Chapter 20 - Thread

The portal chamber held the profound silence only ancient places truly mastered. Rugr circled the edges, a low murmur of inspection escaping his lips as he absorbed every detail with soldierly precision. Jack, a steadfast satellite, hovered close to Kleo.

Will hung back near Maya, his gaze darting nervously toward the still-present Nukara.

“Is it safe for us to be in here if she’s about to pour all her mana into that thing?” Will asked.

Rugr gave the room a long, slow look. “Define ‘safe’.”

Will shrugged, but Thespis’s face tightened. “Wait—what?”

Jack, seizing what he clearly considered prime comedic timing, straightened with mock gravitas. “Oh yeah. Uncontrolled chain reaction in an enclosed space? Maximizes the energy released.”

Jack mimed an explosion with his hands, mouthing the word ‘BOOM.’

Thespis blinked. “That’s not—”

Jack cut him off, nodding solemnly. “First, your lungs will collapse.”

Thespis turned slowly toward Rugr, seeking sanity. “Seriously?”

Rugr didn’t even blink. “Not always the lungs.”

Jack perked up. “True. Sometimes, it’s the eyes.”

Thespis looked genuinely rattled now. “The eyes?”

Rugr shrugged. Perfectly calm. “Mana overpressure. Happens fast.”

Jack nodded sagely. “It’s the rapid decompression that does you in,” then added cheerfully, “One second you’re fine, the next— pop —like tiny meat grapes.”

Thespis just stared at them, his mouth slightly agape.

Rugr, deadpan: “Best to… engage your sphincter. Proactively.”

Maya turned away, shaking with silent laughter.

There was a pause. Then, from behind them—quiet, dry, inevitable—came Will.

“Unless,” he said, his voice a low, mournful tolling, “the pressure differential is so extreme that your entire cranium… undergoes rapid liquefaction.”

Everyone turned.

Will just stared flatly at the portal. “Then the eyes don’t pop,” he added. “They just… emulsify.”

“Oh gee, Will, thanks for the clarification,” Thespis said as droll as he could muster.

Will gave a faint, doom-laden shrug. “Figured someone should say it.”

Thespis exhaled a long, suffering breath. “I actively dislike all of you.”

Jack grinned. “That’s the spirit,” clapping Thespis on the shoulder. “Don’t you just love the optimism on this team?”

Thespis dragged a hand down his face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“So far,” Will added.

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Kleo stood with Seh’mekath before the dormant artifice, the portal’s surface a slab of black onyx framed by timeworn stone. Faint lines of etched symbols coiled beneath layers of dust, their power long since hushed.

Seh’mekath was already moving.

Not with haste.

With patience.

The ancient being lifted one delicate claw to touch the air before the portal’s heart. And the weave… bent. Subtly. Like silk responding to a fingertip. Shaping.

Mana gathered—not in Kleo’s usual rush of raw strength—but in slow, deliberate spirals. Flowing freely along the bend. Kleo held back. Her instincts screamed for action—to push, to make the world move. That had always been her gift.

But this…

This was trust.

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This was listening.

Seh’mekath turned her head—not speaking aloud—but Kleo heard her all the same.

Not all power is loud.

Slowly, Kleo raised her hands. The first attempt was clumsy—too much, too wild. Mana flooded the room in a thick pulse.

The portal shimmered… and then dulled.

A long pause.

The Nukara’s glowing eyes did not scold. Did not mock.

Again.

Kleo exhaled, grounding herself. This time, she moved slower—hands tracing the shape of the air. Threads of her mana unspooled like fine wire, drawn along the lines Seh’mekath had shown.

A shape began to bloom within the circle—faint at first—like dew catching moonlight.

Then brighter.

The portal drank in the energy like a steady heartbeat resuming after too long a silence. Lines of light raced through the carved runes. The stone hummed. The black surface wavered, thickened, then opened.

Across the chamber, Rugr swore under his breath.

Jack whispered, “Holy shit…”

The portal stabilized—a living mirror rippling with impossible depth. And for the first time, Kleo could feel the far side.

It was there. It was waiting.

Seh’mekath stepped toward it—graceful, calm. But she paused, looking back—to Kleo.

“You will come.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was certainty.

But Kleo’s answer was equally sure—soft, but iron in its heart.

“Not yet.”

Seh’mekath inclined her head, a slow nod that somehow carried the weight of stars.

“When you are ready.”

The ancient being stepped through the portal—her form folding into the light without resistance—without sound. Gone. Leaving only the humming portal in her wake.

Leaving Kleo standing there—still herself—but changed forever.

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The air still shimmered faintly from the reactivated portal, the energy low now, settled, but still undeniably strange. Everyone stood in quiet awe, the kind of hush that follows a miracle—or a very close call.

Will leaned against the wall, letting out a breath. “So, this is what a quiet day looks like now.”

Maya didn’t respond. She was sketching runes midair with a glowing finger, muttering half-spells and theory fragments to herself like a woman unraveling the threads of the universe with a headache and no patience.

Thespis sat near the wall, head in his hands. “Did anyone else see the part where the world bent like wet paper?”

Rugr stepped forward first, his usual soldier’s demeanor replaced by a father's concern. “Are you all right?”

Kleo let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “

What…” her voice failed once, which almost never happened. She cleared her throat. “I think so.”

Will let out a low whistle. “That,” he said, “is what you call cheating at magic.”

Maya turned slowly toward him, dazed. “That wasn’t cheating. That was art.”

Jack, behind Kleo, finally stirred with a deep, tight-knotted emotion that only he seemed capable of feeling for her.

“You’re going to be even more amazing someday,” he said quietly.

Not bitter.

Not sad.

Just… loving.

Kleo didn’t turn. Her hand flexed once at her side.

“Maybe.”

A pause.

Then, lighter—typical Jack—trying to patch over the weight of it all:

He exhaled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll write a book.”

Maya arched a brow. “Book?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. What Would Jack Do? A self-help book.”

That earned him a few blank stares.

“A collection of life lessons,” Jack went on, warming to it. “Stuff like: Run faster than the thing chasing you. Trust your gut unless you have food poisoning. Never tell your wife you kissed another woman. And, of course—always bring snacks.”

Will groaned audibly. “Gods help us.”

Jack held up a finger. “Chapter Seven: Confidence is just panic.”

Thespis, from behind a rock: “Chapter Eight: Die Tired.” J

ack spun, pointing at him. “Exactly. See? He gets it.”

Maya sighed. “Gods help us if it’s a bestseller.”

Jack grinned wider. “When it’s a bestseller.”

He turned thoughtfully to Rugr. “Would you write the foreword?”

Rugr didn’t even blink. “Only if I can title it ‘Don’t Do Any of This.’”

The joke just hung there for a long time—suspended in that fragile space between exhaustion and hysteria. And then, slowly, the laughter came. Low. Worn thin. But real. Softening the space between them all just a little.

Kleo, for the first time in what felt like hours, smiled.

Faint.

But there.

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The others had drifted back toward camp—footsteps fading into the labyrinth of stone behind them.

But Jack lingered.

So did Kleo.

Neither said anything. Neither had to.

They watched the portal pulse with a low, idle thrum. Its song, no longer a storm but a heartbeat.

Kleo sat along the wall, knees pulled up loosely, arms resting across them. Not tense. Not guarded. Just tired in a way that Jack knew all too well.

He sat beside her—close, but not quite touching.

For a while, it was enough just to sit in the hush.

His voice was rough-edged when he finally spoke, like gravel after a long climb.

“You’re really going to leave with her someday.”

It wasn’t a question.

Kleo’s answer was just as quiet.

“I have to.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“That scares the hell out of me.”

Kleo smiled—not wide, but real. Sad at the edges. Worn at the center.

And when she spoke, it wasn’t comfort.

It was confession.

“Me too.”

Silence settled between them—not awkward, not heavy. Just true.

He picked up a small rock and turned it over in his hands like he might find answers in the dust.

“I keep thinking… you know… if this were a story, I’d be the idiot who finds some way to keep you here.”

A ghost of a laugh from her. Dry. Fond.

“And?”

Jack shrugged. “And I’m not that guy.”

Finally, finally—she leaned her head against his shoulder. Just for a moment.

“You are amazing,” she said softly.

Another long pause.

Then Jack’s voice—rough, low, earnest in that way only he could be.

“Promise me something.”

Kleo shifted—looked up.

He didn’t smile.

“Wherever you end up… whatever you become…”

His words caught—raw, unfinished—like saying them out loud made it real.

“Leave a thread for me, okay?”

His throat tightened. He pushed through it anyway.

“Something… anything.”

Kleo was very still.

Then she reached for his hand—threaded their fingers together. And for the first time since all of this began, she spoke without hesitation, without armor:

“You are my thread.”