Chapter 5: The First Strand

Kaelen woke to the sound of bells—low, resonant peals that rolled through the stone walls of his cell-like room, vibrating in his chest. His eyes snapped open, the ceiling's faint silver threads glowing dimly in the pre-dawn light. The moons still hung outside his window, their fractured edges softened by mist, but the red of the eclipse had faded, leaving a cold, pale glow. He sat up, wincing as his bruised back protested, the ache in his bones a steady pulse that matched the bells' rhythm. The silver veins on his arms shimmered faintly, a reminder of the oath he'd woven last night—clumsy words that had bound him to this place, to the Threads, to something he didn't yet understand.He swung his legs off the bed, boots still caked with Nareth's mud, and rubbed his face. Sleep had been a jagged thing, fractured by dreams he couldn't fully grasp—chains of light, a woman's laughter, a voice whispering his name. The air in the room was cool, tinged with salt from the Sea of Whispers below, and he stood, stretching stiff limbs. His torn cloak lay crumpled on the desk, a relic of a life that felt a thousand miles away. The academy had swallowed him whole, and he wasn't sure what it would spit out.A sharp rap at the door jolted him. "Up, scribe!" Thorne's voice boomed through the stone, followed by a laugh. "Training starts when the bells stop. Move it!"Kaelen muttered a curse, grabbing his cloak and slinging it over his shoulders. He opened the door to find Thorne leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his black curls wilder than ever. The northern prince grinned, his sword already strapped to his hip, his tunic rumpled but clean. "You look like death warmed over," he said, clapping Kaelen on the shoulder—too hard, as usual. "Rough night?""Something like that," Kaelen said, brushing past him into the corridor. The stone was cold underfoot, the walls alive with those shifting silver threads, faint but constant. "What's training?""You'll see," Thorne said, falling into step beside him. "They don't ease you in here. Hope you're quick on your feet."The corridor twisted, its arches opening into a wider hall where other initiates trickled out of their rooms—some bleary-eyed, others sharp and alert, all clad in simple gray tunics that marked them as new blood. Kaelen spotted Selis ahead, her auburn braid swinging as she strode with purpose, her green tunic swapped for the same gray. She didn't glance back, but he felt her awareness, a predator sizing up the pack. Nyari emerged last, her gray cloak blending with the stone, her silver-gray eyes catching his for a moment before she looked away, clutching her rune-etched book.The bells faded as they reached a set of double doors, taller than the ones in the Weaving Hall, carved with crescent moons and threaded with silver that pulsed like veins. They swung open, revealing a vast chamber bathed in pale light. The ceiling soared high, its dome studded with glowing orbs that mimicked the moons' phases—waxing, waning, full, fractured. The floor was a mosaic of black and silver tiles, swirling in patterns that shifted underfoot, and at the center stood a raised platform, its edges ringed with low benches. Lady Yverin waited there, her indigo robe stark against the stone, her masked face turned toward them."Initiates," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Take your places."They filed in, Kaelen sticking close to Thorne, who dropped onto a bench with a casual sprawl. Selis sat ramrod straight, hands folded, her hazel eyes fixed on Lady Yverin. Nyari chose a spot at the edge, her book open on her lap, fingers tracing runes absently. Kaelen settled between Thorne and a wiry boy with nervous hands, the air around him buzzing with that same lunar hum he'd felt last night."This is the Strand Chamber," Lady Yverin said, stepping to the platform's center. "Here, you will learn to weave the Threads—lunar magic drawn from the moons' power, shaped by your oaths. It is not a gift. It is a tool, a weapon, a burden. Master it, and it will serve you. Fail, and it will consume you."Kaelen's stomach tightened. He flexed his hands, the silver veins flickering. That surge in Nareth—the silver light that had thrown a man into a carriage—had been instinct, not control. He didn't know how to call it, let alone shape it.Lady Yverin raised a hand, and the air shimmered. Silver threads spiraled from her palm, thin and precise, weaving into a blade of light that hovered before her. She flicked her wrist, and it dissolved, the threads scattering like dust. "The first strand is intent," she said. "Your oath gave it form. Now, you must learn to hold it."She gestured to the benches. "Pair up. One weaves, one defends. Begin."Thorne grinned, nudging Kaelen. "You're with me, scribe. Let's see what you've got."Kaelen stood, unease curling in his gut. The chamber filled with movement as initiates paired off, their voices a low hum of bravado and nerves. Selis partnered with a tall girl with a scar across her cheek, Nyari with a stocky boy who kept glancing at her book. Thorne led Kaelen to an open space near the platform, drawing his sword with a flourish."Weave something," Thorne said, twirling the blade. "I'll block it. Easy enough."Kaelen frowned, staring at his hands. "I don't know how.""Figure it out," Thorne said, stepping back. "Intent, right? Want it, and it'll come."Kaelen clenched his fists, the ache in his bones flaring. He remembered the street—the panic, the need to survive. He focused on that, willing the silver light to rise again. Nothing happened. The veins glowed faintly, but no threads appeared. He cursed under his breath, glancing at Thorne, who raised an eyebrow."Come on, scribe. Hit me.""I'm trying," Kaelen snapped, shaking out his hands. He closed his eyes, picturing the threads from last night—wild, jagged, burning as they sank into his skin. Control them, he'd sworn. He reached for that promise, that need, and felt a spark—sharp, electric, racing up his arms. His eyes flew open as silver threads erupted from his palms, chaotic and thick, lashing toward Thorne like a whip.Thorne laughed, swinging his sword. The blade caught the threads, scattering them into sparks, but one strand veered wide, slicing into the mosaic floor with a crack. Tiles shattered, dust rising, and Kaelen staggered, the spark fading as quickly as it had come."Sloppy," Lady Yverin said, appearing beside him. Her green eye bored into him, her masked face unreadable. "But strong. Too strong, perhaps."Kaelen wiped sweat from his brow, chest heaving. "It's not… steady. I can't hold it.""You will," she said, her voice low. "Or it will break you." She turned to Thorne. "Again."Thorne nodded, readying his sword. Kaelen gritted his teeth, summoning the threads once more. They came easier this time, but still wild, splitting into jagged strands that Thorne deflected with grunts of effort. Across the chamber, Selis wove a tight net of threads, her scarred partner dodging with practiced ease. Nyari's threads were delicate, precise, curling around her partner's fists before fading. Kaelen's, though, were a storm—unruly, unpredictable, carving gouges in the floor when they missed.Lady Yverin watched, circling him like a hawk. "Focus," she said, her tone sharp. "Intent is the anchor. Without it, you're a thread unraveling.""I'm trying," he said through clenched teeth, flinging another burst at Thorne. The threads veered, clipping a bench and splintering its edge. Thorne ducked, laughing."Trying's not enough," Lady Yverin said. "Feel the moons. They're in you—your mark, your blood. Use them."Kaelen paused, catching his breath. The moons. He glanced up at the dome, the orbs pulsing in their phases. The ache in his bones matched their rhythm, a pull he'd felt since childhood but never named. He closed his eyes, reaching for it—not the panic of Nareth, but the steady hum of the academy, the weight of the oath. The threads came again, slower this time, coiling into a rough spear of light. He thrust it at Thorne, who parried, the impact ringing through the chamber."Better," Thorne said, shaking out his arm. "Still a mess, but better."Lady Yverin nodded, a faint approval in her stance. "Enough. Rest, then switch."Kaelen stepped back, hands trembling, the veins on his arms glowing bright. Thorne took his turn, weaving threads into a blunt hammer of light that Kaelen dodged, rolling across the tiles. His body ached, but the magic felt… alive, a current he could almost grasp.The training stretched on, hours bleeding into exhaustion. Selis mastered her net, trapping her partner with a smirk. Nyari's threads grew sharper, slicing air with silent precision. Kaelen's improved—barely—each attempt less chaotic, but still erratic, leaving scars on the floor and a growing frustration in his chest.When Lady Yverin finally called a halt, the initiates slumped onto the benches, sweat-soaked and breathless. Kaelen sat, rubbing his wrists, the silver veins dimming but still visible. Lady Yverin approached, her shadow falling over him."You're fighting it," she said quietly. "The mark is yours, but you resist it. Why?"He met her gaze, the green eye piercing through him. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it.""None do," she said, her voice softening. "But it's yours now. Embrace it, or it will consume you." She turned away, her robe sweeping the tiles, and left the chamber.Thorne dropped beside him, wiping his brow. "She's got a point, scribe. You're a mess, but there's power in it. More than I've got."Selis snorted from her bench. "Power's useless if he can't aim. He'll kill us all before he learns.""Least I'm not a show-off," Kaelen shot back, too tired to care. She smirked, but didn't reply.Nyari watched from her corner, her book open, fingers paused mid-rune. Her eyes met his, steady and unblinking, and he felt that quiet pressure again—like she saw more than he wanted her to.The bells rang again, signaling the end. The initiates filed out, Kaelen trailing behind, his body heavy but his mind racing. The Threads were in him, wild and untamed, and Lady Yverin's words echoed: Embrace it, or it will consume you. He didn't know how—not yet—but the moons pulsed overhead, and the ache in his bones promised he'd find out.