Chapter 15 Threads of Fire and Starlight

CHAPTER 15

Zane

The streets hummed with the soft murmur of evening light as I walked with my siblings through the outer district. The air carried the sweet scent of cinnamon bread and hot oil, wafting from the fried mana-dumpling stand two streets back. Rune-lamps blinked on overhead in slow succession, casting pools of amber light down on cobbled streets that were just beginning to quiet. Stalls were closing, their shutters thumping into place as the district settled into its usual nighttime rhythm.

It was peaceful.

Old magic clung to this part of the city. Not in the powerful, blinding sense like the gleaming towers near the capital spire—but quieter. Lived-in. Warm. People here didn’t wear enchanted robes or float three inches off the ground. They wore patched coats and ran shopfronts with charmstones duct-taped to old brackets. I preferred it here.

“Okay, but seriously,” Jordan began, his voice insistent for the fifth time in six minutes, “she shook your hand.”

I sighed, a low sound of exasperation. “Not this again.”

Lila walked beside me, her posture calm, her hands tucked into the folds of her long coat. Her expression remained unreadable, but the corner of her mouth definitely twitched when Jordan started his monologue.

“She didn’t just shake it,” Jordan continued, striding ahead of us and spinning to walk backward, facing us. “She looked at you. Like you were... I don’t know, interesting. Like a puzzle box. A sexy, desirable puzzle box.”

I coughed, a dry, incredulous sound. “How does a puzzle box become sexy?”

Jordan scowled, his brow furrowed in mock frustration. “You aren’t taking this seriously, brother. This is a big deal. How are you ever going to lose your virginity if you don’t recognize obvious signs? Tell me, are you really my brother?”

Lila, without looking up, smacked the back of Jordan’s head. “Why are you worried about your older brother’s virginity, you idiot? Read the room.”

“First of all, we’re outside, so I cannot read a room. Second,” Jordan shrugged, completely unperturbed by Lila’s correction, “how often does the perfect woman practically throw herself at you—and you do nothing? The way she smiled at you… I’m telling you. She likes you.”

“She didn’t throw herself at me. Don’t make it weird. Plus, she’s a Taranis,” I muttered, my voice low. “She probably smiles at everyone. Their family is super political.”

“Zane,” Jordan said, pausing with dramatic gravity, forcing me to meet his gaze, “that was not a smile for everyone. That was a ‘you caught me off guard and I might like it’ kind of smile. Or better yet, an ‘I want your body’ smile. And she blushed. Don’t even deny it.”

I offered no answer, unsure of what I could say to my idiot younger brother. My silence was enough to keep Jordan smirking as we turned the corner onto Merchant’s Row.

Here, the cobblestone narrowed and sloped slightly downhill. Warm lights spilled from the small two-story buildings lining both sides—bakeries, paper wardsmiths, enchanted pottery shops. A girl in a thick apron argued with a client over the cost of a chipped focus crystal. A trio of enchanters adjusted a faulty sky-umbrella mount on a nearby building.

Jordan skipped ahead, arms outstretched, narrating his life like it was an epic tale unfolding for an unseen audience. “I’m just saying. If you don’t make a move, I might. It’s never too early to start empire-building, you know.”

“Try it,” Lila said flatly, her voice holding a promise of swift retribution, “and I’ll build a tomb instead.”

I snorted, a small, involuntary burst of amusement.

Jordan stuck out his tongue at Lila, then darted off toward a glowing mana-fountain tucked in the corner of the square, his hands trailing through the low-hanging light veil overhead.

Lila gave me a sidelong glance. “You’re not denying it either.”

“What?”

“That she blushed.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, a familiar gesture of discomfort. “I’m denying that it means anything.”

Lila hummed, a low, knowing sound. “You’re usually better at lying.”

Before I could formulate a response, she paused, her eyes scanning ahead. Two girls had emerged from the side alley near a tangle of market stalls. Both looked about Lila’s age—one with copper braids and a crest patch from the district’s healer prep school, the other holding a charm case full of scribing gear.

They spotted Lila at once.

“Lila!” one of them called, waving as she jogged over. “Hi. How was your first day of school—gods, is that your brother?”

I internally braced.

Copper Braid did a full-body double take, her eyes widening. “That’s Zane, right? I saw him online. He beat up a noble—what was his name? Drestal?”

The other girl let out a low whistle. “You didn’t say your brother was that tall.”

“He’s not tall,” Lila said flatly, her expression unchanging.

“He’s tall. And hot,” the second girl replied, utterly unconcerned with Lila’s denial.

Middle schoolers were terrifying. They were talking about me as if I wasn’t even there, a living, breathing object of gossip.

“Big brother Zane,” Copper Braid said, sliding up beside me with a teasing grin. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

I sent Lila a silent please help me look.

She didn’t.

Instead, she crossed her arms and said flatly, “He doesn’t have a girlfriend. And you’re not allowed to flirt with him. He’s traumatized.”

Jordan returned just in time to catch that last part, his eyes twinkling. “Also incredibly modest,” he added helpfully.

The girls laughed, a cascade of bright, uninhibited sound.

I did not.

But even I couldn’t hold back a reluctant smirk as the sound of their laughter mingled with the soft buzz of closing market stalls and the sugary charcoal scent of a roasted fruit stand a few blocks over.

For a moment, the world felt simple. Normal. Like nothing bad had ever happened here.

Then one of Lila’s friends leaned in, her voice dropping slightly, breaking the spell. “Did you hear about the Rift in West Lira?”

Copper Braid’s eyes widened. “The one that broke the mana bridges?”

“Three whole clearance teams went in,” the girl said, her voice hushed with awe. “And they still had to call in CEU support.”

Jordan perked up, instantly captivated. “Was it a timer gate?”

“Nope. Wild-class,” she replied. “The kind that shows up without warning and doesn’t stabilize right. It just tore open mid-traffic.”

“Those are the worst,” the other girl groaned. “My cousin’s in Rift Clearance—he says they leave… all sorts of spell pollution. Like phantom mana signatures that don’t match any known element.”

“They do,” I said quietly, my gaze shifting upward, toward the dimming rune-lamps and the slow ripple of mana currents overhead.

The girls turned to look at me, sensing the shift in my tone.

I didn’t explain. But my gaze had already fixed on the sky.

[Eva: Zane. Look alive.]

I was about to answer when—

[Rift Lore Advisory: Wild-class anomalies exhibit irregular Adaptation Windows—typically 10–12 minutes post-manifestation before monster emergence. Environmental mana remains highly unstable during this period.]

I didn’t say any of that aloud. But I heard it. Felt it.

The reminder wasn’t necessary.

I knew how it worked.

Rifts didn’t just appear and spit monsters. Not immediately. The world had rules—even when it broke them.

Rifts needed time. Time to stabilize. Time to anchor. Time to adapt.

Unless…

Unless they didn’t.

Sometimes, Rifts appeared out of nowhere—fully formed and full-cycled.

“Rifts are chaotic gate phenomena formed when ambient mana fields fracture under dimensional strain,” Jordan announced proudly, mimicking a System lecturer’s cadence. “They have no predictable patterns, no formal structure, and cannot be navigated like traditional dungeons, but there is always an anchor being, someone that represents the Rift opening. Kill the being, close the Rift. They are totally different than Gates. But Rifts can become Gates.”

The copper-haired girl raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed despite herself. “How old are you again?”

“Thirteen,” Jordan said proudly. “And Lore certified.”

Lila groaned. “He memorized the RiftNet wiki for fun.”

I chuckled—but softly, the sound quickly dying in my throat.

My eyes were on the sky now.

One of the lamps overhead flickered.

Then flickered again.

My expression shifted, my blood turning cold.

I didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

But I knew that flicker wasn’t natural.

Something was terribly wrong.