Chapter Eighteen #2
“Is it possible,” the cadet asks, “to master all four?”
Holloway smiles faintly, not mocking, just thoughtful.
“A good question. And exactly the kind of curiosity I hope to see in this class.” He takes a small inhale before continuing.
“Theoretical models suggest it might be possible, but theory has a habit of collapsing when pushed beyond balance.” He gestures lightly, as if weighing something unseen.
“Every known system assumes limitation. Remove it, and the magic stop agreeing with itself.” A pause as he looks around.
“But that’s a whole lecture on its own, and we’ll get there, I promise, along with advanced concepts like Loomreading and Mirroring.
Today, however, we begin with something deceptively simple, but crucial.
And something you should all be capable of mastering, eventually.
” He claps his hands once. “Right. Who can tell me what a Truth String is?”
I don’t even need to turn to know who answered.
“Truth Strings,” Ezzy starts, tone proud, like she’s been waiting all year for this.
“Are Threads pulled straight from intent, honest thought made visible. If someone speaks while weaving one, the Thread carries the truth with it. Everyone listening feels it.” She softens slightly, a little breathless. “It’s really beautiful, actually.”
“Good,” he nods. “And what else?”
Ezzy continues, “Well.. they can’t be forced. Like, a Truth String only works if the person wants to give it. You can’t just, like, yank it out of someone mid lie. So, totally useless for interrogation.”
“Yes, an important distinction,” Holloway agrees.
“You cannot coerce a Truth String, the moment you ask, the magic unravels. Truth Strings can only be offered freely.” He lets that sit for a moment.
A few students shift in their seats. “Now... when might they be useful?” A girl near the front raises her hand.
“In leadership. Or negotiation. If you need people to believe you, truly believe you, being able to weave a Truth String could rally others behind you.”
“Excellent. Yes, very good.” Holloway smiles, faint creases gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“There’s more to it, of course, but we’ll come back to that next term.
” He straightens slightly, tone shifting from warm to precise.
“Now, Truth Strings begin as a one-to-one exchange, a Thread cast from speaker to listener. But as your skill grows, so does your reach. You’ll learn to weave it for a group.
A crowd. Even an army.” A pause, then: “Right. Let’s try it. ”
The next hour’s a blur of voices and glowing Threads. Some cadets get it right away. Others choke on their words, magic folding in on itself. I keep whispering, My name is Lyra. My name is Lyra.
But nothing.
I breathe. Refocus. Try again. Still nothing.
If I can’t even speak my name and mean it.
.. what else am I faking? Do I even believe myself?
Frustration starts to scrape against my Threads, grinding until the magic inside me starts to boil.
The duck’s gone, Finn’s out of reach, Beth’s too close, and everyone seems to have already forgotten that a fucking dragon broke the Innerland veils yesterday.
Just when I’m about to slam my hands on the table and walk out—
My name is Lyra.
A flicker.
Thin as silk, bright as a star. A single Thread, no longer than an inch, slips from my mouth, spinning lazily into the air. It twists once, delicate, almost curious, before sinking into the desk in front of me and vanishing into the grain like it was never there.
But I saw it, just for a second. A Thread, a Truth String, mine. I did that. I can’t help the tug that pulls at the corner of my mouth.
I never had this. Not in the Outerlands. No teachers. No books. No space to learn, only space to hide. But here... Around me, the room hums with magic. Students are laughing, weaving strings like it’s just another Tuesday morning. Like it’s easy.
Bren, he would eat this alive. He’s fast, clever, and careful. He would understand it. He’d be amazing, but he never got the chance, none of us did.
And sitting here, finally touching something that was always out of reach, it doesn’t feel right, it doesn't feel good. It feels like theft. Suddenly, the smile fades, my throat tightens as I remember where I am, who I’m with.
Then Holloway’s voice cuts through again.
“Now that you’ve all found your footing, we’ll put it into practice.
Please turn to your neighbour, we’re going to test your ability to speak truth.
Remember, Truth Strings cannot be forced.
This is not an interrogation. Begin with a statement.
When both partners are comfortable, then try a longer conversation. ”
I turn. Beth’s already facing me. Eyes narrow, her stare slices through me like she already knows exactly what I’m thinking and she’s just waiting for me to crack. Because she saw what I did yesterday, she knows I tried to run.
A violent snap under my skin as my Threads shift, spreading wider, higher, now, looking for space to fill. I swallow hard and force them down as she opens her mouth, already grinning.
“I’m sad the dragon didn’t kill you yesterday.” She mocks as a thin, perfectly shaped Thread slips from her lips, glowing, weightless, beautiful in a way that doesn’t match the venom in her voice.
It twists through the air, crossing the short gap between us, landing on my chest, slipping through my shirt and into my skin. It’s warm, too warm, like a memory I didn’t ask for.
At first nothing, but then something pulls low in my gut. Solid. And I know it’s true. Not that I needed a Truth String to tell me. But still, fuck. It's real. It’s strong. I've never felt anything like it—
“But...” Beth continues. “I’m more disappointed it didn’t kill Ryven.”
Another casual flick of her mouth, another String. Okay, wasn't expecting that. She tilts her head, noticing my surprise.
“I saw you with Ezzy. Figured you were just another one of her desperate pet project. But when you took down Ryven during that demo? That was something. Ballsy. I respect that. You’ve got nerve to speak out, it’s a rare thing around here.
” Another String, spun lazy as smoke, floats between us and sinks into my skin as she leans back, crossing her arms. “Okay. Now your turn.”