When we arrived, a sleek female figure was already waiting for us at the entrance.
"Oh? Someone's early," she said, her tone bright with amusement. "Looks like you guys are fired up as well."
She stood with relaxed confidence, her weight shifted slightly to one leg. Her fiery orange hair flowed freely, streaked with deep red highlights.
The contrast made her impossible to ignore with her baby-like face. Her hands bore faint scars, old and uneven, though they were hastily concealed beneath the skintight combat suit she wore. The suit hugged her frame closely, reinforced with several metal plates along the forearms and shoulders.
"As a bonus," she continued, gesturing toward the sealed doors behind her, "I'll let you choose your Looms first."
She paused mid-sentence. "Oh. I forgot to introduce myself. Or maybe I should save that for later when everyone is here?"
She tilted her head, considering it for half a second. "Nah. Forget it."
"I'm Zmey Drakemont," she said, flashing a sharp grin. "I'll be your instructor for Weaver Combat Prep."
She clapped her hands once, the sound echoing faintly across the open space. "So what are you waiting for? Oh! And don't forget to grab a Loom storage device of your choice and register it at the terminal before heading outside. Skip that step, and you'll be branded a thief. The armory defense lockdown will activate immediately."
Her smile widened. "Take advantage of this moment. Go inside and grab what you need before everyone else shows up and starts competing over it."
Tasora and I exchanged a glance before stepping inside.
The moment the armory doors slid open, we both stopped short.
The interior was vast, far larger than the building's exterior suggested. Rows of weapon platforms extended outward in precise formations, each suspended by soft, glowing magnetic fields.
Blades hovered perfectly balanced in midair. Staves pulsed with energy. Hybrid weapons blended metal, crystal, and circuitry so seamlessly that it was difficult to tell where magic ended and technology began.
Holographic panels floated beside every rack, cycling through data streams that listed thrum efficiency, compatibility ratings, synchronization difficulty, and Weaver class optimization. Some Looms reacted subtly to our presence, faint vibrations rippling through the air, as if testing whether we were worthy of holding them.
Looms were described in the novel as extensions of a Weaver's body. In earlier generations, they were mostly staves that assisted with spellcasting and mana stabilization. As technology advanced and Weaver classifications diversified, Looms evolved alongside them. Modern hybrid Looms enhanced casting precision while also serving as a Weaver's primary combat weapon, fully integrated with both mana flow and neural response systems.
Tasora wasted no time. She headed straight for the sword section. After only a brief scan, she reached out and selected a broad sword with a sleek, streamlined blade. Subtle teal lines ran along its surface, glowing faintly as the weapon synchronized with her core.
I remained where I was, weighing my options.
Right now, my combat leaned heavily toward close quarters. Knuckles and reinforced boots suited that approach perfectly. In the future, I also plan to branch into ranged attacks as well. That narrowed my choice significantly.
There was only one Loom that made sense.
I looked at the floating gloves with chains attached to them. The floating hologram named it "Laedingr".
I recognized it immediately. In the novel, this Loom belonged to an ichor weaver from Class 1 C, someone who briefly stood out during the semestral ranking calibration. At the time, her performance had been impressive enough to draw attention, yet her role quietly faded once the story reached its second year. After that, she barely appeared, her presence reduced to passing mentions, then nothing at all in the later arcs.
I ran through the implications in my head. She had no pivotal scenes tied to major plot points.
Considering her overall importance, or lack of it, taking this Loom felt safe. It would not ripple into any critical butterfly effects. The story would remain intact, its course unchanged. If anything, the Loom would finally see proper use in my hands.
Or at least, that was the conclusion I settled on as I reached out and claimed it.
Once the decision was settled, I moved.
I slipped on a pair of black gloves with a faint gray hue. Attached to them were compact jet black chains, folded tightly along reinforced arm guards that extended up to an elbow plate. I flexed my arm, and the chains burst outward in a sharp metallic whisper, extending freely through the air. When I relaxed, they retracted instantly, folding back into the arm guard as if pulled by an unseen force.
Satisfied, I turned toward the storage options and chose a ring.
At the terminal, I placed my hand against the scanner. A soft blue light swept across my face, followed by a deeper pulse that resonated briefly with my core. The system verified identity, thrum signature, and Loom authorization in rapid succession before confirming successful registration.
Tasora selected a ring as well.
With everything secured, we stepped back outside together, Looms bound and ready, just ahead of the rest of the class.
I slid the ring onto the middle finger of my right hand.
The gloves responded instantly.
They dissolved into fine motes of light, breaking apart as if reduced to dust, then streamed inward and were absorbed by the black pearl embedded in the ring. The surface of the pearl rippled once, swallowing the glow entirely.
I nodded to myself, genuinely satisfied with the boon.
Tasora tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied my hand. "Are you an ichor weaver, Matt."
The question caught me off guard for half a beat.
Technically, she was my master. With that in mind, hiding it served no real purpose.
"Nope," I replied. "Astute. Blue colored core."
Her brow furrowed immediately. "Then why did you pick gloves."
Astute weavers were meant for complex spell structures. Precision casting. Layered formulas. High firepower and versatility through refined release, not raw contact, making use of their heightened computational speed and awareness. Gloves were typically for physical users. Ichor weavers the reinforcement specialists.
I shrugged. "Firepower is already covered."
That much was true.
"And you already know I am still basically a baby," I continued. "I cannot transmute my thrum yet. Until I can do that properly, I do not have a choice. Gloves made for physical users are the only reliable output method I have."
Tasora stared at me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So that's why you were fighting me that way. Now it makes sense."
She paused, then added, "Oh yeah. Want to practice that."
I blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah, just for a bit before everyone arrives," she said casually.
"Alright."
We sat down on one of the stone benches lining the edge of Zone D. I rested my elbows on my knees and closed my eyes, focusing inward.
I drew thrum up from my core, guiding it toward my palm, trying to release it directly without any intermediary. The sensation was familiar, like pressure building behind a sealed valve.
I opened my hand.
Nothing.
I tried again. And again.
The pressure rose each time, then dispersed uselessly around my hand.
As expected.
I let out a quiet breath. "Still no good."
Tasora hummed thoughtfully. "Then try it with your Loom."
I glanced at her.
"It is a crutch," she continued, "yet I think it is better if you feel it succeed once. If you ingrain that sensation into your mind, you can try to replicate it later without assistance."
That made sense.
"Alright," I said.
I channeled thrum through the ring and muttered "Laedingr."
The black pearl warmed, responding immediately. Light spilled out, thin and controlled, coating my hand and forearm in a web of particles. The glow intensified, layering itself, until the particles locked together.
The glove formed.
The weight settled comfortably around my hand, familiar already. I flexed my fingers once.
"Alright," I muttered. "Here goes."
I drew thrum from my core again, this time guiding it through the established pathway the Loom provided. I traced the line from my head, down my spine, through my shoulder, and into my palm.
It resisted at first.
Then I saw it.
A faint bluish hue hovered just above my palm's skin, barely visible, like mist under moonlight.
"Oh," Tasora said, eyes lighting up. "Nice job. You actually did that on your first try."
I stared at my palm, heart thudding slightly faster.
So this was what it feels like.
I inhaled slowly and began planning my intent.
"Step back a bit," I told her.
She noticed the shift immediately and complied without question, moving further down the bench and sitting at a safe distance.
It was mostly a courtesy. Even if I lost control completely and struck her head on like last time, she would be fine. Still, angering her again was not ideal.
I do not want to be a human pinball again.
I raised my hand and pointed my palm forward.
Good.
Maintain the flow.
I stabilized the release, then constructed a second line, weaving enhancement into the structure. Protection for my hand. Reinforcement for recoil.
Lastly.
I focused outward.
I exerted my authority on the expelled thrum, clamping down on it and forcing it to explode.
I braced myself.
"Bzzzztshhhhh..."
A soft fizzing sound escaped my palm, followed by a weak burst of blue light that dissipated almost immediately.
I blinked.
"Huh," I muttered.
The output was laughably small.
"That is weird," I said slowly. "Why is the firepower drastically lower?..."