A Threadwalker —moves like dusk and echo. They’re robed in memory, veiled in intuition, fingers always brushing the unseen lines that hum be...

A Threadwalker —moves like dusk and echo. They’re robed in memory, veiled in intuition, fingers always brushing the unseen lines that hum beneath reality. Their cloak isn’t made of cloth— it’s woven from moments. Threads of joy, grief, wonder, ache. Each one a path they’ve followed, a truth they’ve ...