58. The Tapestry of Fates
The Tapestry of Fates
The antechamber felt wrong the moment we arrived. The last Trial was finally here.
Mist swirled around our feet, forming patterns that made my eyes water when I stared too long. Fractured mirrors lined the walls. The fourth trial. It had finally come.
"This place gives me the creeps," Marx muttered, pressing closer to my side.
I nodded, unable to shake the feeling that we stood on the edge of something vast and hungry. The other contestants had scattered throughout the chamber. Only seven remained.
My eyes found Thatcher the second he materialized across the room. I moved. No hesitation. We needed to talk. And it had to be now. I crossed the chamber in quick strides. He met me halfway.
The second we were close enough, I whispered down the bond.
We need to talk. Now.
His mental voice came back immediately, tinged with concern. What's wrong?
Everything. I glanced around, then steered us toward a corner where the fractured mirrors created visual chaos. To anyone watching, we'd look like siblings sharing a moment of comfort before the trial. There's so much I haven't told you.
Thais—
Just listen. I let everything pour through our connection in a rush of images and emotions. Kavik in the forest, his hands around my throat. The resistance against Olinthar. Xül's involvement.
I felt Thatcher's mind reel from the onslaught of information. His hand found mine, squeezing tight as he processed what I'd shown him.
Kavik tried to kill you. And you didn't tell me? His mental voice was deadly quiet.
He's dead now. And we didn’t exactly have much time to talk the last time I saw you. I met his eyes. But there's something else—a different threat. The resistance. They think you’re growing closer to Olinthar.
I’ve spent a lot of time in Sundralis, Thais. More than I would have liked to. And Olinthar suggested that I choose his domain after the forging.
Morthus has spies in Sundralis. They’re convinced you’re falling for whatever Olinthar is selling. That you’ll join him and become some kind of sick weapon.
Well, we both know that’s not happening.
Did you kill a Shadowkin?
Thatcher paused, looking down. My heart sank. I didn’t have a choice. Olinthar was torturing him, and I couldn’t just stand there and watch anymore. Thatcher’s eyes went soft. But working with him? Helping him in any way? Thais. That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.
Yes, and that’s exactly what I told them.
What else did you tell them?
I crossed my arms. I told them what I had to, Thatcher. I told them everything.
Why would you risk that?
Because you were supposed to die today. During this trial. I took his hand, squeezing .
Thatcher’s eyes went wide. All because they think I’m some deranged follower of Olinthar?
Essentially.
His fingers tightened around mine.
They want you to take a blood oath to swear loyalty to their cause. And after you ascend... I showed him the rest—the need to pledge to Sundralis, to kneel before Olinthar, to prolong his position even further as a spy in the heart of the enemy's power.
The silence in our minds stretched long. Around us, the mist grew thicker. I could feel other contestants growing restless. Time was running out.
We both assumed this pact would end in our deaths, he said finally, the realization sharp with understanding. But now you're telling me there might be another way?
I felt my throat tighten, the weight of everything he'd sacrificed for me suddenly crushing.
Gods, Thatcher had lost it all when my powers erupted—his chance at a normal life vanished overnight.
His future, his dreams, gone. And for what?
To be chained to me. To transform himself into whatever I needed.
Weapon. Shield. Confidant. All without a single complaint.
If anyone deserved to walk away from this nightmare, it was him. Thatcher had never asked for any of this. He deserved the chance to build something real. A life where he wasn't just surviving, where he could actually breathe without waiting for the next catastrophe. A life that was his own.
Yes, I pressed. A chance where we both live. Where we can have an after.
By having me pretend to serve the god who destroyed everything we loved.
I gripped his hand tighter. I know.
Thatcher considered this for a moment.
Their fear isn’t misguided, he finally said. Olinthar is clearly trying to win me over for something. I hadn’t put it all together yet, but this makes sense .
Another long pause.
They were really going to kill me? The question came with a thread of vulnerability he rarely showed.
Yes. Morthus wouldn't say how, just that it was planned for this trial. I let him feel everything—my terror at the thought of losing him, my desperation to keep him safe, my relief at finding another way.
They want me to swear a blood oath to their cause?
Yes.
To serve gods I don't even know? To pledge my loyalty to strangers who might be as bad as Olinthar? His mental voice hardened. I won't trade one master for another, Thais.
Then don't, I said quickly. Swear that you're against Olinthar. That you'll never truly serve him. That when the time comes, you'll help bring him down. Nothing more.
He considered this, and I felt his mind working through the implications. And they'll accept that?
They need you alive and positioned in Sundralis more than they need your absolute loyalty. I hoped I was right. Besides, your hatred of Olinthar is real. That's what matters.
And after? When Olinthar falls?
Morthus, you better not be a fucking liar, I thought to myself before answering him, then: They want to end the Trials, Thatcher. No more priests hunting innocents. No more people slaughtered to amuse the gods. Morthus wants to provide aid to Elaren.
I felt his interest peak. So, he will take the throne, in the end?
Yes. But think about it—this isn't just about our revenge anymore. It's nearly everything we wanted, everything we’d hoped to achieve by killing him ourselves, but had no way of actually enforcing.
The end of tyranny, he murmured.
The end of tyranny, I confirmed.
Then, with careful deliberation: I'll take their blood oath—but only to confirm what we already know. I'm against Olinthar. I'll never truly serve him. And when the opportunity comes, I'll help destroy him. His mental voice grew fierce. But I won't kneel to anyone else in the process.
That's enough, I assured him, relief flooding through our connection. That's all we need.
Together? I asked.
Together, he confirmed. Until the end—whatever that looks like.
A loud clash tore us apart. The mist in the chamber suddenly contracted, recoiling. The fractured mirrors began showing the same image—a figure materializing in the center of the room.
Vorinar appeared first. Heron’s father. It was a strange thing. He looked more like Heron’s son. Deep black robes draped down his frame, decorated with constellation patterns that moved with each breath. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of eons.
"Time is a river," he said, his words echoing strangely in the space. "Fate is the path it carves through stone. Some swim with the current. Others drown."
Before anyone could parse that cryptic statement, the air beside him exploded in a riot of color. Aella materialized—if materialization was even the right word for the way reality seemed to hiccup and produce her. Where Vorinar was order and pattern, she was beautiful chaos incarnate.
Her appearance shifted with each blink—first a young woman with rainbow hair, then an ancient crone. She laughed, and the sound rattled through the chamber.
"Look at you all." She spun in a circle, her form crackling. "So serious, so worried. Don't they know the best fate is the one you never see coming?"
She gestured carelessly, and small distortions rippled through the air—colors inverted, time stuttered and repeated.
"Welcome," Vorinar intoned, "to the Tapestry of Fates."
The mist around us suddenly solidified into a portal—no, seven portals, one for each contestant. They hung in the air like tears in reality, showing glimpses of an impossible space beyond.
"Your destiny awaits within the Library of All Things," Vorinar continued. "Every life that was, is, or shall be is written upon its shelves. Every thread that connects one soul to another is woven into the great Tapestry."
Aella giggled, the sound sharp and unsettling. "But oh, what fun is a straight thread? I've added some... improvements. Little surprises to keep things interesting!"
"Your task is simple," Vorinar said, ignoring his fellow Aesymar's interruption. "Find your thread within the Tapestry. Follow it to your token of destiny. Return before the Library closes at dawn. But knots might occur. And those will have to be untangled to complete this Trial."
"Simple!" Aella crowed. "So beautifully simple! Of course, touching the wrong thread might have dire consequences." Her grin widened impossibly. "But what's life without a little risk?"
"The inner sanctum is forbidden," Vorinar added. "The Loom of Destiny is not for mortal eyes. Those who trespass..."
He didn't need to finish.
"One more thing," Aella said, producing what looked like crystalline seeds from thin air. She threw them toward the portals, where they vanished with tiny pops. "I've scattered some party favors throughout. Chaos seeds, I call them. They make things so much more... flexible."
The portals pulsed, pulling at us with invisible force.
"Enter," Vorinar commanded. "Let fate guide your steps."
I had just enough time to catch Thatcher's eye before the portal claimed me.
The transition was like being stretched across time itself. Then reality snapped back, and I stumbled forward into the Library of All Things.
And I thought the Bone Spire’s library was excessive.