The Weaving Academy loomed ahead.
Ren kept his pace steady, blending in with the group of students. His heart still pounded from his escape, but he forced himself to remain neutral—calm, controlled, unreadable. Everything depended on this.
If the Weaving Order found him, he was dead.
The Academy was his best chance at hiding, learning, and surviving.
He had to make sure no one suspected him.
Especially Kara Dain.
Her sharp gaze lingered on him now and then, unreadable but too focused for his liking.
The Academy wasn't just a school—it was a city.
Towering spires stretched toward the sky, woven threads of golden energy wrapping around their edges. Bridges of pure light connected the buildings, shifting subtly as if responding to unseen movements in the Loom.
Ren forced himself not to stare.
The students around him barely reacted to the enchantments, but to him—who had only seen magic from the outside—this was something else entirely.
As they passed through the massive, arching gates, a pulse of energy washed over them.
It wasn't physical.
It was deeper.
Like a net of invisible threads brushing against his existence, searching.
Ren tensed.
The Ashen Shard inside him pulsed in response.
For a brief moment, he felt something hesitate.
Then—the sensation passed.
No alarms. No reaction.
Ren swallowed, keeping his expression still. A scanning ward? A security weave?
If so—he'd barely made it through.
The students were guided toward a grand courtyard, an open space lined with floating lanterns, their golden light flickering in response to the threads of fate in the air.
At the front, an instructor stood waiting.
Tall and draped in layered robes stitched with silver markings, he radiated authority. The air around him felt denser, as if reality itself was woven more tightly in his presence.
Ren's instincts screamed at him.
This man was dangerous.
The instructor's voice carried effortlessly across the courtyard.
"Welcome, new students, to the Weaving Academy." His tone was calm but firm. "Before you begin your formal studies, we must first determine your aptitude with the Loom."
Murmurs rippled through the students.
Ren kept his head down, listening carefully.
"This test will measure your natural ability to perceive and manipulate the threads of fate," the instructor continued. "You will each step forward and touch the Loomstone. It will respond to your affinity."
Ren's stomach dropped.
A test? This soon?!
His mind raced.
If the Loomstone reacted too strongly, he'd be noticed. If it reacted too weakly, he'd risk being removed from the Academy entirely.
He had to find a balance.
He had to pass—just barely.
One by one, the students stepped forward and placed their hands on the Loomstone.
It was a massive, obsidian slab, glowing faintly with threads of energy.
The first student—a nervous-looking boy—touched the stone.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—a soft, golden glow pulsed beneath his fingers.
The instructor nodded. "Strandbearer potential. Step to the left."
The next student—a confident-looking girl—stepped up.
The stone shone brighter this time, the threads twisting upward, wrapping around her hand.
The instructor's eyebrows raised slightly. "Weaver potential. Step to the right."
Ren's stomach tightened.
The pattern was clear.
A weak glow meant Strandbearer—the lowest rank.
A stronger one meant Weaver—a real mage.
Anything beyond that… was dangerous.
Kara Dain stepped forward.
Ren watched carefully.
She placed her hand on the Loomstone.
For a moment, the stone was silent.
Then—a sharp, intricate pattern flared across its surface, golden threads curling into complex shapes.
The instructor narrowed his eyes.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Kara pulled her hand away and stepped back, her expression neutral.
Ren clenched his fists.
Whatever that had been—it wasn't normal.
And if he made the Loomstone react in an unnatural way, Kara would notice.
The instructor's gaze lifted.
"Next."
Ren's heart pounded.
It was his turn.
He stepped forward.
The Loomstone pulsed, its presence pressing against his own threads.
Ren felt it searching.
It wasn't just measuring him—it was reaching into him, trying to pull at something deeper.
The Ashen Shard inside him burned faintly, resisting.
Ren clenched his teeth.
I can't let it read me too deeply.
Carefully, he loosened his grip on his own threads—just enough to let the Loomstone react.
He placed his hand on the surface.
For a second—nothing.
Then—a faint golden flicker.
The instructor studied him for a long moment.
A single pulse of dim light, weaker than most of the students before him.
Finally, the instructor nodded.
"Strandbearer potential. Step to the left."
Ren exhaled slowly, stepping back.
It was perfect. Just enough to pass—but weak enough to be ignored.
Or so he thought.
Ren barely had a moment to breathe before he felt another gaze on him.
Not Kara's.
Someone else.
A broad-shouldered boy with short, dark hair stood near the front of the group, arms crossed, green eyes sharp as he watched Ren move into the Strandbearer ranks.
Jorrik Tavren.
Ren didn't know much about him, but he already knew his type.
Jorrik's Loomstone test had shone far brighter than most, marking him as someone with real talent. And yet—his attention wasn't on himself.
It was on Ren.
Or more specifically—on Kara.
Jorrik's gaze flicked to her, lingering for just a second too long.
Then, his jaw tightened, and he turned back to Ren.
Realization hit Ren like a weight.
Jorrik wasn't just looking at him.
He was looking at Kara watching him.
And he didn't like it.
Ren fought the urge to sigh. He hadn't even been in the Academy for a full day, and he'd already made an unintentional enemy.
Jorrik was strong. Disciplined. One of the students most likely to advance past Strandbearer.
And now, he was watching Ren.
Not because he thought he was special.
But because he thought Ren didn't belong here at all.
And soon, he'd want to prove it.
Once the test was complete, the instructor addressed them again.
"Your journey at the Weaving Academy begins now," he said. "Strandbearers will begin foundational training immediately, learning to perceive the Loom properly."
He gestured toward the right. "Weavers will begin with structured lessons on weaving controlled fates. Those of particular talent may be invited to advanced study."
Then—his gaze swept over them.
"A word of warning," he added. "Those who cannot handle the training will be removed."
A few students visibly tensed.
Ren kept his expression still.
The Weaving Order ran this place.
This wasn't just a school.
It was a test of worth.
And anyone who didn't meet expectations?
Would disappear.