Threads Entwined
The Grand Loomspire Academy's Great Hall was large enough to hold a thousand students, yet every inch buzzed with noise. Light streamed through stained-glass windows depicting the Pillars, their hues scattering across polished stone floors. Banners of the Seven Courts hung from the vaulted ceiling, each one radiating a faint aura that made the air shimmer.
Eryndor sat among the crowd, at the table for Threadlings—students too ordinary to claim a Court. Around him, whispers rose and fell.
"Did you see them?""Ardent's gauntlets—actual sunsteel!""Liora's eyes… the stars really shine in them.""Kael brought a direbeast! To the Academy!"
Every voice circled back to the Seven. Awe, envy, admiration—they dominated the room without even trying.
At the front, Headmaster Calvess, robed in white, raised his staff. The hum of voices stilled.
"Welcome, students, to the Grand Loomspire Academy," his voice rolled across the chamber, steady as the Loom itself. "Here, all threads are tested, all threads are measured. Whether heir of a Court or child of a farmer, you will stand equal in the weave."
Murmurs spread at his words, though most glanced toward the heirs anyway. Equal in the weave, perhaps—but some threads shone brighter.
Eryndor lowered his gaze. Equal? Not me.
The Headmaster continued, "You will learn, train, and live by your Courts. And once every moon, the Trials of Loomspire will test your worth. Rise, and you will climb. Fail, and you will unravel."
The room tensed. Some students clenched fists in determination. Others swallowed nervously.
A sharp laugh cut through the silence. Sylvi Quinn, hair like spun silver, leaned casually against her harp-bow. "Trials, rules, lectures—it all sounds like gambling with extra steps. I'll win either way."
Kael snorted, beast-like. "We'll see how your strings hold against claws."
Darius turned, his gaze like a judge's gavel. "Save your boasts for the arena. Words do not weigh fate."
Sylvi smirked at him, undeterred. "And yet, you always speak."
Tension sparked. Even before lessons began, the heirs were already circling, their destinies too large to ignore each other.
Liora sat silent, eyes veiled by her starlit blindfold, though Eryndor swore for a moment her gaze lingered on him. Coren placed a steadying hand on Kael's shoulder, quietly diffusing the fight before it escalated. Elenya scribbled rapidly in her living tome, recording every word as though it were a play unfolding just for her.
The Headmaster's staff struck the floor once more. "Enough. The Loom does not favor the loudest voice, nor the strongest arm. Remember this: your greatest rival may one day be your only shield."
The words settled like a warning, though most brushed them off.
The feast began, platters of steaming food arriving by unseen magic. Students laughed, argued, and made fast friends. The heirs remained at their tables, magnets of attention, their shadows stretching across the hall.
Eryndor ate quietly, unnoticed, as he preferred. Yet in the corner of his vision, the threads still trembled. The Loom's rhythm beat stronger here, tangled, pulling tighter.
And for the briefest moment, as torchlight flickered, he thought he saw it—shadows crawling at the edges of the hall, just beyond the banners.
The Null had followed him.