There had to be some other reason this wasn’t common knowledge. If raw power wasn’t the key to unlocking it, maybe it required a rare combination of strength and knowledge. I thought back to what had changed within me, leading up to the first time I’d seen the thread.
I’d spent tons of time meditating on advancement, but that couldn’t be it. Everyone who wanted power followed that path. My time in the library had opened my eyes to a few things about Empyreal society, but it hadn’t granted me any special senses. Looking back before the summer, I’d gained the Vision of the Design technique at the end of the Empyrean Gauntlet.
“How many oracles are there?” I asked. “Roughly.”
“Fewer than a hundred,” Hahen said.
That was a small enough circle to keep a secret. The oracles had also run one of the most powerful conspiracies in mortal history when they’d conspired with rogue factions inside the dragon stronghold of Shambala to overthrow centuries of human rule. It would’ve worked, too, if it wasn’t for this meddling kid and his chaos core.
“Did Reyes know any oracles?” I asked, hoping my hunch would pay off.
“Of course,” Hahen confirmed. “He was a sage. They often advised him on their interpretations of the Grand Design.”
The pieces lined up in my head. The Sleepless technique and black thread were both related to exhaustion aspects. The thread was unknown to all but the most secretive cultivators, and no one was more secretive than the oracles. If I could see the thread, then it wasn’t just the power I’d harnessed, it was something else. The only thing common between me and oracles was our ability to see the Grand Design, if not in exactly the same ways.
An old memory tickled my memories. Threads, dangling around me, squirming, trying to stick to my skin.
“Mama Weaver,” I said. “She’ll know.”
“That is foolish,” Hahen said, exasperated. “That rickety creature won’t tell you anything of value.”
“Can you take me to her room?” It was hard to contain my excitement. “I have to talk to her.”
Hahen stood up on my desk and straightened his robes. He narrowed his eyes and fixed me with a stern glare. “If you think that lunatic can help you master the Sleepless technique, I will take you to her lair.”
“Thank you, honored Spirit,” I said. “She talked about threads of fate when she assayed my core during my first day at school. I believe she will have the answers I seek.”
“Very well,” Hahen said. “But she is quite mad, Jace. Anything she says is suspect.”
I didn’t doubt the rat spirit was right. My first and only encounter with Mama Weaver had been unpleasant. She was a terrifying creature. In the end, she’d complained that the threads of fate wouldn’t stick to my pattern and dumped the decision on which clan to assign me to on Grayson. That’s how I’d ended up in the Shadow Phoenix clan.
I thought back to my first days at the School as Hahen led me down corridors I only vaguely remembered. The number of schemes tangled around me back then was dizzying, even in hindsight. It made me curious about whether the Flame’s meddling had pushed and prodded me even then.
“Here we are.” Hahen pointed to a coffin-shaped door covered in lacquer the color of fresh blood. “Don’t ask me to go in there. There is something wrong with that creature.”
The tone of my mentor’s voice raised my hackles. I bowed low, thanked the rat spirit for his help, then turned and opened the crimson door.
The room beyond was a sleek black circle, just the way I’d remembered it. Silver light shone up through the translucent floor and showed me dozens of my reflections in the glossy, seamless wall that surrounded me. I hesitated, dread hard and cold in the pit of my stomach. Then I took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.
The door sealed itself behind me with a faint click. A wisp of a breeze drifted down from the ceiling, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and mothballs. The noodle-like threads that had fallen around me during my first visit here didn’t make an appearance this time. I looked up, hoping to see the spirit, but there was nothing above me. The walls didn’t reveal any secrets when I examined them. Maybe this was the wrong—
“He put you in the Phoenixes,” a grating, mechanical voice clattered from thin air. “Look how far you’ve come.”
A light touch on my left shoulder drew my attention. It was followed a split second later by the brush of a thin, wet strand across my cheek.
I whipped my head from side to side, but there was no one in the room with me. The urge to summon my fusion blade was strong, but I held it in check. Mama Weaver was the only one who could answer my questions. Attacking her wouldn’t get me what I needed. If she wanted to toy with me, I’d have to play along.
“Honored Spirit,” I said as I bowed. “I have come seeking knowledge.”
A sharp-edged cackle rained down. Its echoes rattled off the chamber’s walls like hailstones. “I am no soothsayer, boy.”
A veil of threads fell around me. Their sticky strands clung to my robes for the briefest of moments, then slithered off my shoulders to dangle beside me. The slick, wet cords smelled of oil and hot metal.
Spines of steel parted the curtain of dangling fibers to reveal Mama Weaver’s leather-and-brass goggles set into the chrome dome of her head. Lenses ratcheted in and out of their frames as the spirit focused on me. Her scrutiny was weighty, though not in the same way as a sacred artist’s. There was no judgment in her gaze, only a soul-deep intensity that made me feel like she
