it to watch the smoke coil. "How long does it last?"

"Long enough to gut the Ordos scout on your tail. Not long enough to save her."

He drank. The fire in his veins dulled to an ember, the relief so sudden it near buckled his knees.

"Deal's done," Veyra said, reaching for Lysandra.

Kael slit her palm.

Black blood sprayed the sand as Veyra hissed, her hand recoiling. "You dare—"

"You want her?" He pressed the dagger to Lysandra's throat, the edge drawing a bead of crimson. "Come take her."

The Cartography agent vanished, but her laughter lingered, echoing off the glass dunes. "You'll beg us for mercy, demonkin. Soon."

---

They followed the raven to a cave etched with runes older than the Ordos. The entrance yawned like a mouth, its teeth stalactites dripping mineral blood. Lysandra traced the carvings—a tapestry of stars and threads, a blade plunged into its heart:

The stone was cold, leeching the warmth from her fingertips.

The raven pecked at a hidden alcove, revealing a map scrawled on vellum.

The words *Follow the Drowned Road* glowed faintly in the dark.

"The Tapestry," she breathed, her voice echoing in the hollow dark.

"A fairy tale," Kael said, burning the map. The flames turned his face gaunt in the sudden light. "We're not here to save the world, girl. We're here to survive."

"But—"

He backhanded her again. Harder this time. Her head snapped sideways, the sound sharp in the cavern's silence. "Next time you argue, I cut your tongue out."

Kael dragged Lysandra into the night, the cliffs at their backs and the sea's roar fading into a hollow whisper. The raven followed, its crooked wing scraping the air like a blade on stone. They walked for hours, the tundra giving way to a marsh where the water thickened into sludge. The moon hung fractured above, its light splintered by temporal rifts that pulsed like open wounds:

A skeletal ship lodged in the mud, its mast crowned with glowing jellyfish.

A drowned cathedral, its bell tolling soundlessly beneath the bog.

A field of swords planted hilt-deep, rusted blades humming with forgotten battles.

Lysandra stumbled, her thread fraying. "Where are we going?"

"To die quietly," Kael said, "if you're lucky."

---

The Drowned Road revealed itself at dawn—a causeway of petrified wood and bone winding through the marsh. The air reeked of decay, the water bubbling with methane. Kael tested the first plank, the wood groaning under his weight. Lysandra hesitated, her doll clutched to her chest.

"Move," he said.

"It's cursed."

He backhanded her. The doll tumbled into the muck. "Everything's cursed. Walk."

She retrieved the doll, its fabric staining black, and followed.

---

Halfway across, the rifts found them. The road shuddered, the planks splintering as the marsh erupted:

A school of fish with human teeth boiled to the surface.

A soldier's corpse floated past, his uniform blooming with algae.

A child's laughter echoed from a rusted cage half-submerged in the mire.

Lysandra froze. "Do you hear—"

Kael shoved her forward. "Keep moving."

The raven screeched. Seraphine emerged from a tear in the air, her glaive dripping liquid time. Two Chronohounds flanked her, their bodies warped, jaws unhinged.

"You're out of roads, demonkin," she said.

Kael grabbed Lysandra's wrist, squeezing until she whimpered. "Fix it."

"I-I don't know how—"

He pressed his dagger to her throat. "*Fix it.*"

Tears blurred her vision, but the threads responded. Silver filaments lashed the hounds, binding them mid-leap. Kael severed their throats, their howls dissolving into static. Seraphine's glaive arced toward him—

Lysandra screamed. The road shattered.

---

They fell.

The marsh swallowed them, the sludge thickening into tar. Kael clawed upward, dragging Lysandra by her hair. They breached the surface in a cavern, its walls studded with bioluminescent fungi. The air tasted of iron and salt. Lysandra retched, black water streaming from her nostrils.

"Where—"

"Quiet." Kael waded ashore, his boots sinking into sand the color of dried blood. The raven perched on a stalagmite, its gold-streaked eyes judging. Ahead, a massive door of tarnished bronze barred their path, etched with a single word: *WEAVER*.

Lysandra touched the engraving. "It's warm."

Kael kicked the door. It didn't budge.

"Maybe it needs a key," she whispered.

He pointed his dagger at her chest. "Or a sacrifice."

She recoiled, but the threads reacted. Silver light bled from her palms, seeping into the door's seams. Gears ground, the bronze shrieking as it split open. Beyond lay a chamber lit by a shaft of fractured sunlight, its walls lined with looms strung with threads of every color—and at its center, a figure hunched in shadow.

---

The Weaver turned. Its face was a shifting mosaic: young, old, male, female, all blurred at the edges. Its voice was the grind of tectonic plates.

"You broke the Loom."

Kael stepped forward. "Fix me."

The Weaver's hand extended, skeletal fingers brushing his sigils. "The demon's price is your soul. To sever it, I must claim something… *dear*."

Lysandra's thread flared.

Kael smiled. "Take whatever you want."