Lessons in Power
The training grounds of the Grand Loomspire Academy stretched farther than Eryndor had ever imagined. Stone circles layered upon stone circles, each one warded with glowing runes to contain the force of spellwork. Targets of enchanted wood stood waiting, etched with glyphs to absorb whatever the students threw at them.
Hundreds of students gathered, the air alive with excitement and nerves. Loomwardens—seasoned masters robed in the colors of their Courts—watched from raised platforms.
"Today," thundered Master Jareth of Flame, "you will demonstrate. The Loom sings differently through every thread, and the Academy must hear your voices. Show us your strength—show us your control."
The heirs were called first. No one doubted it.
Ardent Valen strode forward, fire already dancing along his gauntlets. His strike hit the dummy with a roar like a forge exploding. The wood cracked, molten lines glowing across its surface. The crowd erupted in cheers.
"Try not to burn the Academy down," Sylvi drawled, but when her turn came, she plucked a single string on her harp-bow. The note shimmered—and three arrows of light flew, piercing the target so cleanly it didn't even splinter. The applause was just as loud.
Kael Rhoric stepped up next, his direbeast stalking beside him. With a command, the beast lunged, ripping into the target before it vanished into mist. Kael grinned, teeth bared.
Then came Liora Deyra. She did not walk—she glided, stars glimmering faintly around her. She raised her staff, blindfold lifted, and eyes that burned like constellations opened. A beam of starlight descended, splitting the dummy in two with terrifying precision. Silence followed, then thunderous clapping.
One by one, the heirs took their turns. Darius's halberd cut with such precision that the target fell apart silently into equal pieces. Elenya's tome whispered, glyphs spilling out to bind the target in chains of memory. Coren struck last, his Bastion Blade crashing down with protective force—shattering the ground yet keeping every bystander perfectly safe.
Each heir was spectacle incarnate. Awe, envy, and fear rippled through the gathered students.
Then came the Threadlings.
Most fumbled—sparks that fizzled, arrows that missed, incantations that barely stirred the target. Some laughed, others grimaced.
When his name was called, Eryndor stepped forward. His chest tightened. He could not reveal himself. Not here.
He raised his hand, let the Loom flicker weakly at his fingertips, and cast the most basic light-glow every Loomling child knew. The dummy did not even twitch.
A few students chuckled."Another Threadling.""Pathetic."
The Loomwarden only nodded and moved on.
Eryndor returned to his place, relief and shame battling inside him. He had hidden his power, but the Loom within him throbbed furiously, begging to be released.
Patience, he told himself. Not yet.
The demonstrations ended. Students broke into chatter, rivals already forming, alliances whispered.
That was when Eryndor saw it.
A shadow slithering across the farthest training ring. It didn't move with the sun, nor with torchlight. It stretched like spilled ink, twisting, curling unnaturally. For an instant, the sounds around it dulled—the laughter, the voices, the clatter of boots—all muted, as if silence itself had taken root.
No one else noticed. Not the Loomwardens, not the heirs, not the crowd.
Only him.
Eryndor's heartbeat quickened. The Loom inside him shuddered, threads snapping taut in warning.
He slipped away from the dispersing students, moving along the outer wall. The shadow writhed, retreating toward the edge of the wards. His steps were careful, quiet, as if the thing could hear.
At the far corner of the training grounds, the air grew colder. The runes etched into the wardstones flickered weakly, their glow unstable. Eryndor knelt, pressing his palm to the stone. He felt it immediately—the silence bleeding through, the unnatural tug of unraveling threads.
The Null.
It had followed them inside.
Eryndor's breath hitched. If the wards were compromised here, the Academy wasn't as safe as everyone believed. He glanced back at the other students, laughing and boasting, unaware.
His fingers tightened on the stone. I can't tell them. Not yet. They'd only ask why I'm the one who sees it.
The shadow recoiled suddenly, slipping back into the cracks of the ward. The warmth of the training grounds returned, voices filling the air again.
To everyone else, nothing had happened.
Eryndor straightened, forcing his face calm as students passed by, oblivious. But inside, the Loom within him trembled violently.
The Academy was not untouched.The Null had already found its way in.
And he was the only one who knew.