Aisling stopped. She turned back, confused. “What about Roan?”

Oz flinched. He lifted his hands. “Please, just stand completely still. Don’t move. Don’t—don’t breathe too hard. Don’t bend over.”

Furrowing her brows, Aisling froze. She squinted down at him. “What’s wrong?”

Oz swallowed. How do I explain this?

Gossamer threads wound around Aisling’s throat, spooling from every crack and cranny and dark alley around them and twisting tighter with every step they took. The threads bit into Aisling’s neck as she tilted her head, and tiny beads of blood welled up on the side of Aisling’s neck. “Fflyn?”

“Just—don’t move,” Oz said shortly. Threads vanished under Fflyn’s chin, tugging against his neck. He lifted a finger to them. Instantly, the thread sliced his fingertip open. Oz flinched back. Fuck. One twist, and we both lose our heads.

What an insidious trap! If I didn’t have my fey eye, we’d have no way to see this attack until it was far, far too late.

Even as it is, I’m not sure I stopped us in time.

He took a shallow breath, afraid to aggravate the threads. His eye burned up qi, but he didn’t dare stop it. Cut it. I have to cut the threads!

But how?

Reaching to Fflyn’s waist, he drew the dagger. He pressed it against the threads leading up to his neck, tentatively pushing the edge into the slender lines.

The pressure on his neck increased. Sharp pain bit into his skin. Oz froze, then lowered the blade. That didn’t work. Figures. It’d be too easy.

What are you doing? Fflyn asked.

You can’t see the threads? Oz asked.

What threads?

Oz pressed his lips together. He eyed the threads even as his qi burned down from the eye transmission technique. The knife isn’t enough. Threads. What destroys thread?

Fire!

Oz looked at Aisling. “Aisling, light a fire with your qi in the palm of your hand.”

Aisling looked at him, brows furrowed, then snapped her fingers. A flame lit above her pinched hand.

“Lift it… a little more… right there! Okay, now slowly, left and right.”

The flame flickered just under the threads. The threads blackened and thinned under the flame’s influence. One after another, they pinged away from her neck, until at last the whole sheaf of them unwound.

Oz nodded. “Hold it out, toward me.”

Still confused, Aisling obeyed. Oz stepped into the fire’s radius. He felt the heat against his neck, then the steadily loosening tension around his throat as the threads peeled away. At last, the threads dropped away from his neck as well.

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Oz sighed in relief. He rubbed his neck, feeling the droplets of blood. Glancing into the shadows, he stepped forward.

The loose threads followed him, but nothing wrapped around his neck. They simply brushed past.

Seems like if we sever them once, they can’t reconnect…or at least, not immediately. I’ll cancel the eye technique for now, and check in a few minutes later to make sure they aren’t reconnecting.

Looking at Oz, Aisling touched her neck as well. She startled at the sight of blood. “What…what happened?”

“We were almost decapitated,” Oz replied darkly. He nodded at Aisling. “Let’s keep following Roan. Someone wants us to follow him, so we might as well find out why.”

Aisling nodded. She opened her hand, dismissing the flame, and walked on.

Oz followed her. A dozen steps in, he quickly activated his fey eye again. The threads still fluttered around them, no longer able to reach. Nonetheless, they flickered bizarrely, moving as if alive, and yet, not alive. The threads played over their bodies, caressing them as they walked. They tried to catch, but lacked the length to wrap around his and Aisling’s necks.

I wonder what these things are attached to? Or are they attached to anything at all? Free-flying threads, soaring through the air…

There’s nothing about thread-creatures in my knowledgebase. Must be a rare or advanced creature. Only one way to find out. Swallowing his fear, Oz blinked, deactivating his eye technique. He jogged on, padding over the cobblestones.

When they turned the corner, Roan vanished around the next corner, only giving them a glimpse of his face before he disappeared. Oz put a hand to his chin. I wonder if it’s even Roan, or some kind of illusion?

One way or another, I’m interested to see where he’s going.

The deeper they wound into the city, the fewer people walked past. At last, no one remained. The buildings grew more and more dilapidated, and less and less human. Instead of four walls, the buildings sported five or six, and leaned against one another, the materials visibly rotting, trees and weeds growing in the cracks in the walls. Underfoot, the cobblestones grew sparser, with gaping holes and thick roots between the few remaining rocks.

They turned one last corner, and came upon a huge weeping willow. It blocked the road ahead, massive enough to push the buildings on the left and right away from its girth. Long, slender branches descended from its crown, pouring over the buildings and swaying on the wind. Roan stared up at the tree, his back to them.

Oz squinted, holding a hand up to stop Aisling. That tree…could it be? He activated his fey eye again.

White threads draped alongside the branches, shifting with a life of their own even as they were carried by the wind. The bark glowed faintly in his strengthened vision, silvery and pale.

The threads twisted around Roan’s neck, too, draping long down his body. So many threads cloaked him that very little of his body remained visible. He turned slowly.

Threads poured down his throat and into his nose and ears. Thin strings even vanished into the corners of his eyes.

“I hoped you would come,” Roan said, his expression slack, his eyes wide.

Oz glanced at Aisling, immediately turning to keep his eyes on Roan. Leaning in to Aisling, he whispered, “Be on guard. The thing that’s speaking through Roan is the same thing that tried to kill us just now.”

“Understood,” Aisling said. She adjusted her stance and raised her arms, prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.

“There is no need to be afraid. I am merely using this vessel to communicate,” the voice continued serenely. Roan’s mouth moved, but no other part of his face twitched.

“Right,” Oz said slowly. He closed his eye, dismissing the technique, and smiled. “Why did you bring us here?”

The ground rumbled. The tree’s branches blew with the wind. “It’s been so long. I wanted to see people.”

“But Roan is right there,” Oz said, nodding at the figure the tree spoke through.

“Is this one’s name Roan? But he can’t talk to me,” the tree said. It swayed, and in its grasp, Roan swayed with it, the motion strange to the extreme. Roan hung like a puppet, completely powerless. Abruptly, his head separated from his body.

“See? This one is dead,” the voice said mournfully.

Oz stiffened. Holy fuck. What the fuck?

Roan…Roan is dead?