The underground halls of the Weaving Society were never truly silent. Even in the dead of night, murmured conversations drifted through the tunnels, the faint hum of magic bleeding from the stone itself. Unlike the Arcanum's pristine, oppressive order, this place felt alive—a shifting, breathing thing, restless and waiting.
But tonight, something felt off.
Raine felt it in the way people moved, the way their voices dipped into hushed tones when they thought he wasn't listening. The way glances lingered just a second too long before darting away. The novelty of his arrival had worn off. Now came the weighing.
He wasn't one of them. Not yet.
He exhaled, adjusting the worn bandage wrapped around his arm, the sting of training still fresh beneath it. Ezren's brutal regimen hadn't killed him yet, but the exhaustion might. Every muscle ached from drills, spellwork, and conditioning. But stopping wasn't an option. Not while he was still proving himself.
Not while doubt was creeping in.
"They don't trust you, you know."
Raine didn't react. He had already sensed Alden's presence before he spoke. They sat on the far edge of the training chamber, watching as two Weavers circled each other in the sparring ring.
"Yeah," Raine muttered. "I noticed."
Alden smirked. "You could make it easier on yourself."
Raine cast him a sideways glance. "How?"
"Show them something useful." Alden gestured toward the duel. "Win a fight. Outweave someone. Give them a reason to believe you belong here."
Raine said nothing. In the ring, one of the fighters twisted their fingers in the air, pulling threads of Essence into a sharp lance of force. Their opponent barely dodged in time, rolling to the side before countering with a kinetic blast. The strikes were fluid, practiced—a dance of raw skill and controlled magic.
That wasn't how his power worked.
He didn't call on magic like they did. He didn't shape energy into something useful.
He took.
And every time he did, it felt like something watched him back.
Alden nudged him. "You're tense. I'd say it's because of Ezren, but I've seen you train with him. You hold up fine."
Fine. That was generous.
Ezren was relentless, his training harsh and calculated. He didn't waste time explaining what Raine was doing wrong—he expected Raine to figure it out himself. And if he didn't? The consequences hurt.
But it wasn't Ezren that bothered him.
It was something else.
"Something's wrong," Raine murmured.
Alden frowned. "Wrong how?"
He wasn't sure how to explain it. It wasn't tangible—just an unease lodged deep in his chest.
The way the air felt heavier in the corridors.
The way whispers stopped when he entered a room.
The way Kael had been gone too long.
Alden sighed, kicking a loose stone across the floor. "You think they're going to turn on you?"
Raine hesitated.
He didn't think that. Not exactly.
But he knew what people did when they were afraid.
Alden rubbed his jaw. "If they were going to get rid of you, Ezren wouldn't be training you."
That was true. But—
Ezren wasn't the only one with a say in the Society.
And judging by the looks Raine had been getting, he wasn't convinced the others saw the same value in keeping him alive.
The silence between them stretched long enough that Alden finally sighed. "Alright. That's enough brooding."
Raine shot him a glare.
Alden grinned. "Come on. You need to move before you sink too deep into that head of yours."
Raine barely had time to react before Alden grabbed his arm and hauled him forward.
Straight into the sparring ring.
"Alright!" Alden called out, clapping his hands together. "We've got a challenger."
Raine stiffened.
The entire room turned toward him.
A few of the Weavers raised eyebrows. Others exchanged knowing looks. Some laughed.
Raine wanted to kill Alden.
Alden, of course, looked entirely pleased with himself. "Don't give me that look. You want to prove you belong here? Here's your chance."
Raine swallowed hard. His skin prickled as eyes landed on him. Waiting. Watching.
This was exactly what he had feared.
The Society wasn't testing him in the tunnels anymore.
They were testing him here.
A figure stepped forward—lean, quick, confidence in every step.
Raine recognized them. One of the more experienced Weavers, someone who had been training here for years. Someone who expected this to be easy.
The Weavers surrounding the ring murmured amongst themselves, a few placing bets on how long Raine would last.
Alden patted him on the shoulder. "Try not to die."
Raine clenched his jaw.
His opponent smirked, lazy and assured. "Whenever you're ready."
Raine had a choice.
He could refuse. Step out. Let them think whatever they wanted.
Or—
He could prove something.
Raine exhaled sharply and dropped into a stance.
The room shifted.
The smirks faded. The laughter quieted.
Now, they were watching for real.
His opponent didn't hesitate.
They struck fast—a whip of Essence arcing through the air toward him.
Raine barely dodged in time, rolling to the side as the magic crackled against the floor where he had just been standing.
**Another strike—**a controlled blast of kinetic force. Precision. Technique. Power.
Raine had none of those things.
What he did have—
Was something else.
He dodged, skidding across the stone, and as his opponent's spell crackled past him—
He reached out.
The world stretched.
The air rippled.
For a single heartbeat, the flow of Essence hesitated.
And that was all Raine needed.
He turned the pause into a counter, lunging forward before the magic could strike.
His opponent's eyes widened in **surprise—**just for an instant—
And then Raine took him to the ground.
The silence that followed was stifling.
Raine gasped for breath, pulse hammering. His opponent was stunned,
For the first time since he had arrived at the Society, he saw something different in their eyes.
Curiosity. Fear. Recognition.
Alden let out a low whistle. "Huh."
Raine slowly pushed himself back to his feet.
The damage had been done.
The Weaving Society had seen something.
And now?
They were paying attention.