From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 61: The Thread that Moves Forward

The Grief Loom stood silently on top of the hill. It was massive and ancient, built from things that predated grief: blackwood, silver thread, bone, and crystallized tears.

Each of them walked a different path and arrived in the same place. Lucian was standing up straight, his Echoheart Grimoire quiet for once.

Merry hugged her Grimoire to her chest, looking shy and uncertain. Cadrel kept his hands folded across his chest, not daring to speak first. And Alice, standing closest to the Loom, simply breathed.

Lucian thought she looked more like herself than ever before.

The Spinnermaid sat in front of the Loom, her veil brushing across the hill like a tide. Her delicate hands worked without pause, threading emotion through the ups and downs of history.

She didn’t look at them right away. But Lucian found himself hypnotized with the rhythmic way her hands moved the thread. It looked like she was creating a colorful table runner with an intricate design in silver thread.

But with the way she moved, the Spinnermaid knew they were there.

+

It felt like an eternity before the Spinnermaid stopped weaving and spoke. "You have each brought me sorrow," she said, and her voice reminded Lucian of a cold spring rain.

"But as I have told you: only one will completely carry my thread forward."

Lucian bowed his head. "Yes." and his companions followed suit.

"I won’t choose the person who suffered most," the Spinnermaid added. "This is not an agony-measuring contest."

She turned to face them--not fully--but enough. The Spinnermaid’s presence enveloped them individually, like someone willingly rereading their most painful Chapters in life.

They didn’t feel discomfort from this. It was like someone was looking at their grief and saying, "I see you." without any judgment or advice to give.

She approached Cadrel first, her long black gown trailing tiny butterflies behind her.

"You wear silence like it’s a second skin," she said pointedly. "And your bravery is deeply buried under guilt. But even when the bell rang and your unit was consumed...you continued to remember them. The names of the fallen. And then laid down your blade."

"I didn’t save anyone," he said quietly.

"No," the Spinnermaid agreed. "But by joining Lucian’s party, you finally stopped punishing yourself for living."

She raised her left hand and a silver thread pulsed faintly between them. However, it did not hold and disappeared after a few seconds.

Without another word, the Spinnermaid continued walking.

+

When she faced Merry, the Spinnermaid offered a longer pause. "You were taught that love was conditional," she said solemnly. "that control was a love language. And yet...you didn’t burn the mirror. For your mother or your great-aunt. Instead...you redrew it."

Merry looked away, clasping her Grimoire tightly.

"I still don’t know how to forgive them."

The Spinnermaid gently placed a hand on the small of her back. Comforting and reassuring, for that brief moment. Lucian saw Merry relax a bit, though she still held her Grimoire like it was a stuffed doll.

"You don’t have to," the Spinnermaid whispered. "Just take care not to let them poison parts of you."

The thread between them twisted with green light—rich and promising. It held once, but slackened its grip and fell into the grass.

+

Next, the Spinnermaid turned her gaze to Alice. There was a glint of deep purple underneath her veil. "You have a wound that isn’t even yours. A shared name, and a borrowed body. You are learning the shape of your soul...like a new language."

"I don’t know if I can be the one you want," Alice said softly.

"Ah, but you already are," the Spinnermaid said.

A thread flickered gold and pink between them—warmed by empathy, uncertain in shape.

It sang like memory trying to bloom.

Still, it too unraveled.

Alice looked a little sad, and the woman said softly, "Even if you are not my chosen successor, I do mean it. Life dealt you this hand and you are playing it as best you can."

Finally, she faced Lucian, though her mouth was set in a grim line. Her purple eyes darkened under the veil, and he expected the worst. That she would not choose any of them, and they would be lost within the Vale forever.

"You cheated grief," she said flatly. "You cut corners...and learned the real shape of sorrow. But refused to feel it. The wall around your heart is a mile thick, child."

He didn’t deny it.

"But," she added, "you came here knowing you were unworthy. You let yourself be remade."

Lucian’s hands trembled slightly. "I still don’t know how to grieve properly."

The Spinnermaid leaned down and whispered in his ear.

"There is no right way."

The thread that spun between them was pale blue—and then midnight black. It was a deep, pulsing current.

Right now, it was unfinished. But it held, and didn’t break, even when she touched it with one finger.

The Spinnermaid reached out and gave him a deep curtsy.

"I choose you, Lucian Bowcott." she said.

Lucian stared in shock.

"What? Surely someone--Merry? Would be better?"

Her shoulders started to shake and it took Lucian a bit to realize she was laughing. "Ah, you amuse me so. Imagine telling a being who regularly sees grief and possibilities she’s wrong!"

He blushed a deep red when he heard her. "S-sorry, I didn’t mean to disrespect you." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

The Spinnermaid smiled through her veil, and Lucian thought he could see an intricate pattern on one cheek made from delicate beads. "No harm done. I know what you mean. But no, there has been no mistake. I have chosen you."

She moved to the Loom now, and continued to speak as she completed her table runner.

That might be her last Grief-infused garment. Lucian thought.

"It is true, you do not grieve easily. But you grieve honestly now. And that is rarer than skill, or talent."

As she completed a midnight-blue table runner with delicate silver embroidery, the Loom began to shift. The silver thread turned inward, spiraling toward a single thick spool.

The Spinnermaid offered it to him with reverence instead of fanfare.

"This technique will not make you powerful. It will make you accountable. And in the world of the dead...that is power in itself."

Lucian took the thread and slowly, his Grimoire opened to record the event.

[User: Lucian Bowcott]

Rank: Apostate Mortician & Apprentice Threadspinner

Tether to Life: 50%

Tether to Death: 50%

Note: Balance has been achieved. Current emotional state is stable.

[BONUS: Threadspinner skill tree has been unlocked.]

It pulsed like a second heartbeat.

Merry stepped forward, smiling faintly despite the tears in her eyes.

"I’m glad it’s you," she said. "You’ll teach us. Not with rules. With... presence."

Cadrel clapped him once on the shoulder. "Looks like I’ve got more sermons to rewrite."

Alice reached for his hand, squeezed it. "And you’ll remind us what’s worth holding."

Lucian looked at them all.

And then to the Spinnermaid.

"Will I see you again?"

She shook her head.

"I’ve waited long enough."

She turned back to her Loom, held her hand out, and traced a glyph. Then she began to concentrate. As she did so, the Loom grew smaller and smaller, until it was palm-sized.

"It will grow larger as you need it to, Threadspinner." She explained, and Lucian couldn’t help seeing her hand grow significantly bonier than before.

"The Loom will adapt to you and your thread. Create wisely. And go with my blessing. If you ever need my advice..." the Spinnermaid reached for his Grimoire and gently traced a seance rune on one page.

"use this."

Lucian put the tiny Loom in his pocket and bowed to her in reverence.

"Thank you, Spinnermaid."

The woman smiled and removed her veil. Beneath was an old woman with beautiful purple eyes and an intricate pattern drawn on her cheek in tiny glittering stones.

"Thank you, Lucian." she whispered. "for letting me rest."

Without another word, she smiled toward his companions, lay on the grass, and began to fade.

As they left the Vale, the thread tucked into Lucian’s coat glowed faintly.

The Echoheart whispered:

[NEW GLYPH FORMAT ENABLED]

[Emotion-to-Script Protocol: Lucian Lineage Registered. Grief Loom Obtained.]

[You may now weave grief into form.]

He didn’t know what he’d call the first glyph yet.

But he knew what it would be made of.

Every name he’d forgotten to say before.