Ren moved through the halls of the Weaving Academy, doing his best to memorize his surroundings without looking like he was trying too hard.
The halls were lined with silver-etched pillars, their surfaces inscribed with flowing script—woven fates, embedded directly into stone.
Every step he took felt heavy, as though the Loom itself pressed against him here, watching.
He was in.
Now, he had to stay in.
The first class was held in a vast, circular room, with tiered seating arranged around a central platform.
The ceiling wasn't solid stone. Instead, it shifted and wove itself, threads of golden light weaving patterns in the air.
Ren took a seat toward the back, keeping his head low.
Other students chatted around him, but Ren's attention was on two people.
Kara Dain, seated near the front, her posture straight, her gaze sharp. She hadn't spoken to him again since the Loomstone test, but she had looked at him—just once. That was enough to tell Ren she still wasn't convinced.
Jorrik Tavren, sitting comfortably near the middle, laughing with two other students. His confidence was evident—the kind of confidence that came from knowing you belonged.
Ren, on the other hand?
He didn't belong anywhere.
He needed to watch. Learn. Adapt.
Because in this room, he was the weakest student.
Or at least—that's what they needed to believe.
A figure appeared at the front of the room, not stepping forward, but forming—
As if reality itself had simply decided he should be there.
Ren felt his stomach tighten.
The instructor was an older man, his robes dark, but woven with hundreds of fine silver threads—each one shifting subtly, as if rewriting itself constantly.
His presence was heavy.
"Welcome to Weaving Fundamentals," the man said, his voice smooth but commanding.
"My name is Instructor Rylis. Some of you may be aware of my past as a combat Weaver. Others may have read my research on layered fate-binding. I do not care. What matters is that you are here, and most of you will fail."
The murmurs in the room stilled.
Ren kept his face blank.
"The Weaving Academy exists to cultivate those who can serve the Loom," Rylis continued. "You are here to strengthen the strands of fate, to reinforce the natural order."
He lifted a hand.
The very air shifted, threads of gold and silver bending toward him.
"Magic is a crude term. This is not magic. This is reality itself—structured, controlled, reinforced."
The threads formed a sphere in his palm, glowing faintly.
"This is Weaving."
Then, he snapped his fingers.
The sphere collapsed inward—
And the space where it had existed was simply gone.
Ren stiffened.
It hadn't vanished. It had been unwoven.
Rylis lowered his hand.
"The strongest Weavers do not create. We correct. We ensure that what was always meant to happen, happens. Without interference."
His gaze swept across the room.
"If you seek to alter fate, you will fail."
Rylis motioned to the air in front of them, and a shimmering veil of threads became visible—like a massive, unseen tapestry had just been revealed.
"Each of you will learn to touch the Loom properly," he said. "Extend your awareness outward. Feel the strands that weave this very moment into being."
The students began closing their eyes, focusing.
Ren hesitated.
He had already felt the Loom. Not just touched it—he had pulled at it, broken it, fused his own fate with something unnatural.
If he did this the wrong way, someone would notice.
So he faked it.
He exhaled, letting his mind barely skim the surface of the threads around him—just enough to feel their presence, but not enough to manipulate them.
A faint golden thread curled into view before him.
He did nothing.
Around him, other students murmured in excitement. Some managed to make a single thread glow brighter, others barely saw anything at all.
Jorrik grinned, already drawing a thin strand into his palm.
Kara?
Ren risked a glance.
She was completely still.
But the threads around her moved on their own, curling toward her as if recognizing her presence.
Ren forced himself to look away.
That wasn't normal.
And if he could tell—then she could tell when something wasn't normal about him.
The lesson ended, and students filed out, talking amongst themselves.
Ren moved carefully, making sure to avoid drawing attention.
Then—a voice.
"You held back."
Ren turned, his stomach tightening.
Kara stood behind him, her sharp eyes unreadable.
Ren forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "What?"
"You barely interacted with the Loom at all," Kara said. "And yet, you passed the test yesterday without struggle."
Ren shrugged. "Maybe I'm just not that talented."
Kara tilted her head slightly. "Or maybe you're hiding something."
Silence.
Ren met her gaze. Steady. Calm. Unshaken.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said flatly.
Kara watched him for a moment longer—too long.
Then—she smirked.
"Maybe not." She turned away. "See you in the next lesson, Ren."
Ren exhaled slowly.
She wasn't convinced.
But at least, for now—she hadn't pushed further.
Still, this was dangerous.
He couldn't afford to keep faking.
If he was going to survive here, he needed to train.
And not just the way the Academy wanted him to.
The hidden training had to begin.