Ren walked.
The road stretched endlessly before him, a winding path of dirt and stone that cut through golden fields and distant hills. His legs ached, his stomach gnawed at itself with hunger, but he kept moving. He had no choice.
The Weaving Order was looking for him.
He had left the Loom of Ash behind, but the memory of the confrontation with the Strandbearer still burned in his mind. He had pulled something—something he shouldn't have. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but he knew one thing: his power wasn't like the others.
And that meant the Order would never stop hunting him.
Ahead, the road sloped downward, leading to a wide valley where a city sprawled in the distance. It wasn't like Eldrin Hollow—this was something much larger.
Stone walls rose high, banners of gold and silver fluttering in the wind. Even from here, Ren could see people moving through the streets, hear the distant hum of life.
He hesitated at the crest of the hill.
He had never been to a real city before.
A place like this—filled with Weavers, merchants, and enforcers of the Weaving Order—was exactly where he should be avoiding. But it was also his only chance.
Because somewhere beyond those gates, within the towering structures that rose beyond the rest of the city, was the Academy.
And if he wanted to survive, he had to get inside.
Ren entered the city as the sun dipped lower, casting orange light across the rooftops.
The streets were alive with movement—merchants shouting over one another, selling silk, jewelry, and enchanted trinkets. He saw a man sitting in a shop doorway, weaving thin bronze threads into a small wooden token. A woman nearby muttered a quick spell over a basket of fruit, ensuring it would stay fresh for days longer than nature intended.
Weaving wasn't just for battle. It was everywhere.
Ren kept his head down, watching carefully. He had always seen threads—had always felt their pull—but here, magic wasn't something hidden.
And more importantly, the Weaving Order was everywhere.
Guards in deep blue cloaks patrolled the streets, their hands resting lightly on weapons bound with shimmering silver thread. They didn't need to use them—just the sight of them was enough to keep people in line.
Ren slipped through the crowd, his heart hammering. He couldn't afford to draw attention.
He needed food. A plan. And most importantly, a way into the Academy.
That was when he saw it.
A large square near the city's center, filled with people. At the front, a raised platform, where a figure in deep crimson robes stood above the gathered crowd.
A Weaver.
The man raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent. His voice carried effortlessly.
"The Pattern is maintained through balance. It is strengthened by those who serve. Today, we witness those who will walk the path of Weaving and uphold the Pattern for generations to come."
Ren stiffened.
This wasn't just a gathering. This was a selection.
People—young men and women—stood in neat rows before the Weaver. Some looked confident. Others looked terrified.
The Weaver continued, "The Academy welcomes those who are chosen. But before you step upon its grounds, you must prove that you are worthy. That your connection to the Pattern is true. And so, you will be tested."
Ren's stomach twisted.
A test.
He had no idea how to pass a test for something he wasn't even supposed to be.
He took a step back—
And then he felt it.
A thread.
Not from the crowd. Not from the Weaver.
From behind him.
Soft. Familiar.
Golden.
Ren turned sharply, his breath catching.
A man stood at the edge of the crowd, watching him.
He was older, dressed in plain traveler's clothes, blending in effortlessly. But there was something off about him. Something that didn't quite fit.
His posture was too relaxed. His gaze too sharp.
And wrapped around his wrist was a single golden thread.
Ren froze.
This was him.
The one who had left the message.
The one who had guided him to the Loom of Ash.
The man inclined his head slightly, then turned and walked away.
Ren hesitated for only a second before following.
The man led him through winding alleyways, past markets and shops, until the sounds of the selection faded into the distance.
Finally, they stopped in a quiet courtyard. It was empty save for a single stone fountain, water trickling softly into its basin.
The man turned to face him.
"You're late." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
Ren tensed. "You—" He clenched his fists. "Who are you?"
The man studied him, then sighed. "I had hoped you would reach the Loom sooner. But I suppose things rarely go according to plan."
Ren felt his pulse quicken. "You sent the message."
A nod. "I did."
"Why?"
The man was silent for a long moment. Then:
"Because you're not meant to walk the path they will give you."
Ren's breath hitched.
The man stepped closer, folding his arms. "I know what you did at the ruins. I know what you are. And I also know that if you walk into that Academy as you are now, they will break you."
Ren stiffened. He had known the Academy was dangerous, but hearing the words spoken so plainly made it real.
"They'll test me," he said slowly. "If I fail, they'll—"
"Erase you." The man's voice was blunt. "They don't tolerate deviations."
Ren swallowed hard.
"So what do I do?"
For the first time, the man smiled. "You learn how to fake it."
Ren frowned. "Fake what?"
The man gestured. "Your power isn't like theirs. If they see it, they'll know. So you need to act like a proper Strandbearer. Learn to suppress your instincts. Weave as they do. Make them believe you're just another weak student."
Ren hesitated. "And you're going to teach me?"
The man nodded. "If you want to survive, yes."
Ren narrowed his eyes. "Why help me?"
The man chuckled. "Because you remind me of someone."
There was something sad in his voice, something Ren didn't understand.
Finally, the man straightened. "You have a choice. Walk into that selection trial alone, or let me teach you how to pass unnoticed. The choice is yours."
Ren didn't have to think long.
He met the man's gaze.
"Teach me."