An Invisible Thread Novels & Stories

Untouchable. But the mirror had caught her off guard. For a split second, the woman she saw wasn’t untouchable at all. She was a woman who had stood in front of a painting at midnight and felt her armor splinter. The studio was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional drip of paintwater sliding down the sink. Alex hadn’t intended to start a new piece tonight. He was supposed to be resting after back-to-back commissions. But the news of Sophia standing in front of Unseen refused to leave him.

I shot back, "Isn't it convenient to pin everything on a scapegoat when you need someone to blame? I don't even have a magical guardian bound to me. How could I possibly have destroyed Ebonwave Island? It was clearly Yasmin's Wyvern that did it!" Yasmin, displeased, retorted, "You lack the skills, but it's not just about that, is it? You're bitter because Father locked you up and took away your chance to bond with those magical guardians. And you're green with envy because I've got the Wyrm Lord on my side. So, you're out for payback against him and me! Hiding behind your princess title, you swiped the white Wyvern egg, acting like you never stepped foot off Ebonwave Island.

Please… come back…" Nathan fell to the floor, his back propped against the wall. He wept, tears slipping down his cheeks. At last, he was left with nothing. At one time, he had convinced himself that helping Evelyn was the right thing to do. But now, he realized it had all been nothing more than a ridiculous farce. All along, the fool had been him. His mistake could never be forgiven. The weight of defeat descended like a final curtain. … One day, something unexpected happened. After Nathan liked my photos on Instagram, he showed up at my office after work. The sunset was stunning, but I couldn't focus on its beauty. After all, the last person I wanted to see was now standing right in front

Evelyn did not look away. “I am not starting anything. I am refusing something.” The pressure shifted again. This time, differently. The nameless force outside responded not with brute erasure, but with recognition. The Bell Tower dimmed for a moment, and in that dimming, something new appeared across the fractured sky. Lines. Not cracks. Not wounds. Threads. Every person inside the tower could see them now. Invisible connections made visible by force of pressure. Rowan saw a faint thread linking him to Serah.

I focused harder, imagining the space around me collapsing into stillness. I closed my eyes and listened—not with my ears, but with whatever part of me had been collecting silence all these years. There. A thin, tight vibration. The strain where the threads meet the threads. I drew the void inward, compressing the silence until it wasn’t just absence but pressure. Then I released it. Not outward. Across. A clean, invisible slice of nothingness swept along the rope.

It reached downward slowly, passing through the ceiling without resistance, entering the room like light slipping through water. The moment it crossed into our space, everything changed and the hum vanished. Replaced by silence so complete it felt unnatural. Even breath seemed muted. The thread hovered in the center of the room, inches above the floor, unmoving. Waiting. “It is not attacking,” Vale whispered. “No,” I said. “It is initiating contact.” “With who?” Jamal asked. The answer was obvious. The thread shifted slightly toward me and Lena of course, always toward the strongest signal. I stepped forward instinctively, placing myself between it and the others.

As if an internal light makes them pulse. — Lyra? My voice is but a whisper. A second draft passes, colder. The curtains ripple slowly, as if an invisible hand has just brushed against them. The lamp trembles on its base. My throat tightens, my blood runs cold. And yet, amid this fear, a truth is born, dull, relentless: Something has just broken. An invisible thread. The one that connected me to her. But at the same time, I am certain that a trace remains. A last heartbeat.

The pattern on the slender thread seemed to be moving and constantly changing, almost as if it were alive. “Just as the entire history of the universe can be learned from a single molecule, if you know how to read it. So the history of a whole garment can be found in a single thread. Now, in order to open your eyes, I’m going to have to ask you to close them.” Jimmy shut his eyes as the Tailor moved behind him. He felt the Tailor reach around and place the thread over his eyelids. Then he pulled it taut and tied it behind Jimmy’s head.

Wherever two objects touched, there was a black ooze between them, like tar or glue. I floated back to Jenny and examined her more closely. She had connections to everyone, even those she had only just met. Other than me, they all had. I was looking for one connection in particular and after a painstaking search, found it. A single, blue thread, almost invisible, fine as fishing line, went from Jenny’s chest to mine. Not quite untouchable, then. It looked very fragile. I couldn’t resist placing a finger on it, and then sharply pulled it back, bleeding. I could bleed in this form? And Jenny’s thread was that tough?

The Nexus awaited their decisions, and the threads of fate trembled with anticipation. As Sasha and Alec delved deeper into the Nexus, the threads of mortal lives intertwined with their every step. Aria, the stardust guide, appeared beside them, her presence shimmering with cosmic significance. "Sasha, Alec," Aria whispered, "within the Nexus, threads are not just stories; they're connections waiting to be formed. The choices you make will resonate through the cosmic web, creating bonds that transcend the limitations of time and space." A new thread, pulsating with an otherworldly glow, caught Alec's attention. It seemed to vibrate with an unspoken story. As he touched it, visions unfolded—a