Threads Of Tradition Novels & Stories

“For each other.” Together, they reached out toward the silver thread, their fingers brushing against its glowing strands. Instantly, their bodies began to dissolve, their forms merging with the threads themselves. Memories flooded their minds—not just theirs, but everyone’s: the laughter of children playing under starlit skies, the quiet strength of healers mending wounds, the courage of warriors standing against impossible odds. And then, the Architect spoke one final time, its voice layered with both sorrow and triumph. “You have chosen to become the threads of fate,” it said. “But know this: the cycle cannot be broken. Even now, new Makers rise to take your place. And when their time com

He had been listening from there for ten minutes and I had known he was there for nine of them. Julian looked at him. "The thread sustains everything. Every supernatural ability, every bond, every ward. It is the source." He paused. "There are entities that exist in the margins of it. Not supernatural in any category we have named. Older than any of those categories. They cannot access the thread themselves so they harvest it through beings who can." He held my gaze. "They have been dormant because the thread was suppressed. Lena was using a fraction of what she had and everything connected to her was consequently smaller than it should have been."

My best guess is that they are fated to save the people they are tied to with white threads. I see these threads constantly and it is a confusing mess, all the threads twisted around each other. Sometimes people mix up their blue threads with their red threads and end up in relationships that are doomed to fail. A lot of people have only one or two threads, or sometimes none at all. No one ever has more than one red thread though. One soul mate per person, no need to be greedy.

Then the battlefield crumbled into ash, and I was falling again. I woke on the cavern floor, shivering. My body slick with sweat, my hands trembling like I’d just fought for my life. Elyra stood above me, arms crossed, calm as ever. “You saw it,” she said. I pushed myself up. “I saw… too much.” She nodded. “That’s what the Threadstream does. It doesn’t show truth. It shows possibility.” “I destroyed everything.” “You might. But not because you’re evil, Thorold. Because you’re unbalanced. Untethered.”

That means her family will not get the status they’re seeking through me. I see the outrage on quite a few faces. Sander Tillon, an older male and the head of his family, says furiously, “You cannot ask our daughters to break ties with us! That is unheard of! Traditions are meant to be followed!” “Traditions no longer have a place in this pack,” I snarl. “It is these so-called traditions that ruined the pack in the first place.” “You can’t—”

The altar blinked once with light, and from it emerged three threads—gold, crimson, and black. The gold thread pulsed with warmth, the promise of restoration. A future where she reforged the kingdoms, brought peace, carried names that would be sung long after her death. The crimson thread burned with sacrifice—war, fire, the destruction of the gods and a world rebuilt in ash and rebirth. The black thread was silent but heavy, a thread that led inward, not forward—a choice to unravel all and return the world to its unformed beginning. Each thread tugged at something primal within her, demanding not just a decision, but belief. She couldn’t choose lightly. Every path would cost her something t

“The Trust Fund that will be inherited by the kids was more than 500 thousand grand. And it's a shame for me but you can see that some people will do anything to have hands on that amount.” Christopher couldn’t help it but his nephew was one of them. He looks at Cassandra, wondering if that amount of money would affect her. Latisha couldn't help but gasp, Renee’s eyes got big and covered her mouth with her hand. They glance at Cassandra, they know her best, she will not easily swayed by money but she is more afraid if she fails the trust that had been given to her. “Did I also have to handle that much work? Look, I only work as a teacher and yes, I do lots of crazy jobs but how do you think

Cynthia pov: I was sitting in front of the mirror looking at my neck.I am in an Azrail shirt because he tore my top.Azrail told me to stay here and don't go anywhere from there.I am still confused about the tattoo. How can it be removed completely? "Did I do this? It can happen in the past 2 years. I forgot why I do this.So many questions in my mind but no answer. I am also confused about his early behaviour too but then I thought maybe something good happened in the past two years for behaving like him.

Would he show his figure? Would people be aware of his existence? Would the secrets and crimes that he had committed be unraveled? That person, can she melt the cold heart? Which would he choose? Hatred and vengeful past or love and their future? This red thread, still remembering their souls to each other.

“When wrong choices are made, it affects the thread. The once straight thread forms a knot— this knock is an obstacle, one that has to be overcome in order to move forward. Depending on the severity of the decision, the thread might even be cut short completely and life will end before the person reaches the core.” A shiver passed through my body. “So… the length of the thread determines how long someone will live?” “Yes.” The keeper answered. “Some threads are long and smooth, some are long and knotted, some short and smooth whilst others short and knotted.” “Can someone be born with a knotted thread?” I asked. “Yes.” “And a person can be born with a short thread?” Xander asked. “Correct.”