LIFE
It originally sustained everything directly.
Then it crafted Threads.
The threads are conduits.
Organisms are powered through them.
But organisms are not made of the source itself.
Organisms : Structured form that require a Life-thread to function.
Record Fourteen - Elos
The city.
To mortal eyes, it was an ordinary place. Streets layered with old concrete and newer steel. Buildings stacked close together, windows glowing with uneven light. Vehicles moved in slow lines, engines humming, horns sounding in brief irritation. People passed each other without looking, holding phones, arguing, laughing, living.
But above it all, threaded through it, were lines no mortal could see.
They were thin. Countless.
They hovered in layers so dense that, if mortal eyes could see them, the world would look woven together by an endless web.
They were not made of light or energy. They were not magic.
Every living form had one.
From the oldest man sitting by the roadside, to the stray dog sleeping under a car. From birds on power-lines. From ants carrying crumbs across pavement. From the child laughing in a school courtyard to the bacteria dividing in a drop of water.
Each thread stretched across reality, anchoring back to the source.
To LIFE.
Elos walked through the city.
He wore a long coat, dark and plain, the fabric falling straight down his frame.
As he passed people, threads trembled slightly.
Not because he touched them.
But because they recognized their origin.
Around him, ecosystems extended far beyond the city. Forests breathing in rhythm. Oceans circulating heat and nutrients. Microbial systems performing unseen labor in soil and bloodstreams.
Every birth, growth, decay, happened because he was present. Plants grew through cracks in the pavement because he existed. Pigeons lifted into the air in startled flocks because he existed. A teenager laughed too loudly at something not funny because he existed. Every cell divided because he existed. Every microorganism metabolized because he existed.
And so he walked through the city, hands in the pockets of his long coat, expression neutral, gaze unfocused to anyone watching.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Above the city, the threads stretched endlessly into the sky. Not just from this planet. Not just from this city.
From other worlds.
Other civilizations.
Other ecosystems orbiting distant stars.
Countless threads from countless universes.
At every moment, somewhere, a thread formed.
At every moment, somewhere else, one snapped.
To the world, he was just another passerby.
To the threads above, below and beyond
He was home.
? ───── ───── ───── ───── ?
“COME BACK HERE!”
The shout echoed from a side street, sharp and breathless.
A young girl burst past him, laughter spilling out of her like it couldn’t be contained. She ran past him without slowing. For a split second she glanced up.
Brown eyes. Bright. Alive.
They caught the sunlight and shimmered before she was already gone again, darting around the corner. Above her her thread flared brilliantly, its color shifting rapidly with excitement.
Behind her came another girl, older by a year, clearly losing the race. Breath shallow, one hand clutching the strap of a shoulder bag that thumped repeatedly against her thigh.
She did not see him.
She collided straight into his chest.
“Ah…”
The sound escaped her softly as she stumbled forward, catching herself before she fully fell. Her hand instinctively gripped his coat for balance.
“… sorry,” she muttered, already forcing herself upright.
Then she looked up.
She was striking.
Smoky silver-gray eyes met his, the irises fractured with fine, pale lines like thin cracks in glass catching light. When the sun touched them, they reflected softly rather than sharply, giving her gaze a quiet depth.
Her hair was dark brown, thick and slightly unruly, pulled back loosely but already slipping free around her face. A few loose strands had escaped and brushed across her cheek from the run.
Her skin was warm toned, flushed faintly from running. Her lips parted just a little as she caught her breath.
Her thread hovered close, steady but complex. It shimmered with layered hues, slower than the younger girl’s. It reacted to her embarrassment, tightening briefly, then settling again as her breathing evened out.
She blinked once, fully composed now.
“Are you okay?” she asked, voice softer now.
“I didn’t see you there.”
“HEY!”
The first girl’s voice rang out again from further down the street, impatient and playful.
The older girl was still gripping the front of his long coat without realizing it. At the shout, she leaned to the side, peeking around him to locate her target.
Then, she took off again.
She ran three steps
Then, mid-stride, she twisted her upper body back toward him.
“Sorry!” she called out quickly. Sincere.
Then she spun fully and continued the chase, shoulder bag bouncing wildly again as she disappeared after the other girl.
He stood there a moment longer. Then he turned slowly to his right.
Near his feet, only a few centimeters from the tip of his shoe, a small journal lay on the pavement. It must have slipped from the older girl’s bag when she collided with him.
He looked toward it. Then he looked down the street where the girls had run.
He picked it up. Then he turned fully and began walking after them.
? ───── ───── ───── ───── ?
“HURRY UP!”
“SHUT UP!”
The two girls had skidded to a stop in front of a small cafe tucked between a bookstore and a tailor shop. The older girl fumbled with a large ring of keys, trying three wrong ones before finally finding the right one. The younger girl crouched behind her dramatically.
He stood a few steps behind them.
The lock clicked.
The younger girl shot up instantly and darted inside, giggling like she had just won something.
The older girl stepped in after her, flipping the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN.
He remained outside for a brief moment. Then he stepped forward and entered.
The bell above the door rang softly.
“Welcome…” the older girl called automatically, already tying her apron around her waist as she hurried behind the counter. “…We’re just opening so…”
She looked up.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Ah. You’re the guy from earlier.”
“Yes,” he replied calmly.
He approached the counter and held out the small journal.
“You dropped this.”
She blinked.
She looked at the journal. Then at him.
“That’s not mine.”
A pause.
“I don’t have a journal.”
Silence.
“Hmm,” he said simply, withdrawing his hand.
Then he turned to leave.
“Wait!” she called quickly.
She stepped out from behind the counter. ”Have a coffee. On the house. Apology for bumping into you earlier.”
He studied her face. Then gave a small nod.
The girl led him toward a table near the window.
“Sit here.”
He sat.
The girl handed him a menu. He opened it. He scanned the first item on the list.
OAT MILK LATTE
“I’ll have the oat milk latte.”
“Okay..?” she said, already scribbling in a small notepad.
Hot,” she said softly, “or iced?”
“Hot,” he muttered.
“Size?”
“Medium.”
“We have small, regular and large.”
“... Regular.”
She nodded. Still scribbling.
“Single or double shot ?”
“...!?” “…Double?” he guessed.
She leaned forward slightly. “Any syrup?”
“Should I get syrup.”
“ I don’t know,” she said calmly. “Should you?”
“...No syrup.”
“And foam?”
“... Foam?”
She nodded slowly. “Light foam. Extra foam. No foam.”
“Extra foam.”
“Cinnamon? It’s really good. We sprinkle it fresh.”
“Yes.”
“Alright,” she said gently. “That’s a regular Oat milk latte, no syrup, extra foam with sprinkled cinnamon.”
He nodded.
“Perfect.”
“Your drink will be with you shortly.”
And she turned.
…PRESENT…
“ELOS.”
“Hm.”
“I LOVE YOU.”
