Threadbound:System

> [Collapse Clock: Day 18 / 30]

Thread Integrity: 6%

Anchor Viability: Declining – Stability Threshold Approaching Critical

Active Zone: Tier II – THREADFALL CITADEL (Fractured Remnant)

Cognitive Hazard: Extreme

The world was broken.

Not in the way Riven had grown used to—not like the fading zones or corrupted threadlines they'd skirted around before. This was something else. This place didn't decay. It unraveled.

Threadlight rippled at uneven angles across the jagged spires of the Citadel, refracting memory like a shattered prism. Buildings bent inward, ceilings opened into the sky, and reflections floated midair like paused echoes. Streets existed only halfway. Steps carried weight one second, then none the next.

And it was quiet. Too quiet.

Not empty—just watched.

Kaia walked at Riven's side, close enough for her flank to brush his knee. Her fur flickered gold with every pulse of active zone energy. Stabilizing them. Grounding them. Still weak, but awake. Still alive.

Behind them, the others followed.

Brenn bore a new limp from the collapse but held his shield high, eyes flicking to shadows like he expected them to move.

Kalix remained ghostlike, his steps nearly soundless, moving in bursts—never predictable, never still for long. The subtle shimmer of his mirrored coat barely caught light as he vanished around a bent corridor and reappeared behind a shard of floating stone.

And Nilo…

He looked tired.

The thread-touched teen's gaze tracked something the others couldn't see—faint threadlines only he could sense, fingers twitching as though plucking invisible strings. His usually airy demeanor had curdled into something quieter. Sharper. Like the zone whispered things into his ear no one else could hear.

"Threadpulse is bad here," he murmured. "Like... discord in the weave."

Riven slowed. "Can you follow it?"

Nilo nodded, hesitant. "Yes. But it's not one line. It's all of them. Like memory static. Too much data trying to reconstruct itself."

Riven understood. In a way. His own perception—tainted by the anchor and Aya's echo—felt constantly skewed. As if time twisted just out of reach, and the present couldn't fully settle.

Kaia's ears twitched.

She growled. Low. Warning.

They were no longer alone.

---

> [Zone Breach Detected]

Status: Unstable Entity Presence Confirmed – Origin: Thread-Spawned Construct

Classification: Fragmented Warden Residue / Identity Lock – Failed

Hostile Pattern: INTERMITTENT / MEMORY LOOP – ACTIVE

---

A face emerged from the broken wall.

Not through it. From it.

As if the architecture itself had been housing the shape of a woman—features fractured, eyes hollow, mouth wide in silent warning. She blinked once. Twice.

Then screamed.

The sound wasn't a noise. It was a memory of a scream—bleeding through the air, raw and scorched.

Kaia leapt between it and Riven, golden threadlight bursting outward in layered shields. The ghost-woman's scream shattered against them like broken glass, fragments turning into motes of fading light.

"She's not real," Brenn said, shield raised. "Not alive. But not dead either."

"Thread echo," Nilo whispered. "Anchor warden memory loop. Stuck."

"A warning?" Kalix asked, glancing around. "Or a trap?"

"Both," Riven answered, eyes narrowing.

The echo vanished.

But more faces emerged. Some weeping. Some shouting. A child's laughter rang from behind a flickering stairwell. A man with no lower body clawed across a ceiling that didn't exist. Every apparition was a piece of a memory that had been forcibly untethered from time—and it was tearing the zone apart.

"We move," Riven said. "Now."

---

They pressed deeper into the Citadel's fractured heart.

The zone warped with each step. What should've been a hallway opened to a massive courtyard—but only from one direction. From another angle, the space collapsed into a spiral staircase that descended into nothing. Time rewound. Fast-forwarded. Glitched.

Then stabilized.

> [Anchor Core Detected – Distance: 900m / Visibility: Obscured]

Condition: Degraded / Core Loop Incomplete

Risk Level: Terminal Memory Collapse – Imminent

"It's trying to rebuild," Nilo whispered. "But there's too much missing. The core's leaking memory into the environment. That's what we're seeing. Not ghosts. Not phantoms. Just... fragmented reconstruction attempts."

Kaia pressed closer, fur bristling.

"It's accelerating," Kalix muttered. "This zone isn't just failing—it's folding."

---

They reached the Citadel's inner sanctum.

Or what was left of it.

Columns twisted in on themselves. A great throne—or something pretending to be one—hung inverted in midair, spinning slowly like a forgotten clock hand. The floor beneath it pulsed, layered with glyphs that flickered in and out of visibility.

And floating at the center, tethered by jagged threadlines, was the Anchor Core.

It wasn't whole.

A giant crystalline orb, half-cracked, leaking threadlight in violent surges. Around it spiraled strands of old memory—people, battles, screams, laughter, all flickering for a moment before being absorbed back into the orb like data being scrubbed.

Kaia froze.

So did Riven.

> [Anchor Echo Detected: Aya Vale – Imprint Residue]

Thread Classification: Inherited / Stabilizer Role

Condition: Unresolved / Reaction Imminent

The orb pulsed—and Aya's voice echoed.

"You shouldn't be here."

It wasn't a warning. Not this time.

It was remorse.

Kaia took a step forward, ears flattened. Her glow flared—and the Anchor Core responded. Threadlines snapped tight, dragging toward her like magnetic strands.

"No," Riven growled, stepping between them. "Not again."

The orb surged.

A form burst outward—not Aya, but something else. A Warden. Towering. Unstable. Like a Class II construct built from the remnants of three collapsed minds. It flickered through different appearances with each step—sometimes a soldier, sometimes a civilian, sometimes nothing at all.

Kalix blurred behind it, striking first—but his blade phased through. Brenn followed, shield crashing down—but the thing twisted and vanished, reforming behind Nilo, who ducked just in time.

Riven activated his bond with Kaia. Golden light coalesced around his forearm. A new pulse—stronger than before—shaped itself into a blade of crystallized threadlight.

Their bond had evolved.

He could feel it—Kaia's raw focus, her need to protect, her memories of Aya and the pain of loss. It wasn't just a connection now. It was a choice.

He chose to fight with her.

The Warden lunged. Riven met it head-on.

Their blade clashed—no metal, just intent. Riven's will versus whatever broken AI logic still drove this thing.

Around them, the world fractured again. Memory loops unraveled. The throne shattered. Glyphs flared.

Nilo screamed something—too late.

The core overloaded.

---

> [Anchor Core Unstable – Forced Collapse Initiated]

Thread Reboot: Partial / Directional Gateway Opening

Entity Sync: FAILED

Hazard Level: MAXIMUM

---

A tear opened behind them.

Not a gate. Not a portal. A tear.

Riven didn't hesitate.

He grabbed Kaia, shouted at the others—"Move!"—and leapt.

---

They didn't land.

They arrived.

Somewhere darker. Quieter. Deeper.

The noise of the Citadel cut off like a closed door. Threadlight here didn't pulse—it drifted. A soft snowfall of memory.

Kaia whimpered softly, tucked in Riven's arms. Her glow was dim but steady.

Kalix crouched low, scanning the darkness. Nilo leaned forward, blinking rapidly, bleeding from his nose. Brenn dropped to a knee, one arm trembling.

> [Unknown Zone Reached – System Classification Pending]

Anchor State: Undefined

Threadlight Type: Crystalline / Nonstandard

Risk Level: ???

And then, in the distance—a light.

Faint. Flickering.

Someone stood in it.

Not a memory.

A person.

Watching.

Waiting.

And smiling.