Thread 0 – The Last Breath of Light. [0.5. Red Thread of Fate]
On November 26, 2024 By Fang Dokja In Arc 0.5. Red Thread of Fate
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Content and Trigger Warnings for the Continued Story:
This story contains themes and content that may be sensitive for some readers. While care has been taken to handle the material with nuance, please read with caution. Below is a list of specific warnings:
1. Physical Confrontations: The narrative includes scenes of physical altercations between characters, though they are more comedic than violent.
2. Verbal Conflict and Insults: Characters frequently exchange sharp insults and engage in heated arguments, including personal jabs and name-calling.
3. Mild Language: Some use of mild profanity and coarse expressions, reflective of the characters’ emotional intensity.
4. Themes of Rivalry and Jealousy: The story explores themes of academic and personal rivalry, which could evoke stress for readers sensitive to competitive environments.
5. Slight Supernatural Elements: References to unusual traits or phenomena, such as glowing threads and otherworldly connections, might be unsettling to some.
6. Bullying Allegations: Some interactions could be interpreted as borderline bullying, though they are framed within the characters’ mutual antagonism.
This continuation delves deeper into the fiery rivalry between two polar opposites at a prestigious academy. Expect humor, wit, and tension as their clashes escalate—but underneath, hints of unspoken connections and hidden truths begin to emerge. Proceed at your own comfort, knowing the story balances its intense moments with levity and intrigue.
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Status: Draft #1
Last Edited: November 26, 2024
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It was said that every soul was born tethered to another by an unbreakable bond, invisible to the eye but unmistakable to the heart. This was the lore of the Red String of Fate, whispered in every corner of the world, crossing generations and realms. Some spoke of it as a gift from the gods, a divine thread spun from the fabric of the cosmos, while others claimed it was woven by the Fates themselves, who sat at the edges of time, binding lives together with purpose.
The Tavern of Many Tongues, Year 243 of the Fifth Era
In a lively tavern nestled in the heart of a bustling port city, travelers from all walks of life debated the nature of the Red String. A dwarven blacksmith raised his mug.
“I’ll tell you this much: the Red String saved me life once,” he said, his voice rough with ale and conviction. “Met my wife in the mines. Thought it was chance, but when we locked eyes, I swear, I felt it. Like a pull in me chest, like the earth itself wanted us to meet.”
Beside him, a slender elf, draped in silken robes, leaned back with an amused smile. “Typical dwarven dramatics,” she teased, though her silver eyes softened. “In my homeland, we see it in dreams. When the moon is high, the thread glimmers faintly, leading us to our fated one. I followed mine across a thousand leagues.”
From the shadows, a hooded figure interjected, their voice rasping like wind over dry leaves. “The string is no blessing. It binds you whether you wish it or not. Some call it love; I call it a curse.”
A Field of Starlight, Year Unknown
Far away, beneath an endless sky, two lovers gazed at one another. Between them, the air shimmered faintly, the Red String visible only under the light of the stars.
“Do you see it?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“I see you,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. “The string could snap, vanish, or twist—but it wouldn’t matter. My soul would still find yours.”
The Red String glowed brighter, an ethereal scarlet thread that pulsed like a heartbeat, proof of their connection.
The Lore of the String
Scholars across time sought to understand the phenomenon. Some theorized it was forged in the moment of birth, an unyielding tether that linked one soul to another. Others believed it transcended lifetimes, connecting individuals through reincarnation.
Ways it manifested differed across lands:
* The Tug: A physical sensation, as if an unseen force gently pulled them toward their destined one.
* The Glimmer: A fleeting vision of red light that only the fated pair could perceive in moments of clarity.
* The Harmony: A soundless hum, a resonance felt deep in the heart when standing near their other half.
The Eternal Debate
In the courts of empires and the fireside tales of peasants, the Red String remained a topic of fascination. Did it truly bind love, or merely destiny? Were the Fates benevolent or cruel in their weaving?
A bard once sang:
“The string may fray, it may stretch or twist,
But never will it fade, nor cease to exist.
Bound we are, by threads unseen,
In love, in sorrow, and in dreams.”
And yet, there were skeptics. In the towering halls of the Mage’s Guild, a young sorcerer argued, “If the Red String decides who we love, is it love at all? Or are we mere puppets to fate?”
The Lovers’ Promise, Year 1120 of the Seventh Age
In a high tower overlooking a sea of clouds, a husband knelt before his wife. Their hands intertwined, their foreheads touching, they whispered vows beneath the Red String, now glowing brightly between them.
“Even if I am reborn a thousand times,” he said, his voice steady, “I will always find my way back to you.”
She smiled, tears streaming down her face. “And I will wait for you, in every lifetime, until the stars burn out and the threads unravel.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
The Red String shimmered, binding their souls for eternity.
And so the legend lived on, told in every corner of the world, cherished and feared, an eternal mystery of love and destiny.
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Bona Fide Academy was where the elite sent their offspring to sharpen minds and secure futures. It was where the privileged mingled, hierarchies formed, and childhoods dissolved into chessboards of ambition. Within its polished halls, the most extraordinary—and chaotic—feud of the century unfolded between two unlikely rivals.
On one side stood Reine Albertine, the golden prince of the academy. Charismatic, handsome, and maddeningly self-assured, he had ruled the academic roost until the arrival of a strange, pale-skinned, red-eyed new student. On the other side was Deon Fonias, a transfer student who shattered records and expectations alike. Though sickly and unnerving in appearance, Deon outperformed everyone, making enemies without even trying—chief among them, Reine.
“You Think You’re Better Than Me?”
The classroom erupted into chaos as Reine and Deon tumbled to the ground for the third time that week. Chairs scraped against the marble floor, and students scrambled to avoid becoming collateral damage.
“Get off me, you albino goblin!” Reine barked, trying to wrestle his arm free from Deon’s vice-like grip.
“I’ll get off when you get a brain, you degenerate playboy!” Deon snarled back, her blood-red eyes blazing with fury as she clung to his arm like a feral cat.
The class gasped. Insults from Deon, though rare, always landed like a thrown brick.
“Degenerate?!” Reine howled, managing to flip Deon onto her back, only for her to twist free and spring upright. “I’m not the one who sits in the library muttering to myself like a cursed doll!”
“I mutter because I have better things to do than socialize with buffoons like you,” Deon hissed, brushing dust off her oversized blazer. “Unlike you, I don’t need to flirt my way to mediocrity.”
“Oh, so now I’m mediocre?!” Reine threw his hands up, his face flushed red, either from indignation or the effort of holding his ground against a toddler-sized opponent.
A smirk tugged at Deon’s lips. “You said it, not me.”
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The chant started from a group of students hiding behind a row of desks. They were careful to keep their distance—nobody wanted to get caught in the crossfire.
Reine lunged, but Deon sidestepped, leaving him to stumble into a chair. “Is that all you’ve got, Prince Charming?” she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery.
“Don’t call me that!” Reine snapped, spinning around. “I don’t need nicknames from someone who looks like they crawled out of a grave.”
Deon’s smirk vanished, replaced by a glare so sharp it could cut steel. “And I don’t need academic advice from someone who can’t even solve a basic alchemical theorem without crying to the professor.”
The students collectively sucked in their breath. Deon’s words were nuclear.
“How dare you!” Reine growled, his perfect curls disheveled. “I do not cry to the professor. I ask for clarification—unlike you, who sits there smugly like you invented the subject!”
“Maybe I did,” Deon shot back, deadpan.
More chaos came with flying textbooks and the unmistakable sound of two very mismatched combatants tumbling across the polished floors.
“Five coppers on Reine,” one boy muttered to his friend.
“No way, Deon’s gonna mop the floor with him. Look at her—she’s feral.”
“Get off me, you oversized rodent!” screamed the smaller of the two, her blood-red eyes burning with fury.
“Rodent? Is that the best insult your creepy little brain can come up with?” Reine sneered, pinning Deon down effortlessly with one hand. “Admit it, Fonias! You’re just jealous you’ll never be as cool as me.”
The “cool” in question was Reine Albertine, the epitome of Bona Fide’s golden boy. Perfect hair, perfect smile, and perfect blood-red eyes that sparkled with mischief. If you asked him, he’d tell you he was destined for greatness, a born ruler. Everyone believed it, except for one person: Deon Fonias, the school’s unofficial weirdo.
Deon wriggled and kicked furiously, her sharp little teeth bared like an animal. “Jealous? Of what? Your three brain cells fighting for survival?”
A gasp rippled through the crowd of students encircling the brawl. Insults at Bona Fide were a refined art, crafted like poetry and launched like daggers. Deon’s, however, were blunt instruments—crude, unsophisticated, and shockingly effective.
“You little—” Reine growled, grabbing her arm and twisting just enough to make her yelp. “Say that again, Fonias. I dare you.”
Deon glared up at him, teeth clenched. Her pale skin seemed to glow under the academy’s enchanted lights, and for a moment, her fury was almost intimidating. Almost.
“I’ll say it as many times as it takes for your stupid skull to absorb it!” she spat. “You’re nothing but a spoiled, insecure, daddy’s-money loser who—”
The Professors Intervene
At this point, the door burst open, and two professors stormed in—Professor Soliel, the battle-scarred combat instructor, and Professor Azren, the alchemy master. Both wore expressions of grim determination.
“ENOUGH!” Soliel’s voice boomed, silencing the room.
Reine froze mid-swing, while Deon let go of the collar she had been clutching. They both turned to the professors, looking guilty but unrepentant.
Professor Azren sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For the love of…! It’s not even noon. What is it this time?”
Reine immediately released Deon and stood, brushing off his immaculate uniform like nothing had happened. “Professor, I was merely defending myself,” he said smoothly, flashing his most charming smile.
“Defending yourself from what, exactly?” Soliel snapped. “Fonias is half your size!”
Reine gestured dramatically toward Deon, who was now sitting on the floor, glaring at him like a feral cat. “That thing is a menace, sir. It tried to bite me!”
“He started it,” Deon said immediately, pointing at Reine with her blood-red eyes glinting.
“I did not!” Reine barked, pointing right back at her. “She called me a degenerate playboy!”
“Because you are!” Deon shot back, her voice rising to match his.
“And you’re a creepy little goblin who—”
“QUIET!” Soliel roared, silencing them both. She looked between the two, her scarred face twitching with barely concealed frustration. “Reine, Deon, this is the third time this week. Do you two even realize how ridiculous you look?”
“Another fight, another detention for both of you,” Professor Azren said with a sigh. “Do you two ever stop bickering?”
“Maybe if he stopped breathing in my direction,” Deon muttered under her breath.
“Maybe if he?” Reine snorted. “Professor, it doesn’t even look human. You should be asking where Fonias crawled out from, not why I’m trying to put it back there!”
The crowd stifled their laughter.
Arzen rubbed his temples. “Albertine, Fonias, I don’t care who started it this time. You are both academically brilliant, but you are also absolute nightmares.“
“Thank you, Professor,” Deon said, straightening her tie.
“I wasn’t complimenting you!”
Deon folded her arms, glaring at the ground. “He’s the one who won’t leave me alone. All I want is to study in peace, but he’s too busy trying to compensate for his fragile ego.”
Reine looked as though he’d been slapped. “Fragile ego?! I’m the top student here!”
“Second top student,” Deon corrected coolly.
“You—!” Reine lunged again, but Soliel grabbed him by the back of his collar.
Professor Azren sighed again, rubbing his temples. “You’re both top students. You’re both insufferable. And you’re both going to detention.”
Deon’s mouth opened in protest, but Azren cut her off with a glare.
“And before you argue, Deon, detention will be held in the library. Together.”
Reine let out a horrified groan. “You’re punishing me with her?!”
“I could say the same,” Deon muttered darkly.
Azren waved them toward the door. “Out. Now. Before I assign you both an essay on the history of harmonious coexistence.”
The two glared daggers at each other as they shuffled out of the classroom.
“I still say five coppers on Deon,” one boy remarked.
“Are you kidding? This fight’s not over,” his friend replied. “It’s never over with those two.”
Behind them, the students whispered, giggling nervously. It was obvious to everyone watching: Deon and Reine despised each other.
…Right?