Chapter Thirty-One #4
“No. Truth Strings don’t bind to technicalities; they bind to intentional truth.
Your own awareness matters, so if you knew what you meant wasn’t the full truth, the magic will slip.
And if the speaker intends to deceive or harm, the magic will reject it—the String may form only to snap in front of you, making your deceit plain to everyone present.
In this sense, Strings aren’t weapons; they’re guardians.
They don’t bind lies, and they don’t spread cruelty.
They bind only what is freely, honestly meant.
” Holloway lifts a brow. “Though I’d still suggest your friend avoid cheating in the first place and save everyone the trouble. ”
The memory of Merrin’s words slips in before I can stop it, what he said right before I left.
Some answers, you’ll need to find for yourself. Not because I don’t want to give them to you. But because I can’t. When the time comes, I think you’ll see why.
It didn’t make sense at the time. I was too angry, I didn’t want to listen, I just wanted to leave.
To get back home, back to Bren, back to anything but this place.
I thought he just wanted me here to turn me into the weapon my mum refused to become.
That still might be true. It probably is. But then why say something like that?
Merrin, Talen—they’re starting to drift from the version I built in my head.
Both so polished in public, careful with every word.
.. but behind closed doors? Something doesn’t add up.
I just don’t know what they are hiding or why.
.. But maybe, just maybe, they’re not hiding it because they want to lie.
Maybe they can’t tell me, maybe these Strings make that impossible somehow?
“But enough of that, as this term we have so much more to cover,” Holloway continues, interrupting my thought as he scans the room. “Now, tell me—what do we know of Loomreading?”
A few uncertain glances pass through the room. Someone near the back mutters something under their breath. Holloway waits. Finally, a hand lifts.
“It’s... when someone can see others' Threads? Like, see into their future by touching them?”
“Nearly,” Holloway nods, “closer than most. Loomreading is the rare ability to interpret the flow of someone’s Threads by touching them—not just where they are, but where they might go.
Possible futures, patterns others can’t see.
Think of it like reading someone’s palm—it doesn’t show you certainties, just..
. trajectories. The paths a life might take.
” He folds his arms. “It’s a deeply invasive art and currently only possessed by one living person, our Sovereign Minister, Vaelric Serrane. ”
Something shifts through the room. Hard to tell if it’s awe or fear. Serrane, the creepy guru in white robes everyone here treats like a living god—and he can read Threads? That’s a thing? That’s real? Of course it is. Because this place wasn’t unsettling enough already.
Holloway doesn’t pause long. “And Mirroring?” he prompts. “Anyone?”
This time, someone speaks up more quickly.
“It’s… defensive? Against other people’s magic?”
“Correct,” he replies, stepping to the edge of the stage.
“Mirroring uses specific materials that can take Threads and reflect them back at the sender.” He rests his hand on the lectern.
“But these aren’t items you pick up at the market.
They’re scarce, dangerous to source, and they don’t last forever.
With each use, their power dulls; time itself eats at them.
Most were forged from dragon shells, and since they were exiled beyond the peaks, we’ve had no reliable access to such materials.
What remains is dwindling, fragile, more relic than resource. ”
The next hour continues in a similar way, more terms, the odd diagram, I try to keep up, taking notes.
Ezzy giggles when she catches me repeating the tricky parts or stumbling over the confusing words out loud, but it’s the only way I’ll remember.
Still, plenty of it slips past me. There’s so much I still don’t know.
At last, Holloway closes his book with a firm snap.
“Now, before you go, please collect your report cards from the front. They outline your performance last semester and highlight the areas where you’ll need to focus.
They’re organised alphabetically in this file.
” He pats the folder waiting on the desk.
Ezzy’s practically glowing, itching to get down to the front, while Finn slumps deeper in his chair like he’d rather disappear, but Rowan forces him up, and we join the line of cadets shuffling forward.
As each envelope is torn open, the air fills with a mess of reactions—groans, cheers, the occasional curse. Grades, scores, whatever metric they’re using. Maybe they’re even tallying how many cadets you’ve managed to kill.
Ezzy finds hers first, frowns, then mutters something sharp about her Air grade not being perfect before stuffing it away. Finn glances at his, shrugs, and smirks like he couldn’t care less, and Rowan barely reacts at all—either not surprised or too unbothered to show it.
Then it’s my turn. A, B, Bloom. Lyra Bloom, Second-Year Cadet, Air Realm.
I already know it’s going to suck.
Offensive Magic:
Air: Strong. Unfocused, emotionally volatile.
Water: Functional. Unfocused, emotionally volatile.
Earth: Potential.
Fire: Dormant.
Thread Theory: Failing
Thread Ethics and Treaty Alignment: Failing
Non Magical Combat: Pass
Overall Thread assessment:
Instinctual but unrefined. Urgent need for stabilisation.
I’m not surprised, but seeing it on paper still bruises the ego. The others start heading towards the door, Rowan pauses, turning to me.
“Lunch, you coming?” he asks.
I look down at my report card. “No, go on ahead. I’m going to hang back and talk to Professor Holloway about my grade.”
Rowan nods once, and the three of them slip out with the rest of the crowd as I look for Holloway.
He’s off to the side, hunched over a desk in the corner of the stage, blue robes pooling at his chair, the matching coloured hat shadowing his head while his pen scratches across the page.
His focus is fixed, unwavering, until my footsteps drag his attention up and he smiles.
“I need help,” I say, smiling politely while I hold out my report card to him. “This whole instinctual, unrefined, urgent need for stabilisation part. I want to fix it... please.”
He chuckles. “Yes. I thought as much. Lyra, your magic is strong, just like your mother’s. No one doubts that. But right now, it only listens when your emotions shout.”
My jaw tightens because he’s not wrong. “Then how do I fix it? How do I make it listen without… that? I’m already so far behind. Everyone else has had years’ worth of training. How am I supposed to catch up?”
“Yes, well, that's the problem,” he nods, “you will need additional support. I had considered pairing you with Ezrelia. She’s precise, patient. But her schedule this term is rather full. Too many extra studies already on her shoulders.” His mouth tugs sideways.
“So, I asked Cadet Beth Malven, and she happily volunteered to work with you instead. She will also push you in ways Ezrelia cannot—make you reach deeper, challenge you to bring forward the power you’ve buried. ”
Fucking perfect, Beth. Perfect, terrifying Beth.
Beth who—thanks to Talen’s damn sketchbook—I can’t stop picturing naked and sprawled across a grand bed.
His bed, if I had to bet. Hair loose, silk sheets tangled around her limbs.
My stomach twists, jealously flaring deep, no point even trying to deny it.
In front of me Holloway stands waiting. I could say no, tell him I’ll handle it alone.
That’s always been easier, safer. But easier hasn’t gotten me anywhere, and I promised myself I’d change, that I’d stop shutting people out.
If this is the way to claw control from the mess inside me, then fine.
I’ll take it because I want it, I want power, so that I can get answers, revenge.
“But you also need control,” Holloway adds, “and for that, I had someone else volunteer.” I already know before he even says it. “Officer Veirmont will be helping you.”
Of course, he will be.