Chapter 4: The Weaving Hall

The hall stretched before Kaelen like the belly of some ancient beast, its pale stone walls rising to a ceiling lost in shadow. The floating orbs of light pulsed brighter as he stepped inside, their glow casting long, trembling shadows across the floor. The air thrummed with a rhythm he couldn't place—a low, resonant hum that seemed to seep from the stone itself, syncing with the ache in his bones and the faint flicker of the silver veins beneath his skin. Lady Yverin led the way, her indigo robe sweeping the tiles, the silver threads in her mask glinting like stars caught in a web. Behind him, Selis, Thorne, and Nyari followed, their footsteps a disjointed chorus against the hall's vast silence.Kaelen's boots scraped the floor, the sound too loud in his ears. He tugged his torn cloak tighter, suddenly aware of how small he felt in this place—how ragged and out of place among the polished stone and shimmering light. Nareth's alleys had been cramped, gritty, a world of ink and ash where he could disappear. Here, there was nowhere to hide. The hall widened as they walked, its walls curving outward to reveal alcoves lined with shelves—books, scrolls, strange objects that glinted like metal but moved like liquid. He squinted at one, a sphere of silver that spun slowly in midair, threads of light weaving around it in patterns too intricate to follow."Keep up," Selis muttered, her voice sharp as she brushed past him, her green tunic catching the light. Her braid swung with each step, a metronome of impatience. Kaelen quickened his pace, ignoring the twinge in his bruised back. She'd sized him up already—he could feel it in the way her hazel eyes had lingered on his torn clothes, his glowing veins. Noble-born, he'd bet, raised with silver spoons and sharper tongues. He'd met her kind in Nareth, selling books to scholars who sneered at his mixed blood. She'd be trouble, he decided, but the useful kind if he played it right.Thorne strode beside him now, his grin wide and reckless, the sword at his hip clinking softly. "First time seeing a Weaving Hall?" he asked, his northern burr softening the words. "Bet it's a sight after scratching ink in some dusty shop."Kaelen nodded, wary of the easy camaraderie. "Never seen anything like it. What's it for?""Training," Thorne said, clapping him on the shoulder again—harder this time, making Kaelen grit his teeth. "Magic, blades, whatever they throw at us. This is where they turn raw meat like you into something sharp.""Or break you," Selis added over her shoulder, not turning. "Most don't last the first month."Kaelen's jaw tightened, but he kept his mouth shut. He'd survived worse than her barbs—starving winters, street fights, the Magisterium's irons. Whatever this academy was, he'd figure it out. He always did.Nyari trailed behind, her gray cloak blending with the shadows, her silver-gray eyes catching the light as she watched him. She hadn't spoken—not a word, not a sound—but her presence was a quiet pressure, like a hand resting on his back. The book she clutched gleamed faintly, its cover etched with runes that pulsed in time with the orbs. Kaelen wondered what she wrote in it, what secrets she kept locked behind that silence.Lady Yverin stopped at the hall's far end, where a circular dais rose from the floor, its surface smooth and black, veined with silver threads that shimmered like rivers. Above it hung a massive tapestry, its edges frayed but its colors vivid—moons in every phase, fractured and whole, woven with threads that seemed to move, shifting the scene as Kaelen stared. A figure stood at its center, cloaked and faceless, hands outstretched to bind the moons with chains of light. The Moonbinder, he realized, the word echoing in his mind like a half-remembered dream."Initiates," Lady Yverin said, turning to face them. Her voice cut through the hum, steady and commanding. "Tonight, you begin. The eclipse marks your binding to the Threads—the lunar magic that shapes this world. Step forward."Selis moved first, her chin high, stepping onto the dais with the confidence of someone born to it. Thorne followed, his grin faltering slightly as he glanced up at the tapestry. Nyari hesitated, then glided forward, her steps silent, her book tucked under one arm. Kaelen lingered, the ache in his bones sharpening, urging him toward the dais. He didn't trust it—didn't trust any of this—but Lady Yverin's green eye fixed on him, and he felt the weight of her words from the gaol: Come willingly, or be dragged.He stepped up, the stone cool beneath his boots, and the silver veins on his arms flared, bright enough to cast shadows. The others turned to him, Selis's eyes narrowing, Thorne's widening, Nyari's unreadable. Lady Yverin nodded, a faint curve to her lips beneath the mask."The Threads are oaths," she said, circling the dais, her robe trailing like smoke. "Promises woven into the fabric of reality, tied to the moons' phases. They grant power—strength, sight, control—but they demand payment. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Will." She stopped, facing them, her gaze lingering on Kaelen. "You are here because the moons chose you, marked you. But the Threads will test you. Fail, and they'll unravel you."Kaelen's throat tightened. He glanced at his wrists, the silver veins pulsing in time with the tapestry's shifting threads. "What kind of test?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.Lady Yverin's eye gleamed. "The first is simple. Weave your oath—your intent—to the Threads. Speak it, and the moons will bind it."Selis stepped forward, her voice clear and sharp. "I swear to master the Threads, to wield their power for honor and purpose." The air around her shimmered, silver threads spiraling from the dais to wrap her wrists, then fading into her skin. She didn't flinch, but her lips pressed tight, as if hiding pain.Thorne went next, his grin returning. "I swear to fight with the Threads, to break what needs breaking and guard what's mine." The threads lashed out, thicker and wilder, coiling around his arms like vines before sinking in. He laughed, a short, sharp sound, shaking out his hands.Nyari set her book on the dais, her movements deliberate. She didn't speak—couldn't, Kaelen remembered—but her fingers traced a rune in the air, glowing silver. The threads responded, delicate and precise, weaving into her palms and vanishing. She picked up her book, clutching it close, her eyes flickering to Kaelen."Your turn," Lady Yverin said, stepping closer to him. "Speak your oath, Moonbinder."The word jolted him, heavy and unfamiliar. He opened his mouth, then closed it, the hum in the hall pressing against his skull. What did he want? Survival, always—but that felt too small here, too fragile. Power? He'd never craved it, only the quiet of his attic, the scratch of a quill. But the moons had taken that, thrust him into this, and the ache in his bones wouldn't let him forget it."I swear," he said at last, the words scraping out, "to understand the Threads. To… control them, not be controlled." It was clumsy, raw, but it felt true. The air erupted around him, silver threads surging from the dais, wild and jagged, wrapping his arms, his chest, his throat. They burned, sharp and cold, sinking into his skin like needles. He gasped, staggering, but held his ground, the veins on his arms glowing brighter than ever.Lady Yverin watched, her mask hiding her expression. "Good," she said softly. "The moons accept."The threads faded, leaving his skin tingling, the ache in his bones settling into a steady pulse. He flexed his hands, feeling… different. Stronger, maybe, or just more aware—of the hall, the others, the tapestry's shifting threads."Rest now," Lady Yverin said, turning away. "Tomorrow, you train. The Weaving Hall will be your crucible."She swept out, leaving them on the dais. Selis crossed her arms, eyeing Kaelen. "Moonbinder, huh? That's a title with weight. Hope you can carry it.""Didn't ask for it," he muttered, stepping down. His legs felt heavy, the night's weight crashing into him—fights, irons, magic he didn't understand.Thorne laughed again, following him. "None of us asked, scribe. But you've got guts. That counts."Nyari lingered on the dais, her silver-gray eyes tracking him as he moved toward the hall's side doors, where arched corridors branched off into shadow. A guide appeared—a thin boy in gray robes, barely older than Kaelen—muttering about dormitories and leading them through twisting halls. The academy unfolded around them, its walls alive with threads, its air thick with secrets.Kaelen's room was small, a stone cell with a narrow bed, a desk, and a window overlooking the mist-shrouded sea. He collapsed onto the mattress, boots still on, staring at the ceiling where faint threads glowed like constellations. The moons hung outside, their fractured light seeping through the glass, and he felt them watching, waiting.Sleep came hard, fractured by dreams—silver chains, a voice laughing, a woman's face he couldn't see. When he woke, the ache in his bones was sharper, and the silver veins on his arms glowed like a promise—or a threat.