I'm home.
As I walked inside and reached for the stairs, a voice came from my side.
"Oh, Vynn, you've arrived! Have a seat."
I turned my head and saw a figure sitting elegantly across from me—my mother, Victoria Zane.
She had blonde hair, a sharp face, and slightly narrow eyes that held a gentle, warm light. She wore a long black traditional dress, strange white symbols etched along the fabric.
"Oh, Vynn, you're late! Did you get extra lessons from Miss Anies again?"
I grabbed a chair from the side and settled in front of my mother.
"Yeah. She's relentlessly determined that I must study and develop my soul thread."
"Well, you must do that, if that's what you desire."
"I know I look clumsy and all, but I'm determined to develop my power."
She lifted her cup of tea and took a small sip. The firewood crackled, filling the room with warmth.
"Good," she said. "I have high hopes for you. I know you'll do many great things for this kingdom."
I chuckled a little at her words. "Stop joking, Mother. You know me very well."
She laughed softly. "Yes, I do. I've watched you grow up, after all. So, tell me—how was your day at the academy?"
"Same old routine. Nothing new. Teachers are a pain in the ass. I did catch up with Laya and Lark before coming home, though."
She smiled when I said their names. "They're good kids. I'm surprised they've managed to stay your friends for so long."
"Yeah, they're the only ones I find interesting. Honestly, I'm a little surprised myself."
"You seem to like the books I gave you. Perhaps I shouldn't have," she teased.
My mother loves books about psychology and human behavior. She's always encouraged me to read them with her. Ever since I was young—ever since people started bullying me about my vessel—I've been learning about people and their ways.
As I rose to leave, she said something that caught me off guard.
"Oh, Vynn, I forgot to tell you—your uncle is coming home for dinner tonight."
"What? Why is he coming?" He rarely comes home. He, my brother, and my sisters are usually at the front lines because of the long‑standing tension between Demorai and Vaylen.
"Did he say why?" I asked.
"No, but from what I gather, it's probably to see you."
"Why? He just sees me as a disappointment to the family. Why would he want to see me?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask him yourself."
"Alright, Mother. I'm going to my room."
Why is he coming? I don't like seeing my family. Well, I guess I have to face him after all. Sigh.
****
At the family table, my mother and I sat across from each other. The dining table had been set by my mother herself. She usually didn't handle such things—our maid, Sera, did—but today she'd taken the time to arrange everything. Maybe she was happy to see Uncle after so long. Or maybe she wanted to ease the tension for me.
Finally, the gate opened, and my uncle arrived.
He wasn't muscular, but his black hair had a peculiar sheen to it that always stood out. He wore his usual military attire. His dark eyes, so much like mine, softened slightly as he gently removed his cloak and sat at the table.
"How's your work going, Lane?" my mother asked.
"Nothing new, sister," he began, then stopped himself with a slight smile. "Forgive me—old habits. Nothing new, my lady."
Their relationship was strange like that. Uncle Lane always corrected himself and addressed Mother with the formal title after that first slip. It was some old Zane custom I'd never fully understood. I always thought it was just their way of showing respect.
He turned his gaze to me.
"How are you, Vynn? The last time I saw you was about four months ago. I was on the front lines, discussing issues with the emperor and the Ascendants."
The Ascendants—the eight most powerful people in the kingdom—held both military and martial supremacy. They were ranked from the First Seat of Ascendants to the Eighth, all of them generals of unmatched skill.
"Oh, Lane, let's stop the military talk for now," my mother interrupted.
My uncle gave her a small nod. I didn't understand how someone with such an intimidating aura could soften so completely in front of my mother. Then he turned back to me.
"So, Vynn, how are you?"
"I'm fine," I said nonchalantly.
"How's your preparation for the Threadspire coming along?"
I hate that topic.
"It's coming along well, I guess," I muttered, trying to finish my dinner as quickly as possible.
Seeing my uncle here sparked an idea. He'd been through countless selections and campaigns. He would know what Threadspire truly tested. If I could get even a hint of what to expect—any advantage at all…
"Uncle, I want to ask you something."
Lane put down his fork and turned toward me. "Go on. Ask what you want."
"Well, I was hoping you could give me a vague idea of when Threadspire will take place this year—or at least what kind of events it will include."
Uncle Lane went silent for a moment, staring straight at me. The room grew still until a soft voice broke the silence.
"Vynn, you know you can't ask that of your uncle," my mother said.
"No, it's alright," he replied. "Let me tell him. I'll give you a single piece of advice: start preparing now. Otherwise, you will be dead."
He picked up his knife and fork again, cutting into the meat on his plate. The blade struck the plate with a sharp clink as he spoke.
"Work hard, Vynn. Your mother and I have high hopes for you, even though you weren't born with great talent like your sisters or your brother.
You can still become a good minister or tactician like me. I can guide you in that regard, in addition to the basic maneuvers I've already taught you—"
"Uncle." I cut him off, taking a long breath to steady myself.
"I know my limits. You don't have to worry about me. And as for being a tactician, you don't have to worry about that either. I'll tell you if I'm interested."
I finished my meal as quickly as I could and left the table.
Uncle Lane watched me go.
Vynn never liked me, he thought. But that was to be expected. I'd barely been there when he was growing up—or rather, I'd knowingly pushed his boundaries away.
Lane rose from his chair and looked at Victoria.
"Shall we go?"
"Of course, Lane. We have much to catch up on. Events are moving abruptly—we need to prepare."
I walked into my room and opened the window. The moon stared back, cold and indifferent. My uncle's words circled in my head like flies.
I dropped onto my bed and stared up at the cracks in the ceiling.
My whole life, people have decided what I am. Weak threadling. The one who won't progress. They never ask what I want. What I could be.
It's like fate itself has condemned me from moving forward. To advance, you need soul threads—but I just can't sense them.
I looked inward at my vessel. The core shone crystal clear, with physical threads condensing in neat white spirals.
Pretty.
Useless.
I'm still stuck while everyone else climbs ranks.
Weak. That's what I am in their eyes—a weak person who just dreams big.
But what's wrong with thinking big? If I can't even hold on to that little bit of ambition, then I really am weak.
And if that's true… then I deserve it. I should just accept that I'm weak.
But there's one problem with being weak.
I will forever be chained by the cursed chains of fate. My whole life will always be decided by people above me. That is the crux of everything. I can't be free. I can't be me.
I clenched my fist and focused on my vessel.
I don't want to be weak. I don't want to be a failure. They're not going to take away my ambition.
They're not going to take away my identity.
I will continue to move forward on my own terms.
If I die because I chose my ambition, then so be it. I'll have no regrets.
Living a comfortable life shaped by others' judgment is far worse than living on my own terms. After all, that's what makes me human.
That's what makes me, me.