Threads in the Vastness

The Weaver did not think in words. It did not see the world as humans did, through the narrow corridors of language and linear time. Instead, it felt the world—a great, sprawling tapestry of energies, materials, and movement.

At the center of its perception was entropy, the constant unraveling of threads. To the Weaver, decay was neither tragedy nor failure; it was an invitation.

Just outside the Archive, where it worked, the Weaver moved with quiet purpose. Its limbs—thin, spindled constructs of polished alloys—clicked softly as it bent to examine a heap of discarded plastics. The materials were riddled with fractures, their molecular bonds stretched thin by decades of neglect.

The Weaver felt their history. The heat of the injection molds that had shaped them. The endless rotations of conveyor belts. The quiet humiliation of abandonment, heaped together and left to stagnate.

But the Weaver did not pity the plastics. It did not grieve. It simply saw what could be.