The North Tower at midnight was a graveyard of cold stone and humming silence.
Ren didn't have a lantern. He didn't need one though. The sapphire at his throat gave off a faint, rhythmic violet glow that illuminated the floor just enough to keep him from tripping over the unevenness of the floor.
He moved like a ghost, his bare feet silent against the stone.
The collar felt tighter tonight. It was as if the further he moved from Cian's bedroom, the more the lead protested. A sharp, stinging tug at the base of his neck warned him that he was reaching the limit of his "leash."
Just a little further, Ren thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. I have to know what the stitch is.
He reached the grand staircase that led to the lower levels. But as he turned the corner into the main gallery, the air suddenly turned sweet—the heavy, cloying scent of sandalwood and expensive ink.
"Going somewhere, zero?"
Ren froze.
Julian was sitting on the edge of a marble fountain, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. He wasn't wearing his formal robes; he was in a loose silk shirt, unbuttoned at the top, looking every bit the relaxed predator.
In his hand, he flipped a gold coin—the metal catching the violet light of Ren's collar.
"I... I couldn't sleep, sir." Ren stammered, his voice trembling. "The resonance... it was too loud."
Julian stopped the coin mid-air.
He stood up and stepped into Ren's space, his emerald eyes dark and searching. He didn't look angry; he looked fascinated.
"The resonance is loud because you're trying to snap the connection." Julian whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from Ren's ear.
"Cian is asleep. If you wander too far, the collar will think he's dead and it will... well, let's just say it won't be pleasant for your throat."
Julian's hand moved to the collar, his gloved thumb brushing the skin just above the iron. Ren shivered, a cold dread pooling in his stomach.
"Also you're a terrible liar, little bird," Julian drawled. "You aren't walking because you're restless. You're walking because you have a destination."
Ren felt the crumpled note in his pocket become heavy. Julian's gaze dropped to Ren's balled-up fist.
"Whatever it is," Julian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky low, "Make it quick. I'll give you thirty minutes of 'silence' from the tower's security. After that, I'll have to tell Cian I found his favorite toy wandering the halls."
Ren blinked, stunned. "You're... letting me go?"
Julian smirked, a sharp, cruel expression. "I want to see what a mouse does when it thinks the cat isn't looking. Also I might need something from you later on. Who knows? Go on now. Run along. But remember, Ren... I'm the one holding the door open for you tonight. You owe me."
Julian stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as if he had never been there.
Ren didn't wait. He ran.
He descended deep into the bowels of the Academy, past the laundry rooms and the servant quarters, into the "Drip-Stone Archives"—a place where the air was damp and smelled of something ancient.
At the end of the stairs there was long corridor and at the end of the corridor was a door marked with a faded, rusted seal.
It wasn't locked.
Inside, the room was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of crumbling scrolls. It looked looked like a library and was circular all round. The shelves had cabinets instead of the normal opened library type. It was dark inside except at the center.
In the center of the room sat a single wooden table. On it was a book, bound in what looked like silver-veined leather. It wasn't something that was supposed to be out like that.
Ren approached it tentatively. He didn't have much time here. He had to be quick.
As he approached, the silver stitch in his palm began to burn, the moonlight-glow spilling out from between his fingers.
He opened the book. He had to be quick.
There were no words, only diagrams. Drawings of human bodies, but instead of veins and muscles, they were filled with golden lines.
Threads.
He turned the page. His breath hitched.
There were strange words written that he could somehow understand. There was a drawing of a null. He knew this because he'd drawn it before during his early days of coming here, to this school.
The diagram showed a person with a "Void Core"—exactly like his. But in this book, the Void wasn't a defect, like they were taught.
It was a Loom.
'The Weaver does not use the light.' the High Script at the bottom of the page translated in Ren's mind as if he had always known the language.
'The Weaver purifies it. The User is the flame that burns the world; the Weaver is the hand that mends the ash.'
Ren stared at the diagram. Beneath the null diagram was a list of royal bloodlines.
Valerius. Thorne.
Next to the Prince's name, there was a note in the same blood-red ink as the paper he'd found earlier:
'The Valerius sun is dying. It consumes because it can no longer create. To save the Sun, the Weaver must steal its heat.'
Ren's hand shook so hard the book nearly fell.
"Steal his heat..." he whispered. "I'm not grounding him. I'm... I'm harvesting him."
"It's a heavy realization, isn't it?"
Ren spun around.
A white-haired boy from the lecture, the one he'd suspected dropped the paper to him, was standing by the door.
Up close, his skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and his dark glasses reflected the silver glow from Ren's hand.
"Who are you?" Ren gasped.
"A ghost of what you're becoming," the boy said, his voice melodic and hollow.
"My name is Elias. I was the Ground for the Prince's father. I survived for ten years because I learned to weave. But look at me, Ren."
Elias took off his glasses.
His eyes weren't eyes anymore. They were two empty pits of pure, solidified silver.
"How do you know my name?"
"The magic we steal... if you don't weave it perfectly, it turns to stone inside you," Elias warned, like he didn't hear his question or just wanted to ignore it.
"You have the 'First Stitch'. That's good. But Julian is watching you. He knows you're not a Null. He's letting you grow because he wants to see if you can mend his own fractured soul."
"I don't want to mend anyone!" Ren cried out, his voice echoing in the archives. "I want to go home! I don't even want to be here."
"There is no home for a Weaver. Here is where you are now. You must learn to survive it." Elias said, stepping back into the darkness.
"There is only the Loom. And wether you want it or not your core will always be hungry. Even I can feel it from here now. It's something you must control or you'll end up 'stealing', as they call it. Hide your hand, Ren. The Prince is waking up. If he feels your hunger from this far away, he'll kill you for being a thief."
Ren felt a violent tug at his neck. The sapphire flared a bright, angry violet.
Cian was awake. And he was furious.
Ren scrambled out of the archives, his mind screaming. He had to get back before the thirty minutes were up. He had to hide the silver stitch.
He had to become a null again, even though he knew now that he was the only thing in this world that was truly real.
'Oh gods.'