The Book
Serafine POV
The book is not small. It’s big, and bound in darkened leather. The leather looks cracked, not like it’s worn, but like it has blood running through it. I can’t read the title.
I’ve no idea what it says. It looks like runic, something I’ve never seen. I feel like I should ask Xander if he knows, but then he will know what I’m reading, and right now, I’ve no idea what this book is.
There’s nothing else on the cover, except a mark, that’s like a pressed Sigil, that represents the Hollowfang Raven wings.
I turn the book over, but it’s not helpful; other than the title and the mark, there are no signs of what it is.
My fingers run over the runic, and I try to understand what it says. I feel like I know what it says, but at the same time, it’s weird. Something in me is calling out that the title is Threadborn. I’ve never heard of that before, but something in me is saying that’s what the title is. So I push past the cover and open the book.
The ink begins to move, and I pause. I watch as the words begin to appear on the page like it was never there before. How is that possible? Even as I think that I know the answer… It’s magic, I can feel it. When I scan the pages quickly, they are empty, but if I keep a page open, words appear as if they are been written.
The pages feel alive, I swear I can feel them pulse between my fingers. It’s so strange and powerful at the same time.
Deciding to read, I begin with the first page. The moment I go back to the first page, the ink swirls again. It’s faint to begin with, almost like smoke gathering, but then letters begin to take shape. They are deliberate, ancient and yet oddly familiar. The language is like what was on the cover. It’s not something I’ve studied, I don’t need to understand it, something inside of me just does.
As the words rise from the page, curling into meaning, it’s as if they were always meant for me, and no one else. Going to the first line, I begin to read.
If you can read this, you are Veyrathi.
, My heart stutters for a moment in my chest. Veyrathi? What even is that? I read it again, slower now, just to be sure. But nothing changes, it still says the exact same things. The word burns into me. Veyrathi. I whisper it under my breath, and feel something inside of my gut twist. It’s tight and low and not something I can explain. I’m sure I’ve never heard of it before. Yet, it feels like I’ve carried it with me for my entire life without knowing.
As the next line forms, I begin to read it.
Threadborn. Bound not to a pack, but to pulse, to presence and to beast.
My brows pull together at that. Threadborn, that was what I thought the title of the book said. Some instinct buried deep had named it for me. Now it’s here again, confirming that the quiet voice I can’t explain is right. Still, I’ve no idea what Threadborn even means. So, I continue to read.
As a Veyrathi, you will not be recognized by blood, scent or by name. You will not be felt by the gifted or those who are marked. Even those who serve the moon and are the most powerful will not sense you for what you are. Your thread is veiled. They will, however, notice how beasts react and change when you’re near. They will feel the silence of your footsteps and wonder why the ground is quiet as you pass.
The Hollowfang Raven flies not to you, but because of you.
So it didn’t fly into the library to come to me? Then why did it come? I don’t get that last sentence, I sit there trying to understand it. Then I realise the words. Because of you. So did it come to the library because I was seeking answers and it had them?
I swallow hard, my fingers tightening on the edge of the page. It feels like the room around me has stilled, as if even the air is listening. I look toward the window, but nothing moves. The trees outside are still, the sky is dark, but something in the shadows is humming with awareness.
My eyes drift down to read the next line.
You are not chosen, you are not born a prophecy; you are born of balance, and balance has been lost.
A cold shiver moves down my spine, I’m not sure if it’s caused by fear or understanding right now. The words feel louder than they should, not in the room but in my chest. It’s like they were carved onto my bones long before I was able to question who I am.
Turning the page, I watch again as more ink app Successfully unlocked! if someone is sitting here right now writing it out. Once it’s appeared, I begin to read again.
Answers will not come from others. Do not look to the packs for the truth, the records that they hold are broken. Their memories are rewritten. The Veyrathi were never meant to be remembered. What you’re carrying is not a legacy, it’s instinct buried beneath shame and silence.
The Book
The beasts around you still know, and the wild still listens.
I pause, my eyes scan the ink as it continues to flow.
You are the thread that was never cut, and now, you are awakening.
As I snap the book closed, my hands shake. My chest rises and falls far too fast. This is weird, I wanted answers, but not this, not something so unknown.
Awakening…that word feels big, too big, and final. I place the book beside me on the bed. I do it carefully, like it might burn. me as punishment for rejecting it. My fingertips still tingle where I touched the pages.
Veyrathi.
Threadborn.
Not a single bit of this makes sense, yet at the same time it does. The Hollowfang, the way that Raven looked at me. That strange pulse I felt around the guardian beasts, and the way I felt drawn to them, the way they shifted when I was near. It was as if I belonged.
As if I’ve always belonged. No one else can sense it or feel it, though. I remember what the book said. I won’t be recognized by scent, blood or name.
Whatever I am… It’s hidden and not just from others but from myself. I glance toward the book again. It’s resting on the blankets, and it feels like it’s always been mine, like it was just there, waiting for me to find it.
I don’t know where this is going to lead, and I don’t know what I’ll become or how I will change. I do know that this isn’t just
about wolves anymore. It’s something deeper, something older and I’m starting to think, the beasts know better than I do.
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