Chapter 12: Sparks and Stumbles
Morning crept into the broken temple through gaps in the roof, pale light slanting across stone and dust. The old ruin seemed to breathe with it, the air carrying a low hum that lingered in the bones, steady as a long held note, not loud, but constant enough that silence felt impossible.
Elias woke in that hum, ribs aching under Tamsin's tight bandages, lungs still tasting faintly of ash and mint. The healer had left him alive, but she hadn't left him soft, every breath reminded him he wasn't whole yet.
Rook was already up, padding between the toppled columns with his silver eyes flashing in the dim. His ears twitched at every whisper of draft, his nose flicked like he was hearing something deeper than sound, a rhythm threaded into the air. He wasn't a cub that morning. Not exactly. Something in the way he moved made Elias's chest tighten, as if the little beast was already growing beyond him.
Hale stood near the doorway sharpening his spear, Elvi sat cross legged with her bow unstrung across her knees, and Thorek hunched over a pile of scavenged iron, muttering to it as though it might answer back.
"On your feet," Hale said, voice low but steady. "We train or we die. Those are the choices in this forest."
Lysera had already prepared the lesson. She'd cleared a wide space before the cracked altar, sweeping the dust aside with one hand and drawing faint chalk lines into the floor, radiating outward like spokes on a wheel. A bowl of water sat in the center, a stub of candle beside it. Simple tools. Old lessons.
She looked at Elias and Noll, her expression unreadable but her tone sharp as drawn steel. "Today we start small. Spark and hold, no more. Control comes first. Always control."
Her gaze fixed hard on Elias. "And you, you will not cut unless you mean it. No reflex, no accident. Choose."
Noll came to stand beside Elias, his jaw set, his eyes bright the way boys' eyes get when they want to prove themselves faster than they're ready. Elvi leaned against a pillar, arms folded, quiet witness. Tamsin lingered close, hands already smudged with salve, ready to catch whichever fool set himself on fire. Thorek tried to look like he wasn't paying attention, but his big hands had stilled over the iron scraps. Hale watched from the doorway, because someone had to keep guard, though his ears were with them all the same.
Lysera knelt and placed her hand above the candle wick. Her breath slowed. Elias felt the air thicken, the hum at her fingertips gathering like water drawn into a single drop. A thin thread of light glimmered across her knuckles. The wick caught, and a flame bloomed, steady and small, no smoke, no flare.
"You begin with breath," she said, her voice as calm as the flame. "Not with hunger. Not with fear. Breath opens the hand. The Thread answers when it is invited, not when it is dragged."
She pinched the flame out with wet fingers. Ripples ran across the bowl of water and faded. She stood and gestured to Noll. "You first."
Noll knelt, too eager. He inhaled fast, shoulders tight, and shoved at the wick with all the force of wanting. Sparks spat in his palm and fizzled. He yelped and shook his hand, palm red.
"Again," Lysera said, not unkind, but without softness. "Slower, listen, like hearing a feather drop on stone."
Noll bit his lip, tried again. The sparks came slower, faint, and slipped away. No flame. But Lysera gave him the smallest nod. "Better, you'll try again tonight, patience."
Then her eyes turned to Elias.
He crouched before the bowl, ribs aching. The hum pressed against his skin, waiting. His hands knew what to do, or thought they did. Soldier's instincts leaned into the current the way his body leaned into a trigger or a spear thrust. He felt the balance holding the wick quiet against the room's breath, a net of tension, tiny and delicate. His instincts screamed to pluck it, to snap it, to unravel the whole thing so it couldn't trap him.
He forced his jaw tight, slowed his breath. Four counts in. Hold. Four out. He pictured static on a radio back home, the dial notched just between stations, noise turning into a tone if you held still. Don't pull. Don't break. Just hold.
Warmth flared in his palm. The wick trembled. A thin flame caught, fragile but stubborn, wavering but alive. Elias steadied his breath and the flame steadied with it.
Noll's mouth fell open. Even Elvi lifted her head, eyes narrowing.
Lysera only nodded. "Good. But remember, this isn't victory. It's restraint. You'll do it again, and again, until your hand learns to hold instead of tear."
Elias let out his breath and pinched the wick, watching smoke curl up and vanish. He nodded once, though his gut twisted. It hadn't felt like control. It had felt like walking with a loaded weapon in his hand and trying not to fire.
Lysera moved next, chalking two parallel lines on the floor, ten paces long. "Walk," she told Elias. "Heel to toe. Slow. Keep the hum steady. If you feel it snag, don't break it. Lift. Place. Again. This is how you learn to live without tearing every thread you touch."
Noll's task was different: spear drills, basic form. "Slow. Perfect. Not fast, not sloppy. Perfect." Elvi rose from her seat, bow in hand, and smirked. "I'll bruise him if he cheats."
Noll swallowed hard and set his feet.
Elias began walking the chalk lane, eyes half closed. The temple's hum crawled across his skin, not loud, but constant, carrying little breaks and scars in the stone where time had split it. His boot brushed one such seam and the hum twanged sharp in his bones. His instincts screamed to cut, to tear it clean. He stopped, lifted, and set his foot softer. Let the snag slide past. His chest eased.
He walked to the end of the lane, turned, and came back slower. Rook padded at his side, mirroring his steps without looking up, his paws silent, his silver eyes bright.
From the corner, Thorek muttered, "Like walking through a forge stacked with spring traps. One wrong step and the whole place sings."
"Then learn the right steps," Hale said without looking up from his spear.
Elias walked again, slower still, and this time his shoulders didn't tense when he crossed a seam. He breathed. Four in. Hold. Four out. Control.
When he finished, Tamsin shoved a clay cup into his hand. The tea was bitter and green, and Elias grimaced. "Drink," she said, "or I'll stitch your lips together next time you bleed. And don't look at me like you think I'm joking."
He drank.
By dusk, the day had been a grind of walking lanes, pinching flames, holding threads without cutting them, and correcting Noll's clumsy spear work. The boy tripped, swore, laughed, and tried again, his stubbornness a flame of its own. Elias ruffled his hair once after he held a form steady for ten full breaths, and Noll ducked away red-faced but smiling.
When the drills ended, they ate flatbread warmed on stone and a smear of something Tamsin swore counted as cheese. Elvi told a story about a patrol that woke to find all their boots missing, and even Hale chuckled once, which shocked the others into silence for a moment before the laughter came easy.
Later, Elias sat with his back to a column, Rook curled at his side. The cub's warmth pressed against his ribs, the silver of his eyes catching the candle stubs like stars.
"We'll learn it," Elias whispered, voice rough but steady. "Not just how to cut. How to hold. How to stand without breaking everything we touch."
Rook's tail thumped once. Agreement, or just comfort. Elias closed his eyes, let the hum of the temple wrap around him, and for the first time since Ashvale, he let himself believe it might be possible.
The next morning broke with fog curling low across the Thornveil, its pale tendrils slipping through cracks in the temple's walls. Inside, the air hummed steady, softer than the chaos beyond, as if the ruin itself stood against the forest's madness.
Elias rose with the others, sore but steadier, his ribs no longer screaming with every breath. Rook trotted at his heels, nose twitching, tail low but calm. Noll already had a spear in hand, his eyes carrying that tired but determined fire.
Lysera stood by the altar, chalk already drawn into new patterns. This time, a ring of concentric circles, each one tighter than the last. In the center, a pebble rested on a thread balanced between two pegs, thin as hair.
"Today we push further," she said. "Balance, then flow. Elias, you must learn to hold without tearing. Noll, you must coax a spark to last longer than a heartbeat. And both of you must learn rhythm. Without rhythm, weaving is chaos."
She stepped back and folded her arms.
Noll knelt first. He breathed too fast, shoulders still tight, but Elias reached over and tapped his arm.
"Slow it down. Four counts. Like a march. In… hold… out. Match me."
Noll blinked, then nodded. They breathed together. One. Two. Three. Four. Noll's hand steadied, sparks flickered in his palm, and this time a tiny flame caught on the wick. It wavered, nearly collapsed, but he clenched his jaw and held it for three breaths before it winked out.
He exhaled hard, sweat at his temple.
"Better," Lysera said. "It lasted."
Noll grinned despite himself. "Told you I could."
Elvi, lounging against a pillar, smirked. "Careful. If you set your eyebrows on fire, I'm not plucking them for you."
Noll flushed, but he didn't lose the grin.
Elias stepped to the pebble and placed two fingers against the taut thread. The hum in his bones answered at once, sharp and clear. Every instinct screamed to break it. To unravel the seam and let the pebble fall. His chest tightened, breath wanting to snap like a pulled trigger.
He forced his shoulders down, his breath steady. Four in. Hold. Four out.
The thread vibrated under his touch, trembling like a plucked string. He didn't pull. He didn't cut. He matched it. Let it buzz until his breath found the same pitch.
The pebble stayed balanced. The bowl of water beneath it didn't ripple.
Lysera's eyes narrowed, but there was approval in them. "Good. Again. Longer this time."
Elias nodded, jaw tight. It was harder than holding a rifle steady in a firefight. Harder than aiming when your hands already shook. But he did it. Again. And again. Until his palm ached and sweat slicked his brow.
When he pulled his hand away, the thread still hummed faintly, but the pebble hadn't moved.
"That's enough for now," Lysera said.
Thorek clapped once, grin splitting his soot-streaked face. "By the Forge, soldier, you'll be steady enough to hold a forge bellows with one finger before long."
"Or crush it by accident," Tamsin muttered, tossing Elias a clay cup of water.
Elias drank deep, the cool mint taste biting his tongue.
The day wore on in drills. Noll lit his wick flame four times, each one lasting longer than the last. He whooped when one held for ten whole breaths, only to fumble and douse it with his sleeve. Elvi laughed until she nearly dropped her bowstring.
Elias walked the chalk lanes again, his steps softer, smoother. The hum still snagged at him, still whispered to be cut, but he resisted. He learned to let it slide. To let it sing without tearing it apart.
By dusk, his whole body ached like he'd fought a battle. But for the first time, he felt progress. Not mastery, but the beginning of it.
That night, they gathered by the fire in the nave. The air smelled of flatbread and smoke.
Noll sprawled on his back, groaning. "My hands feel like I've been holding fire all day."
"Because you have," Tamsin said, smirking into her tea.
"Better than holding a shovel," Noll muttered.
Elias chuckled low. "You'll live. If your grip's sore, it means you're training right. Tomorrow it'll hurt less. Or more. Either way, you'll still be standing."
Noll shot him a look somewhere between annoyance and admiration. "Easy for you to say, you make it look like breathing."
"Doesn't feel like it," Elias said honestly. "Feels like trying not to break glass with every step."
Lysera glanced at him from across the fire. "That is exactly what it is. Control is not strength. It's restraint."
Her gaze lingered on him longer than the others, sharp as ice. Elias held it for a beat, then looked back to the fire.
Later, when the others drifted to their bedrolls, Elias remained awake. The temple hummed low, constant. He sat with his spear across his knees, Rook pressed against his side.
He whispered to the cub. "One step at a time. One thread at a time. We'll learn to hold before we learn to cut."
Rook's silver eyes blinked up at him. The cub gave a low huff, resting his head on Elias's leg.
Elias let out a breath, his body aching, but his chest steadier than it had been in days. He wasn't whole. He wasn't ready. But he was learning.
And for the first time, he believed he could.
The third day in the temple began with rain, a steady hiss against the broken roof. Droplets slipped through cracks and fell into stone basins with soft plinks, the sound blending with the temple's hum until it seemed like the ruin itself was keeping rhythm.
Lysera wasted no time. She had them back at the altar, chalk redrawn, a fresh wick ready.
"This morning, you don't spark alone," she said. "You spark together. Two hands, one flame. If either of you falters, it breaks."
Noll groaned. "That's cruel."
"It's survival," Lysera replied.
Elias and Noll knelt opposite each other, the wick between them. Their hands hovered above it, palms open.
"Breathe," Elias said quietly. "Four in, hold, four out. Match me."
Noll swallowed and nodded. Their breaths aligned, not perfectly, but close enough. Sparks flickered between their palms, hesitant, unsure. The wick twitched, then caught. A flame rose, wavering under the push and pull of two uneven rhythms.
Noll's brow furrowed, sweat beading at his temple. Elias steadied his breathing, slower, deeper, until Noll unconsciously mirrored him. The flame steadied too, small but bright.
They held it for five breaths, then six, then seven before Noll's concentration broke and the flame died.
He cursed softly. Elias ruffled his hair without thinking. "Better than yesterday."
Noll ducked his head, embarrassed, but a grin slipped through anyway.
Lysera gave a single nod. "Again."
By the third attempt, they held the flame for ten full breaths. When it finally winked out, Noll slumped back, gasping. Elias sat straighter, tired but steady.
"Good," Lysera said. "You learn to hold together, you learn to fight together. Remember that."
The next exercise was harder. Lysera led Elias back to the chalk lanes, but this time she scattered pebbles across the path. "Walk the lane," she instructed, "but don't disturb the stones. The Loom will test you. It always does."
Elias started slow, heel to toe, eyes half shut, sensing the hum beneath his feet. Each pebble was a snag in the rhythm, a flaw waiting to trip him. His instincts screamed to cut them away, to snap every thread and walk on smooth ground.
He didn't. He adjusted, shifted his weight, placed his foot softer. One pebble wobbled but didn't fall. Another stayed still. He breathed steady, sweat running down his spine, until he reached the end without a stone moving.
When he turned back, Lysera's eyes were sharper, measuring. "Better. But you lean too hard on instinct. Control it, or it will control you."
Elias grunted. "Working on it."
Rook padded the lane after him, paws silent, as if to prove how easy it could be. Elias chuckled low, shaking his head. "Show-off."
By evening, they were spent. Noll's palms were blistered from failed sparks, Elias's whole body hummed with strain, and even Rook looked weary, tail dragging low.
The squad gathered around the brazier, its glow warm against the damp stone. Flatbread and dried meat passed from hand to hand. Thorek grumbled about the rain ruining his forgework, Hale sharpened his spear in silence, and Elvi hummed an old tune under her breath.
Noll lay on his back, staring at the cracked ceiling. "it still feels like I've been trying to hold fire with my bare hands all day."
"It will feel that way for awhile still," Tamsin said, not looking up from the herbs she was grinding.
Noll groaned louder. "Better than mucking fields, I guess."
Elias smirked. "And you don't stink like a stable after, so count it as progress."
Elvi snorted, and even Hale's mouth twitched at the corner.
The laughter didn't last long. A sound carried in through the rain, distant, faint, but clear. A low, warbling howl, rising and falling, not wolf, not natural. The kind of sound that crawled under skin.
Everyone stilled. Rook's ears pricked, his silver eyes flashing. He growled low, hackles lifting.
Lysera's hand went to her crossbow. "Threadbeasts," she said quietly.
Hale stood, jaw tight. "They're close."
The howling faded, swallowed by the rain and the trees, but the silence that followed was heavier than before.
"We hold here tonight," Hale decided. "The walls are strong enough. But we keep watch."
No one argued.
Later, when the others settled into uneasy sleep, Elias sat awake by the dying fire. His spear lay across his knees, the etchings on its head catching faint light. Rook pressed against his side, growling soft in his sleep, dreaming of whatever hunted the dark outside.
Elias stared at the flames until only embers remained. His hands ached from restraint, his body from training, but for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like he was drowning. He felt… sharpened. Bruised, exhausted, but sharper than before.
He thought of Ava then, her laugh light and sudden, the way she'd run across red dirt with paint on her hands. He thought of Alabama's sun, the sand of deployment, the last child he'd pulled from fire before darkness took him.
And he whispered into the hum of the Loom, voice too low for anyone to hear.
"One thread at a time. I'll hold. I'll cut when I must. But I'll hold first."
The temple hummed back, steady, unbroken.