Chapter 2.7: Are You Feeling Lucky

The bondway is peaceful, the occasional sound of some far-off, imagined animal or the sound of wind setting a wind chime singing the main accompaniment on the journey.

As the end of the path comes into sight, the sound of a loom at work becomes audible as the path turns from earth to black fabric flecked with green and iridescent sparkles woven in a practical plain-weave beneath their feet.

I wave goodbye to Saint and the others, and follow Weaver through the gate. A demesne. This is so cool. Maybe these last few years are going to end up being worth it after all. Or maybe Inara's right and I'm going to end up a fae slave. Can't be worse than being locked up in the back of her head, though.

It's not til I'm through the gate and walking down the path that I really notice the sky. So many stars. Without the city lights to wash them out they're so clear, tiny hard points of burning white light. And that aurora... "It's so pretty," I say before I can catch myself. "I've never seen an aurora in real life before."

The stars don’t match any constellations Vesper knows.

The Fae's pace slows as his smile goes wider and fonder. "I wove it from a memory that Saint and I shared when we were both younger. He thought camping would be good for me. It was the first time I'd seen a real aurora, too."

"Was it?" I ask. "The camping, I mean."

"I guess?" he says slowly. "I was miserable for the first two days and I made sure he knew it, but... the time together was the point of it. He was trying to share something he valued with me, to strengthen our damaged bond, even though I held little appreciation for his efforts or for him at the time."

He's silent for a moment, peering up at the sky. "... the aurora came out the same night I decided that he was right to have come looking for me. That limiting myself the way I had been wouldn't get me where I wanted to be. So. I guess it really was good for me in the end."

"It sounds like it was a turning point for you," I say, my gaze still fixed on the aurora flowing above. "Sometimes it takes being out of our element to see things in a new light. I'm glad you had that experience with Saint." I glance at Weaver. "My turning point was when I learned the truth about my family. About magic. It was clarifying and exhilarating and infuriating all at once. I thought I had dreamed big, but all my ambitions up to that point suddenly seemed so small."

"One of many," he agrees. "But a positive one nonetheless."

He folds his hands behind his back, eyes glittering like the stars above the path. "Especially since none of them had thought it was important to let you know the truth before. How old were you? What did you dream of before? Tell me about that first day."

"Eighteen," I say. "I wanted to be a software engineer. I thought maybe I could go to college and then be a startup founder. So much of our technology is designed to box people in, to divide them, to weaken them. What if a social media site was designed from the ground up to the do the opposite? I was working on my college applications at night when the power goes out...."

The power dies swift and sudden. One moment I'm typing on my keyboard, the next it's pitch-black, with only a faint light spilling in through the window from the streetlamps outside my house. A groan escapes me as I realize I hadn't saved my work for the past half-hour. There goes my college essay. At least the house on the other side of the street is lit — it's probably just the breakers, rather than a real outage.

I stretch and stand, feeling my way carefully across my room. Down the hallway, left, stairs... wait. Stairs? There aren't any stairs in my apartment. Did I somehow wander through the front door?

There's a light ahead of me, a dim, faintly flickering orangey-yellow. As I get closer, it resolves into... a torch. Its light reveals a wall and floor made of large stone bricks that definitely aren't in my apartment. What the hell? Did I fall asleep at my computer? But before I can follow that thought to its logical conclusion, a voice sounds from behind me.

It's Amelia Gervase. My second cousin. I've seen her at family events, but now she's wearing an ornate black and green robe, hair tied back and a severe expression on her face. And she's holding a crackling handful of fire, flames licking at her skin but leaving it unharmed. She tells me that the Gervase family is a minor wizarding bloodline, that my branch of the family lost the Gift of magic years ago, but that it had somehow resurfaced in me. At first, I think it's a dream, but when I burn my finger by poking at the torch and it hurts — but doesn't wake me up — it sinks in that this is real.

Amelia wants me to take the Arcanum entrance exam. Apparently that's where I am. I was brought here by something called an 'entropic convocation'.

I say yes, of course. Who hasn't dreamed of going to Hogwarts or Brakebills?

There's just one problem: Arcanum isn't like the stories. The test lasts hours as I scramble to write down answers to questions about complicated magical scenarios, translate intricate diagrams into finger-gestures, and properly pronounce tongue-twisting incantations. The test grades itself in the margins as I follow its instructions, and it's grim. 15%. 60%. 20%. There's no way anyone could possibly get these questions right without spending years on it... and I found out magic existed a few hours ago.

It doesn't take a genius to realize I'm not going to pass. So when I get to a page that's a series of diagrams laying out the gestures for starting a fire and asking me to copy them, instead of filling it in, I rip it out, fold it up, and stick it in my pocket. Something to study later. Proof that magic is real.

When I'm done with the test and hand it to the proctor, he merely glances at the front page where it has the word FAIL printed in big blocky letters. But rather than kick me out, he sets the paper down. He says that the aptitude test is only part of it, and that so long as I have a sufficiently strong Gift, that's enough. He shows me a set of gestures and then takes out a candle, lighting it himself before offering it to me to try.

No matter how carefully I repeat the gestures, I can't do it. The proctor's attitude shifts from conciliatory to derisive with every failed attempt. He mocks me, insults my intelligence, my breeding, my looks. I get angry and frustrated and just when I'm about to hurl the candle at his face, that's when it happens. No gestures, no incantations, just a flood of energy pouring out of me, lighting the candle, the proctor, and that stupid quiz on fire. Lighting up the whole room. Then I pass out.

I wake up in my bed with a splitting headache and a head full of holes. Dreamlike memories of people standing over me, saying something about my Gift being too weak. Saying I won't remember anything. The power is back on — of course it's back on. It was never out. All that stuff about magic was just a crazy dream.

And then I notice the wad of paper in my pocket. Six gestures drawn in evocative ink. It feels more important than anything. So I carefully make the gestures and just as I'm about to complete it, I remember what it felt like to start all those fires. Something in me connects to the gestures like an electrical plug sliding into a socket and... it makes a spark. Just a little one, right between my fingers. I do it again, and again, and again, until I nearly pass out from exhaustion. Magic is real. Holy shit. Magic is real.

I can't think about anything else. My parents come home, and I drift through the interactions with them in a fog of unreality. I almost tell them about magic, but something holds me back. What if word gets back to Arcanum somehow? My cousin was there. There's more to this than I know, and if Arcanum learns that I still have my memories, they'll send someone to take them away. And I doubt they'll botch it a second time.

So I avoid my parents. I avoid my friends. My time is spent cloistered in my room, hunting for signs of magic online, or wandering the streets, hunting for signs of magic in the city. There's plenty to find, all of it fake. Tarot, astrology, sacred geometry, crystals, homeopathy... all garbage. Every spell I try fails. Every incantation I speak fails. Nothing fucking works. No wonder Arcanum can stay hidden — anyone who learns about them gets their mind wiped, and everyone else gets led astray by the mountain of bullshit littering the path.

The weeks drag by and slowly turn into months. My friends have stopped trying to talk to me. My parents probably think I'm going crazy, what with the piles of fake spells and diagrams littering my room. They try to talk me out of my 'obsession' a few times, but I know that magic is real. Even if my shitty little spark spell only works a quarter of the time. Magic is real and I am a wizard.

It takes three months for me to find an old spellbook in the back of a shop. It looks like all the other fake trash I've encountered at first, but buried in page after page of dense diagrams and writings is a single reference to 'spellforms'. The thing its describing sounds enough like the gestures I use to make my sparks for me to buy the book on the spot.

Founder smiles. He looks young, mid-twenties at best, shorter than Vesper, in black jeans and a black jacket with a hand-painted panel on the back. He has his thumbs hooked through his belt-loops, the silver in his pierced ears doesn't contrast as strongly against brown skin but they still shine. There's painful bruising where the cracks are on Weaver or Luck-Spinner's marble features, deep and purple-green.

"They set you up to fail. Even if they didn't do it intentionally, they loaded the deck against you and expected you to swim where most would drown. It's fucked up. Much of the supernatural world is. Wizards aren't the only ones who do that to their children, but convincing one of our elders that they're wrong is like convincing a mountain to move."

He nods towards Saint's end of the bondway. ".... The Dawn Commission is just one group that's trying to make things better, but there are shared goals between us. Phoenix and Saint are thick as thieves."

I eye Weaver. He keeps changing whenever I'm not looking. "Set up to fail is exactly how I'd describe it. I don't really know much about the Dawn Commission, or Phoenix, for that matter. Inara thought it would be a nice change of pace, but she's kept her distance from Phoenix for the most part."

"Phoenix believes what she sells," he says. "You should talk to her, when you have a chance - or give her a chance to talk to you, since I'm sure she'll want to check in once you get back to solid ground. It might be a bit of a production, but we'll find a way to get you home that won't be straight back into the mess I pulled you out of."

He considers. "Dawn is a force that resets and purifies, it's a daily strengthening the fiber of reality. It washes away lesser magic effects and tempers the enchantments that survive it."

He sounds like he's quoting a long-memorized pledge. "The intent of the name of the Dawn Commission is the knitting together and tempering for a new beginning. Too many people are falling through the holes on the border of the supernatural and mundane world, and the existing communities are too isolated to help. The inscrutability among the supernatural communities is hurting us more than it protects us. So our intent is to build bridges between the various supernatural communities and between them and the mundane public."

He grins crookedly. "... we've been working with the Commision since before it became the Commision. Phoenix helped Saint figure out how to handle parenting and finding the resources the first kid he adopted needed."

"A new beginning, huh? I like the sound of that. The supernatural world could use some new blood, new ways of doing things. Maybe ten years from now when someone learns about magic, the door won't get slammed on their fingers an hour later."

"We've been working with a bookseller who does indie publishing out in New York to get Faeresiensis' anthropology work out, alongside with other texts. They're getting published in stages that won't disrupt things too quickly - by which I mean we're sliding them under the radar so by the time anyone who's going to be murderous about people expanding access to knowledge and increasing accessibility catches on to what we're up to," he runs a hand through his hair, frowning. "Ten years... maybe. It's ambitious and would take a lot more leverage than the Commision has garnered so far. It all depends on how much progress can be made, like how much the Commission expands, lots of details. The Grant Dynasty, for example, is working on a multi-decade schedule for their improvements, but the work they've been doing is starting to pick up steam faster than their head was expecting."

"I'm expecting it to take a long, long time, but I like your ambition. Boston, I think we can manage in the next decade. Other places... well. That depends on people like you, Vesper," He looks at Vesper, grinning wide. "Revolutions take far more work to pull off than they do in books and movies - I hope you're looking forward to helping with this one."

"I'm not afraid of work," I say. "At least this time I won't be doing it alone, half-doubting my sanity every step of the way. I'm surprised at the scope of the Dawn Commission's ambitions -- to be completely honest, I thought it was just another monster hunting outfit. But I like it. So what if it's difficult? If it was easy, it would have been done already."

"Exactly." Founder's voice is enthusiastic as he starts walking again, making quick time of what remains of the bondway. His grey human eyes are alight with passion as he speaks. "Just because no one has managed to pull something off doesn't make it impossible, it just means that succeeding lets you make a Name for yourself."

"Anyway! The monster hunting and investigative team was partially Saint's idea, if I'm being honest. Him helping you three out today was a net zero balance as far as he's concerned, cheating his damn bookkeeping, as usual.... but, that aside, I suppose that understanding makes sense if you were getting a view that focused on what your sister thought was important. It's actually more of a community outreach and support outfit."

"That's a bit of a relief. To be completely honest, monster hunting isn't really my thing. I don't hate it, but I don't have Inara's —" obsession? passion? "— enthusiasm for fighting. Especially after the last mission."

"I prefer to leave the fighting to Saint," he agrees. "Useful in a pinch but a great way to make more enemies." He stops, holding out his hand. "Come on, exiting the bondway is tricky."

He'll wait until she takes his hand, then steps forwards, pulling Vesper through the gateway.

As Founder pulls Vesper through the gateway she's left with a feeling that's hard to grasp. Slippery, even, like it's trying to dance out of reach so she can only catch what it wants her to understand of it.

What she can understand of it is the feeling of an endless frantic high-stakes game, modularly reconfiguring on the fly -

Then she's standing on somewhat solid ground, a woven pathway winding through a world sketched out in thread and string closer to the gateway gradually growing more solid and real-looking the further ahead she looks. The sound of a loom at work is much closer now, and he points in the direction of the sound. "We're going to The Weaver's Workshop."

The jolt of adrenaline from exiting the path leaves me jittery and restless. I take a moment to calm my nerves, then follow Weaver into the workshop.

He is Weaver again as you step inside.

His workshop is an organized explosion of colour, bolts upon bolts of fabric mundane and not-so-mundane arranged in rows along a wall much like one might see in a mundane sewists shop with spools of mundane thread in a rainbow of colours nearby. Spinning wheels hum and click near a self-propelled floor loom.

He draws a set of shears from the air and slides them into a rapier belt at his waist, then pulls a stool from nowhere with one foot, pushing it towards a worktable that folds itself into sight from empty air. "Your sister's preferred colours are red and gold, correct? What are yours? You can use the same ones if you want, but I should be able to tune some details in to give some indication of which of you is the one speaking."

He pauses, frowns, then looks at Vesper, head cocked. "... unless you don't want people to be able to tell visually, which is fine if that's your preference."

I almost tell him to leave it in Inara's colors, just out of habit — but I don't have to hide anymore. "I always liked dark green and silver."

"That's doable," he pulls a few bolts of various greens and silver for Vesper to review along with matching threads and trims.. "The same design as what you're wearing now or do you want something in a different style? Once this one is done, I want you to try it on, so I can repair the clothes you're wearing."

Weaver skims the fabrics on the wall and selects a match for Inara's shades of red and gold, adding them to the worktable and cracking his knuckles. "So few people call for literal tailoring," he clicks his tongue. "I probably wouldn't have time for more, busy as things have been, but it's enjoyable work... anyway. Duration of contract - offer your proposed duration and we can start working details out from there."

I glance down at the tattered remains of Inara's robe. "The same design is fine. As for the duration... a year and a day. Long enough to see what you're trying to do start to grow, not so long that it's an undue burden if it doesn't work out."

"Boo, that's no fun. I suppose that will make it easier to convince her to wear either outfit whenever she's the one picking your clothes, at least," he starts cutting red fabric from the bolt, hands moving sure and steady. "Let me know which of the greens you want?"

He blinks, considering. "....that sounds reasonable. Not long by the scope of the games I'm working on when I'm not meddling in mortal affairs, but long enough. It might not even things out entirely, but it should at least get you most of the way out of the red. Regarding undue burden-"

He sets the freshly cut red fabric and his shears aside, looking at Vesper directly again. "I have no interest in a Pontiff whose bond is no longer reciprocal. By this, I mean if I say we are done, we are done, debt clear or not. By that same token, if you say the same, that stands. Each of us may offer an argument to the other, or request some time - a day, three at most - to rectify whatever has cause the other to declare their interest in the ongoing arrangement null and void, but the nullifier is under no obligation to listen or acquiesce. As I told my first Pontiff and now tell you: that is unlikely to be a problem for me unless you choose to be a problem."

He picks up his shears, tapping the closed blades. "Call it the escape clause. It's not standard for most, but I'd rather cut someone loose if things aren't working out than have someone who hated me bonded so tightly."

"The escape clause sounds reasonable." I can't help but feel a little ashamed of my caution -- Weaver has done nothing but offer me help. Now he's weakening the contract, giving me a sure-fire way out right after I practically told him I didn't trust him.

Maybe Inara is rubbing off on me.

I drop my gaze to the fabric and try to distract myself by picking a dark green, like a lush leaf in shade.

"The escape clause is standard for my Pontiff agreements," he chuckles. "It doesn't zero out any debt owed, so don't misunderstand my meaning, it just means our threads aren't so tightly intertwined."

He leans in, conspiratorial. "My first Pontiff used to be a real pain in the neck, but he had a talent for Luck that had potential so we cut a deal... but I'm not going to just hook up with some manipulative little leech without making sure I could get rid of him if he crossed a line. So. Escape clause."

"He's a much better person these days. Turns out he underestimated just how much of an influence I'd have on his attitude." He examines the green fabric with an approving expression, then shrugs. "Still kind of a fuckboy though."

I chuckle along with Weaver as he talks about his first pontiff. He really isn't that scary. For all Inara's panicking, he's just a person. Then again, maybe she was right to be scared -- after all, Weaver is about to oust her from the throne she's enjoyed these last few years.

"Hopefully that won't be a problem for us," I say. "Though, to be honest, I'm a bit surprised you wouldn't just be able to rein in a pontiff if they were getting out of hand."

"Depends on what they're doing, whether they're following our pact, why the pact was formed and the purpose of it, etcetera. It's all about where the leverage is. A Pontiff is a vassal, not a slave. An example: my agreement with my first Pontiff allows him to be influenced by me over time, but not directly shaped unless he asks for it," his expression sharpens, black eyes glinting as his lips pull back from his teeth.

"He was quite an ambitious choice for a first Pontiff but I was very young and just as ambitious as I am now. Someone dangerous was very useful to have, and I wanted the little bastard where I could see him." He really does have a lot of sharp little teeth. His expression relaxes again. "That all said? I do have a chokehold on his luck, my fingers wound so deep that I can rip it out at the root if he ever tries to turn against me and give him an even worse run of luck than the one that brought him into my orbit."

He shrugs. "It would be very stupid for him to do that, though, because through our bond he's become very powerful, and, also, if he made me angry enough to break our pact, Winter's Spear would probably be quite happy to take the opportunity to cut him down the moment he's off the leash."

"Mmhm, yeah, it's always good to have a backup plan," I say. Though I'm hardly one to talk, gambling it all on Weaver... "What exactly is the difference between influencing and shaping?"

"Shaping is direct, it's an active, purposeful change. Altering your Name will be an act of shaping," he starts working with the green fabric. "Some things are less easy to influence than others - my kind are very rigid and hard to influence, as a rule - but every relationship, every bond, a mortal has can influence them."

"That influence may be big, small, or just a whisper that changes nothing in the long run, but bonds are important. Family, friends, lovers, rivals, co-workers, acquaintances, organizations - all of these bonds have influence upon you. They change you, shape your decision making, make you strive to be better or worse... someone's presence in your life can change you, and the deeper and more meaningful the relationship you have the greater the pull they have on you, like gravity."

He cracks his knuckles and pulls a shimmering needle from the air, hands setting to work assembling two matched outfits - one in green and silver, the other in red and gold. "Saint and I are like stars. When we pull those who draw near more fully into our orbits, closer to ourselves, we make them more like us, which.. hm. You might want to try and seek or call out ~~Wayward Spire~~ Velvet Rook to ask for favor after you become my Pontiff. You really don't want me to wear that title during a negotiation where you have no bond that keeps you safe from me."

"Yeah. I see what you mean, although I'm not sure I've ever met someone like that before. Then again, you sort of make it sound like it's the sort of thing that only happens once. You can only really cross one event horizon, after all." I pause. "Velvet Rook would be one of your aspects, right?" I really shouldn't pry, especially after being told it's dangerous, but... "What kind of magic do they have?"

"The one who told you of magic pulled you into a new orbit in the span of an hour. Inara has made you into a subservient moon, trapped in her gravitational pull," he quiets for a moment, focusing on his sewing. "A tremedous pull can happen more than once, and you don't have to be something like me to have such an impact. Doubtless Inara has someone in her past that set her on the course she's taken. Parents, for example, leave a tremendous impact on your shape, mundane or not - presence, absence, values... "

He laughs quietly. "Velvet Rook is the title I wear when dealing with Court matters that lie outside of the Dynamic Court. I am a Courtier, before all else, politics and social intrigue and manipulation are part of my foundation. I was born of the Winter Court - and even in the cradle of my Father's keep my survival to adulthood was no guarantee. Winter does not coddle their youths," he says darkly. "To survive Winter is to survive danger and scarcity, to be hungry for every scrap of advantage you can get. The Courts can be exceptionally fatal, even for us when we're young."

He looks over. "If Inara offers you no help surviving the plunge into the politics of the Sellain and wizard community at large, Velvet Rook can help you find a way to survive their barbs and dodge their traps."

My cousin changed my path, yes, but she didn't exactly stick around afterwards. I suppose I can't dispute the effect Inara has had on me, though I would hope that it's nothing I can't escape." I pause, thinking about the times I've seen Inara's family. The way she acts around them, her mother especially, polite and distant and guarded. Flawless frozen perfection. "Your Winter sounds like a harsher version of Inara's childhood. I'm sure not even she would let me sink in those circles, though. It would harm her precious reputation, and if there's one thing she cares about, it's how she looks to other wizards. But if she'd rather take the hit to hurt me, I'll be sure to keep you in mind."

"Escaping her orbit - or at least making a twinned orbit with equal gravity - is what we're going to try and set up for you... hold on."

He inspects the two finished garments before him and begins pulling shining magic between his fingers spooling magic out of the air and spinning it into threads of intention. He jabs towards Vesper with a needle, catching it in the air and pulling two shining threads of red into sight before using his free hand to twine the insubstantial magic thread around it, once, twice, three times - anchoring part of the magic to Inara and Vesper before he starts swiftly stitching the pieces together, intently focused as the red fabric begins to vanish with each quick stitch latching it to it's partner.

He holds the finished garment out to Vesper once he's done. "It's tied to Vesper and Inara, so the change to Sellain won't fuck up the stitching. Anyway. Yes, it's possible her upbringing was similar. Plenty of supernatural species have similarly... difficult childhoods. I am hoping she'll help, it would be good for her development, too, to learn how to help you, but... if she tunes out like you've said she has right now while you need her, you can reach out to me."

"Related to reaching out, I probably should tell you now that my personal background is confidential. I'm telling you things that Inara, for example, doesn't need to know. But getting to know each other better is fun. If you would like to mention something of mine that is personal, you can ask for permission. I'm giving you a direct call line to part of my Name, so I should be able to hear whenever you call. What else do you want from this arrangement? You can ask whatever you want to, it isn't like I can't say no."

My tattered shoggoth-eaten clothes practically disintegrate as I take them off, collapsing into a heap of shredded cloth and tangled threads.

Weaver's new robe wraps easily around me. It's so soft. Silken doesn't do it justice. The clasp to hold it closed clicks into place and it shifts subtly, changing from a set of clothes to something... else. Like it's part of me. I twirl lightly and it flares around my legs, curling silver designs worked into the trim glinting in the workshop's overhead lighting. I catch sight of myself in a mirror off to one side and grin. Green and silver, in the same traditional pseudo martial arts design that half of Inara's friends wear. At last.

"Wow," I breathe. "It's perfect. It even fits better than Inara's tailored clothes." And this is only the beginning. Soon, I won't just look like a wizard, I'll have the full power of one too. Arcanum, the Council, Inara — none of them will ever be able to refuse me again.

I tear my gaze away from the mirror and focus on Weaver. It's not over yet. "Of the three aspects you mentioned — Weaver, Name-Maker, and Luck-Spinner — the one that interests me the most is Weaver. You said it granted knowledge of the world. Can you be more specific?"

Weaver plucks the shreds and threads from the floor, fingers working to smooth the remains out onto the worktable, although straightening out the tangled threads slows him down a bit. He arranges the damaged pieces into a patchwork as Vesper spins. He grins at her when she looks towards him again, laughter on the edge of his voice as he speaks. "I'm glad you approve."

He turns, gesturing towards the table. "... to put it very simply, I can see and manipulate the threads that make up the world. You'd probably be able to start by being able to feel out threads of sympathetic connections - how people or things connect and relate to each other-"

He begins pulling the shredded pieces together, fingers making connections between them that start pulling them into the shape of a fabric piece once more. "Or identify aspects that make someone up, core concepts, essentially. If you wanted to actually weave, you'd be best served starting with yourself - trimming part of one skill or aspect of yourself for a piece of another skill or aspect that you need or desire and weaving it into yourself."

He inspects what he could reassemble of Inara's old robe, then pulls it apart into glowing crimson and gold threads - "colour, texture, wear, purpose, history, emotional significance, all of these things are concepts, and if you break something down to nothing but the concepts that make it up... you have the kind of threads I use when I do my most intensive work."

He opens his mouth. Pauses. Furrows his brow. "What do you understand about how magic actually works?"

"Not much," I confess. "Inara's talked about it a bit, but she usually approaches it from the angle of showing off her knowledge rather than actually explaining anything. The few texts I've read were more confusing than helpful, and I figured that it wasn't going to be immediately useful, so I've been focusing on exercises to build up my willpower. You said everything is made up of... concepts? Is this the same as, uh, firmament theory? I think that was what she called it?"

"Might be, but I don't know how wizards define it or how they explain things. Large percent of the magic community have.. misunderstandings in how things work. Mana, for example? Not actually a thing. It's your ability to push and pull on reality. So... tell me how you think it works, and we can go from there," his hands are busy with fabric and thread again, working in the remnants of Inara's destroyed robe into a new piece. "Make sure you're up to the point where you can invoke my name and use it a bit more reliably - understanding how things work, at least in the general sense, will make things a lot easier."

Note: I'm not actually asking for a full in-depth breakdown of what you think Vesper's understanding is unless you think that's fun to get into! Vesper missed Sawyer's 101 talk while she was asleep at the shop - but now she's got a chance to get Weaver's 101 course: one with way less math!

"Wait, what? Mana isn't real? But I can feel it in me, and I can tell when it's depleted from casting spells. And Inara nearly passed out from casting too much — so did a friend of mine, for that matter."

"Oh, I undersand where you're coming from on that feeling," a voice says from the doorway. "Here, have a mana potion." There's a clink of ceramic on the table behind Vesper, out of her line of sight. She can smell fresh coffee behind her.

Weaver, still before her, shrugs. "Mana, as the layman understands it, is a way to better explain your capacity to push and pull on the world using your force of will. It's kind of... metaphysical endurance for magical muscles. You're feeling your own capacity for work - the amount of energy you have and can put forth into the world."

"That sounds like mana to me," I say, glancing behind me.

There's a steaming cup of fresh coffee on a table behind Vesper.

Weaver pauses. "It's like Spoon Theory. Do you know Spoon Theory?"

I take the coffee and sip it. "Yes, I've heard of spoon theory. It's a unit of agency, kinda. Ability to get things done."

"That's Mana."

"Okay. I mean, I'm still not sure I understand how it's different, but I guess maybe that's just because I don't have Inara's formal background so my conception of mana is mostly experiential." I sigh. "Okay, so, magic. The way Inara explained it, reality is made up of this stuff called 'aether', and aether is... intelligent? Or something? But also tied closely to concepts, like you can have 'bright aether' or 'metal aether' or 'sharp aether', and when those combine together they can form something like a polished knife. And then magic is just a way to communicate with the aether and tell it what you want it to do. I think."

Weaver scrunches his nose, pausing in his work, and stares into space for a long minute. "... that sounds like something Fate Of The Diamond Hands talked about, but he's into bitcoin so I have no use for his 'advice.'"

He taps one foot, then starts sewing again. "I can see how they'd get there from the way things are, I guess? So. Concepts, the laws of physics, magic itself, those things don't have their own intelligence. Or. Well. They can? But in that way that you can have things that are made out of concepts, like me, and I like to think I'm pretty intelligent. I also think I'm charming."

He trails off. "Anyway. There are several ways that one can explain the way magic works and the way the world works. My favorite explanation is not one that is perfect, but it is one that comes to me by my nature as Weaver. "

"So. Reality is made up of a combination of meaning and physics, it forms a weave, like fabric. Magic is an alteration of the fabric of reality, manipulation of the threads which make it up, and it wants to return to the default pattern... to go deeper, the Fundament is the source of meaning - of the concepts that make up everything. Threads in the Fundament form the warp of the cloth of reality, the through lines made of meaning. Rules and structures, including those we call physics form the weft, weaving around the meaning and binding it into patterns such that the meanings are coherent and that a change in one place in reality can propagate to the surrounding places in reality. Now, it's not literally a fabric, but the fabric metaphor is my favorite and has been used across the world for ages. Most people don't know enough math to understand Unweaver's favorite metaphor, so the metaphor of magic and reality as a fabric is a much more common one than the 'multi-dimensional vector space' model."

He said he was going to explain, but somehow I have even more questions than when he started. "Okay, so a concept is like, brightness or coldness or hardness, right? Can you change a concept directly, like removing the 'burning' quality from fire to create a flame that needs no fuel? And how does magic know to, say, create a flame when you make a specific gesture and snuff it out when you make another?"

"That's where things get fun. So. Fire is a concept, but so is burning, so is cold, so is hardness. Fire can be created out of concepts - you can absolutely remove burning from flame. Or. Er. Maybe it's better to say you apply the concept of not-burning to it. A concept, in the most simple form, doesn't break down further, it's a component part of reality?" He snaps his fingers. "Magic doesn’t know anything. It's things like you and me that can think. Our movements and intentions are what makes the magic go. So... I directly manipulate these threads, but..."

He looks around, then moves from the workbench. "To pull fire - and this isn't my specialty - I would..." He moves his fingers through the air, lighting up strings so Vesper can see them - "fire, small, in the space where my hand is, remove harm, enhance brightness -" he wrinkles his nose as he calls a small flicker of bright flame into his hand, clearly not enjoying the experience. "Fire."

"Ritual magic, like wizards use, follows established paths or shortcuts - things that have been done again and again until they can be relied upon. You don't need to see how your fingers catch on or draw the concepts forth to pull on them if you're following the instructions right. You can make a new spell, but you need to understand what you're doing or make smart enough guesses that you don't kill yourself in the process. I assume Inara's got books, but if she won't let you at them I know our bookseller has at least Dresden's Filed Rotes."

I stare at the flickering flame in Weaver's hand. "Wait, so you made that spell up on the spot? You can do that?" A pause. "Can I do that? I thought making new spells was a complex, laborious process."

"I'm using my Name. Name Magic isn't the same as Ritual magic, Name Magic is the direct use of concepts that a name is linked to - you have to have a Name with enough power to back up what you're trying to do. Most mortals don't," he chuckles. "You could invoke Weaver or Luck-Spinner, given time and experience, to manipulate the world around you in a similar way."

"I have a very versatile name," he adds, preening. "Weaver's not really an offensive one, but I am very happy with what I've made of myself."

So it can be done, just not easily. Something to keep in mind for later, then. Even if it's weak, that kind of versatility is something no amount of wizardry can replicate. The Name of Name-maker suddenly looks a lot more appealing... but one step at a time.

"Offensive magic is overrated," I agree. "And on that note, going back to the contract, I would like access to the Name of Weaver. What do you wish in return?"

"In addition to Luck-Spinner or only Weaver? Either way, the things I will ask of you are the same ones I would ask if you were to invoke Luck-Spinner," he douses the little flame, returning to his sewing. "Help with my short or long-term projects, fulfill tasks and errands, assist me by curating or collecting more materials or aspects I can make use of, that kind of thing. Frequency and scale are impacted by how much you invoke my names. Use my titles to help solve every tiny problem and you'll have a lot to do. Invoke my name less and you'll have less to do. You'll be starting in the red, obviously, but the first Iong-term project of getting Inara on the road to being less likely to, you know... get both of you killed?"

"So there's no cost to having access to the Name of Luck-Spinner until I invoke it?" Except temptation, of course. This whole thing is very much a 'enough rope to hang yourself' sort of deal.

"Well... Pontiffs with access to that title - or any of my titles in general, honestly - are usually luckier in general, as a side-effect, but compared to the cost of altering your name? It's small change, Vesper," he shrugs, checking over how well the old threads have integrated into the new version of Inara's ruined robe'.

"Let's do it then," I say. "Access to both Weaver and Luck-Spinner, in exchange for my fixing Inara and helping out with tasks when I invoke your Names. Is there anything else?"

"...nononono you keep forgetting the important part! Aspects! Materials! That's the main thing I want that's just for me!" He complains, pulling at his hair and stomping one foot, teeth flashing. "I need soul clippings, from you and others! They won't hurt anyone, you grow them back if you use the skill enough, but mortals are the only reliable source! You guys change all the time! It's your whole thing! You shed aspects like cats shed fur and just like most homeowners you just throw it all in the garbage instead doing anything cool with it!"

He groans, pulling his hands down his face. "I can't improve my work if I don't have the supplies to work with! Why does everyone always forget the part that's the most important! I can't make something out of nothing!"

"Well, I was including that in the ambiguous 'tasks', but yes. I'll harvest soul clippings for you, although you'll need to show me how, of course." With how many fights I seem to get into these days, I doubt it'll be hard to bring Weaver all the cuttings he wants.

The drama drains from his frame immediately, replaced by a bright smile. "Of course. You could also bring me the raw materials - as long as they're not dripping or rotting, I can harvest from things in a pinch if you've set them up on a platter for me and can't manage it yourself - but I will show you how to do the job. It's important to know how to do it, after all."

He claps his hands together. "After all, the first thing we're going to do together after we forge our pact is take just enough of a clipping from Inara to do the metaphysical work on your name. Whether it can extend to the rest of your body will be part of a negotiation we have to have with your new family, unless you know of some of her original hair or bone or flesh that was left behind in her sanctum that we could use to do the job."

"From her original body? Hmm... it's been quite a while. It's possible there's a stray hair somewhere, but I doubt it. I'm pretty sure that place has enchantments to keep it clean. I bet her family has something though. Seems like the sort of thing they'd keep around locked up in a vault somewhere."

"If they don't have hers, some of theirs should do the trick, I should be able to extrapolate out what's needed," he shrugs. "We'll find out. If you call me to her sanctum later I can look around and make sure."

He considers, beginning the matching outfit for Vesper. "Duration, requests from both sides, some starting requests and tasks, that's about everything we require to seal a pact, isn't it? Is there anything you've forgotten?"

"I don't think so. Thank you for this, though. If it works... well, I thought it would be years before I could even hold the front against Inara, never mind everything else."

I should have started by summoning a fae, not a demon...

"We're going to have to teach you to be careful who you say thank you to, later," he chuckles, then holds out his hand. "A year and a day, escape clause, and all the pre-discussed requests on both sides. Deal, Vesper?"

Oh... right. I'm not supposed to say thank you to a fae. Bit late for that, though -- he is about to tinker with my Name, after all.

I take his hand. "Deal."

Vesper and Weaver shake hands. A simple gesture that has the weight of tradition suddenly salient in the moment. As their hands connect, Vesper briefly sees the world in a web of interconnected and innumerable strings, shining and vanishing around corners more vast than her mind can contain. She can see the threads of her own soul, picked out in her chosen green and silver, at once a flat fabric, the outline of her own body, and a cats cradle of connections -

She can see the threads that form Weaver's hand unravel and sink into her own weave, traveling up and forming intricate embroideries along the warp and weft of her soul, securing themselves deeply enough that only the hooks of the previous escape clause can loosen and pull them free.

Then her vision is clear and mostly mortal once more, as Weaver smiles.

She has a new bracelet braided around her wrist, green with flecks of bright bloody red, a physical token of their pact.

Wow.

Weaver grins, conspiratorial. "Inara doesn't get the bracelet. Just in case she refuses to wear my gifts. That's a signal she can't fake."

I touch the bracelet and share his grin. "Good. That'll make things easier with the others."

Oh, Alric. I can't wait to tell you about my day.

"Precisely," he winks. "Let me finish this outfit, and then we'll work on your Name and your magic. In the meantime, tell me what you want to do once we get back to - and get you out of - Saintsholm?"

I consider that for a moment. "Well... there's still a nest of shoggoths that need killing. But I figure they've waited this long, so it's fine if we rest up and wait a few days. There's someone else in the Dawn Commission that I want to talk to. Alric. He wasn't in the fireteam -- he's not much of a fighter. But he figured out about Inara and... blackmailed her, I guess. He was terrified she was going to kill him, so he threatened to tell everyone about me if she did anything to him."

I sigh and look away. "Kinda pathetic, but he's the closest thing I've got to a friend these days. I drove everyone away after I learned about magic, and then when Inara took over she cut them off entirely. But I like Alric. He's got ambition, same as me. He got shut out of magic, same as me. So I'd like to visit him, share the good news, and see what he's planning, maybe help out if I can."

"And after that? Research. Study. Practice. Then hit the shoggoth nest again. Maybe this time we can burn it down instead of going inside -- I don't know what Inara was thinking with that plan."

Weaver listens intently as he sews, eyes glittering with interest - and you can tell, now, just how much attention he's paying to your words, feel the weight of his focus. He's catching every word, and he's taking mental notes. "It's not pathetic. You've been cut off from the world - it makes sense that your old bonds have suffered for it. It's not as though you chose to let Inara cut them off."

He catches her threads and Inara's again and begins sewing the second pair of outfits together. "Inara was probably thinking the same thing Saint would have been thinking: making sure they're all dead requires going inside. Shoggoths aren't in my wheelhouse, so I'm not sure what's required to truly get rid of them. Another member of our court is keeping an eye on things right now, the border's been breached so it's going to need to be addressed sooner rather than later, but between her and Saint the line can be held for at least a few days until you, Inara, Hope, and your friend Alric can determine your plan of action."

He considers, holding the second finished outfit up. "Would you rather have more time to study on your own or would you prefer to see your friend as soon as you all get out?"

It might not be my fault Inara cut them off, but maybe if I hadn't been holding them at arms' length before, they would have stuck around, or at least tried to figure out what was going on.

"The border?" I ask. "Oh... you mean the fence... yeah... Alric drew a line through it. I'm not sure why. He was probably curious what would happen — I guess we know now." I sigh. "Honestly, I'd love to dive into magic but I should go see Alric first. He's pretty paranoid and I know it'll be a big weight off his shoulders to know he doesn't have to worry about Inara — not that he ever really did; even she's not crazy enough to murder a coworker out of nowhere."

"The fence is a literal construct. The border, the boundary, the threshold, that's the metaphysical component. A strong threshold keeps things out - or in this case, inside. It's why vampires have to have your permission to come inside your home. A threshold is protection, and the stronger it is the safer it can keep you. When we crossed into my demense from the bondway, did you feel something?"

"Yeah. It was... intense. Like struggling to solve a thousand high stakes puzzles at once, pieces slotting together or failing to, constantly changing and adapting."

"That's how it feels to get a look inside my soul," Weaver says breezily. "If I wasn't guiding you in, it would have been a lot more intense. I pulled you through the boundary on the edge of my soul, and having active help and permission to cross that threshold meant you experienced just a little bit of that impact."

"Are all Names capable of powering magic like that?" I can't imagine feeling like that all the time, but maybe part of having a Name that strong is having the ability to shrug it off.

"Powering magic like what? All Names? Names just are, they're you and me and everyone. Magic only happens when rules leak, like when something causes a snag or pull in the cloth of reality. Magic is an active process, not a passive one."

He trails off. "Or do you mean what you felt when you crossed through, or something else?" He peers at Vesper with interest. "If you're asking if you need a powerful name for a threshold, whenever someone makes a place their home or residence, they establish a threshold. Apartment thresholds aren't great, the place is borrowed, and hotel rooms are worse unless you reinforce them. It's about how that place is separated from the place around it. I was talking about the border between the bondway and my demesne because you seemed confused on what I meant when I said the border containing the shoggoths has been breached. Borders are important."

"Didn't you say earlier that your Name is what let you cast arbitrary spells? Or... are you saying that what I felt crossing over was more an effect of the threshold, rather than the soul that created it, and even a Name without much power behind it could create a similarly strong threshold if the space was sufficiently separated?"

"They're not _arbitrary,_they're spells that I can create from the fabric of the world based off of the concepts I embody. Weaver is just a very versatile function when one views the fundament as fabric."

He folds the new outfit, setting it on a nearby stool to keep the worktable clear. "Yes and No? What you felt crossing the threshold was an effect of the threshold and of me. What you felt was... a fractional glimpse into what it's like to be me, for a moment. Mortal dwellings don't involve walking into a physical manifestation of the soul, so they won't have the same effect. You can feel the atmosphere shift - calm, quiet, heavy, oppressive - depending on how you cross a threshold and if it's been reinforced. If you've been somewhere that felt apart from the rest of the world, muffled and quiet, and then had the noise of the world around you come back like someone flipped a switch when you left a room or crossed a border? That's one sign of a reinforced threshold."

Ah. Hm. So Weaver can do magic because he's 'weaving' it, and that's something that's within his Name's concept. What's the concept of a normal name, though? A name like Vesper doesn't mean anything, it's just a random string of letters. And there's clearly more to it than just something being within Weaver's concept because he was talking about needing power behind a Name earlier...

I could grill Weaver for days about this, but he already seems a little annoyed at getting sidetracked. Later, I promise myself. We'll figure it out later.

"Okay, I think I understand now," I say. "Inara's sanctum feels like that — I always assumed it was because I had bad associations with it and it's in an underground cave." I sigh. "Okay, so the threshold around the shoggoth lot was keeping them in, and Alric symbolically breached it by drawing a line through it, and now they're free to expand. Or, well, they would be if your friend wasn't holding them back."

"If you decide you don't understand, there will be time to ask more questions and ... focus your education in later. If a more mortal-minded approach would help, I can point you at our Bookseller, he's... very into educational pamphlets and safety courses." Weaver wrinkles his nose, then blinks, expression clearing again as he acknowledges Vesper's comment about his friend.

"Yes, she'll hold it fine, especially if she borrows some of Saint's influence to back her own. One is good, two that act as complements are better..."

He smiles, half-lidding his eyes. "In any case, Vesper, I've repaired Inara's clothes and stitched a second outfit into them for you. I'm ready to begin work on your Name, unless you have anything else you need to ask beforehand? Sit on the worktable when you're ready."

And just like that, every thought about thresholds and Name magic flees my mind. This is it. The leap of faith, the moment everything changes, the moment the last three years have been building up to. After this, there is no turning back.

I look at the worktable and the various implements lining it, shears, needles, bits of 'thread'. Inara would tell me I'm crazy for even considering this, that if I let Weaver touch my soul I'll be bound forever to him. Or something like that.

My gaze drops to the bracelet wrapped tight around my wrist, braided green dotted with crimson. I finger it with one hand. Fuck her. Maybe this is all some plot by Weaver, but I'd rather take my chances with the man who's done nothing but offer to help me over the woman who stole my body and locked me up for three years.

Sitting down on the table is still the hardest thing I've ever done.

"Let's do this," I say as I lay back.

"This might hurt," Weaver chirps as he starts gathering materials from the room and bringing them to the worktable. "I usually have Saint's chips sleeping deep if they've requested to be grafted into the family, but this is also part of your education, so I'm not going to put you under. It's a simpler process when the name's already damaged or rejected, we're going to be doing it manually, so it's going to be more effort. Don't worry though, I've done this plenty of times now, I hardly ever miss a stitch," he teases cheerfully.

"Now, this is the part where you need to relax and let me work. Don't flinch," he smiles, then places his hand lightly over Vesper's collarbone as she lies flat onto the table. He pulls in a slow breath and then shoves, knocking her out of her mortal configuration and into something he can really work with, watching her threads scatter and spread out across his workspace. It feels like she's being pulled apart, like she's losing her shape and destabilizing - and then the first pin sinks into place, into her flesh and her threads and her Name as Weaver begins to circle, placing pins down to anchor her most significant traits, the things that keep Vesper Vesper, while marking out the edges of Gervase with thin silver pins. "This part's simple, I'm just anchoring you into place so nothing slips while I work. We don't want to cut out anything vital... once everything's anchored, I'm going to reach through you to get a better look at Inara and use her as a reference for your re-naming, since this is going to make you sisters."

. He whistles as he works, lilting and alien, the sound starting to resonate and echo until Vesper realizes there are two sets of hands working away to secure her Name in place. Name-Maker is always just on the periphery of her perception, not quite in focus - it's easy to place Weaver because the bond between them is the solid lifeline keeping her mind from unravelling along with her threads.

She can definitely feel when Name-Maker's hand plunges into her soul and through it, reaching to grasp for Inara Sellain. Then the rest of him follows, vanishing into the web of connections that is Vesper and following the tightly wound and felted cord that binds the souls of the two wizards, pulling himself hand over hand, deeper into the metaphysical fabric of concept space, bridging the space between their names so he can study whether he can shape and create Sellain from Gervase or if he'll need to do more extensive alterations or cut the Gervase thread out and replace it entirely with a thread that's better suited to the work.

"That's interesting," he sounds like he's far away and present, all at once. "Her Name has a very queer shape to it, that must be where the difficulty you two are having is stemming from. Not strange enough that I can't find what I'm looking for, though..."

He resurfaces, pulling himself out from the center of the table and kicking up to pull himself free, cartwheeling down to land in a tidy dismount, a vividly glowing shape dripping with magical potential that slowly begins to look more like something that better matches Weaver, Luck-Spinner, and Founder.

"Needle," Name-Maker says, a hand stretching towards Weaver, who glances up and smiles, all teeth, before pulling one of his thin, sharp teeth from his mouth, flicking it with one nail to reshape it into a fine bone needle which is duly handed over. "Perfect. Alright. Focus on Weaver. You don't want to feel this part."

Weaver grips his bond with Vesper tight, providing an anchor that her mind can focus in on instead of the feeling of Name-Maker's hands working away inside her soul.

Name-Maker continues, unhesitating, and Vesper can feel something being cut just enough to fray. "I'm starting by making a fork in the place where your last name connects, because it's something names can do, it's cultural. Hyphens, maiden names, all of that... this will keep you stable as we bring the new last name in. Cutting out big pieces is survivable, but even with all the pins it's risky. Guardian is usually handy for holding things in place, but he's busy... Do you want to keep Gervase at all? I can make it a middle name, if that's desired..."

Vesper's earnest refusal of Gervase is noted, whether she manages to shape her answer in words or just in a soul-deep rejection of the proposal, especially as it loosens the parts where Gervase is anchored. There's a quiet curse before Name-Maker redoubles his efforts, going deathly silent.

He pulls a spool of thread from his pocket and leans in, threading the bone needle and anchoring the new thread into the old, working back far enough to make sure the two will have an even join, each stitch a bright spot of sharp pain... then he begins weaving and stitching and shaping Sellain into the fabric of Vesper's soul and everything goes still. This part doesn't hurt, not until he snips the new thread off his spool at the length he needs and sews it into her existing anchor threads. The part that really hurts comes next.

Weaver leans forwards, shears held firm in the hand that isn't holding his bond with Vesper and snips them shut, once, twice, three times, four, around her former last name then sheathes his shears as Name-Maker pulls the excised piece of Name up and hands it to Weaver, who smiles briefly before slipping it into a pocket of his vest.

Then the needle is back in, re-securing the floating ends to the new Sellain section.

. He looks at Weaver as he's done, then smiles, slowly. "Well. You want a middle name that's all yours... I hope you don't mind a thematic echo to it, but I think this one will suit..."

He pulls a spool of thread, shaping it in his hands, then carefully begins to attach it to Vesper's weave, picking it out in thread that shines with the light of a new day. He steps back as he finishes his work and Weaver steps closer, both hands gripping their bond as he hauls Vesper up by their connection, pins scattering and flying as he pulls her back into shape, cinching her back into a mortal form with a second firm pull on their bond.

"Vesper Oriana Sellain."

Weaver smiles as Name-Weaver slips out of sight once more.

"So. How's the fit?"

Oriana is french for sunrise or dawn. A new Name marks the beginning of a new chapter in Vesper's life, and this is a metaphorical dawn of a brand new lease on life. When combined with the way dawn is used in magic? Seems on point. Cleanse the old, temper what remains! The other name I had in mind, Renata, means reborn or born again, which has a similar vibe, but I think Oriana is bolstered by the magical association + symbolism combo.

I nod as Weaver talks about keeping me awake. Even if he offered to put me to sleep, I'd refuse. Who would want to miss out on something like this?

My thoughts are interrupted when he unravels me. It's... deeply unsettling. I try to focus on what's happening, but just as I'm starting to feel stable again, he... grabs Inara? No, Inara's Name. And crawls into me. Having him slithering down the threads is like having an itch I can't scratch. Then he's out, reforming. Everything is happening so fast. Or maybe it's not — I am having my very essence rewritten.

He asks me if I want to keep Gervase and I try to form the word no, but my mouth isn't working. Why would I want to keep the name of the family that's given me nothing but disappointment and frustration? Parents who didn't tell me we were descended from wizards, relatives who set me up to fail and rejected me. Fuck them.

Weaver seems to get it. He starts stitching, each stroke of the needle a lash against raw nerves. Isn't that weird? I'm so detached from my body, but I can still feel pain. It's kind of cool. Or it would be if it didn't hurt so damn much.

And then he cuts and all the pain up til now feels like a tiny candle next to a searing sun. It fades swiftly, leaving behind a deep, aching sense of loss that's only eased when he fills the hole with something new. Then I'm whole again. Sensation rushes back into my body —

— Vesper Oriana Sellain. It resonates with me, deeper than any of the other times he's spoken my name. This is me. A new beginning, a new chance at life. There's a weight to the name that my old never had, and somewhere in the depths of my mind I feel a shiver as Inara stirs. But then the moment passes and she goes still again.

A grin spreads across my face as I look up at Weaver. "Good. Really good. More me than I've ever felt before." I feel so light. So capable. "Like the world is a tree of vast and branching possibilities where before I could see only despair and hopelessness. Is this how Inara feels all the time?"

"Fantastic," Weaver's smile is inhumanly wide, satisfied and happy at a job well done. "It's possible she feels the same all the time, but whether she does or not, the important thing is that it's how you feel now."

He leans on the workbench. "We can take a short breather if you need it or want to acclimate, or we can move to the next step now: showing you how to invoke my title to do magic. Namely - we're going to work together to repair your magic. I'll guide you, but it will be your hands that cut and sew - I'll secure the working to keep it permanent, of course, but this is a good learning opportunity."

Name magic! Hell yeah. Forget taking a break, I want to start now. I want to go, to move, to act. "Let's get started now," I say, barely able to contain my giddy excitement. "How does this work?"

"We're going to start with seeing the threads available. You can take a wild strike with my shears and grab whatever falls, of course, but if there's something specific you want to gather - and you don't want to risk collateral damage to your subject - you'll want to get a good look. This will be a bit trickier, since Inara's soul is kind of... inside of and partially integrated with yours, which is why I'll help guide you."

He smiles. "So. Say my name, say it with focus and intention, like you're trying to cast a spell. Focus on what you want to do - to see, to feel the connections and threads of reality around you," his hands move to make a motion through the air, gently running across invisible threads. "Focus in on what you're looking at or the connection or aspect you seek if you're narrowing your focus. I recommend reaching out when you look - the tactility helps keep your mind focused and grounded on what or who you're looking at. Too far a spread and you might be overwhelmed."

Say his name with intent. That sounds easy enough. I take a breath and imagine the same threads that were spilling out of me mere minutes ago. Inara's threads, red and gold, tangled together with my green and silver. And then, "Weaver."

Detect Threads: [4 💥 2 = 6, 4]-1 Result: Success! 🎯

In this space it is easy to call Weaver because he is already here. This space is already him. Like how the mind adapts to the tools one holds, so does Vesper’s mind adapt to the extension offered. Borrowed capability made hers for this one task. Feel the shape of the threads, substance spun of story, texture and tension telling of the source and tangles of relations to other threads.

The threads are not really here, in the same way that Vesper's body was not really here when she was threads. Still, the somatic gestures of reaching out to feel the threads and bring them into view help make the imagined more concrete. Vesper can see in her mind's eye the black and green and bright cocoon that is Weaver. His image standing before her is revealed to be a fold in the fabric of this space within her new sense; a pattern of floating threads in the tapestry that surrounds her.

She turns this sense on herself. A tangle of green and silver and red and gold. The threads of the two are less laminar than their surroundings; rougher spun, shorter staple fibers. The shape of the two tangles is not symmetric, but it is beyond Vesper's skill to glean meaning from the whorls of lace.

Weaver's borrowed skill, however, brings one thread to attention: a weighty throughline that binds and twines and adds structure and strength to the spells and traditions that Inara has woven herself around. This is the Gift. Weaver's lent expertise whispers.

"Okay," I say. "I think I found her Gift. A thick thread running through the rest of them, with everything else connected to it?"

Weaver examines the thread in question, confirming what Vesper's borrowed expertise has already told her. "That's the one you want, yes. This next step, you need to be mindful - we're aiming for a cut that will be cleared up before she wakes. It's not the kind of cut that you're likely to be able to do outside of here, not without a lot of practice, but she owes you plenty. This is just taking a long-overdue payment for what she's put you through for years. You just need a little for this patch."

He smiles. "Hold the thread in your mind - your hands, too, if you can. Invoke my name again, and this time make the motion of scissors cutting the thread. Aim for where you mean to cut - further from her core, the loose edge of the gift that's at the live edge of her still-growing tapestry."

A smooth voice purrs in Vesper's ears, hands settling on her shoulders from somewhere past the edge of her periphery, thin fingers drumming lightly on her shoulders as he speaks. "Unless you think she deserves to have to work to regain some of her talent, the way you struggled to for years while everyone else watched you drown. Watched her drown you."

Weaver hisses. "Hush, you, this isn't the time."

"It's always the time."

snip snip (a little extra): [1, 4]-1 Result: Failure ❌

I look at the fabric of Inara's soul, finding the thread of the Gift where it snakes through and terminates at the edge in a loose twist of smaller strands that wave gently in the air. Maybe I should cut it all, I think. Take it all so it never grows back. Stop her from ever hurting me again. She's not even awake. It would be so easy.

Maybe I could cut her out entirely. Snip and snip until there's no red threads left... but she's everywhere. Even if I could somehow cut every one of them out, I'd do just as much damage to myself in the process.

It's still pretty tempting to take her entire Gift. But if I'm going to be stuck with her... if I'm going to redeem her... wouldn't it be pretty stupid to start this off with something like that? Maybe just a little extra. Let her experience just a taste of what it was like to have magic dangled in front of me and then yanked away.

I make the gesture before I can change my mind. "Weaver!"

I don't even have to look to know it failed. There was nothing to it, none of the weight that accompanied my first invocation, that sense of fingers trailing through thickened air.

Velvet Rook doesn't laugh but his amusement is clear all the same. "Try again. Cut deeper. Make her pay."

Weaver snaps his fingers. "Hold on." He steps forwards, carefully taking Vesper's hand, redirecting it away from a potentially even deeper cut. "One: if you choose to cut off more, be certain and know how you will prove to her that it's part of the payment you are due. Two: it isn't Weaver, it's Weaver. You have to mean it. It is not about the sounds you make, it is about what they mean. Words are made up, Names are descriptive. It is the fulcrum you're using, get the placement right."

He steps back. "Try again."

snip snip: [3, 3]-1 Result: Failure ❌

"She stole my body." Anger burns through me as I stare Weaver down, and some distant part of me notices that I can feel angry now. Huh. "Three years of my life, gone. Three years. This? This is nothing. She can regrow it in a matter of months."

I shake my head and turn back to the threads, pushing the anger down as I look for the right place to cut. Intent. Push my intent into the invocation, just like pushing mana into a spell. "Weaver."

Frustration floods me when it doesn't work. I don't know how Weaver expects me to cast this spell when my magic is still broken.

Weaver shoves Velvet Rook away, making the other facet laugh quietly as Weaver circles behind the nascent wizard to guard her back from more errant whispers. "Take a minute to breathe, Vesper. This isn't an easy task, I shouldn't expect you to get it the first time, I apologize. You're safe here. You can take all the time you need, you don't have to get it right the first time or the second, or the third. When you're ready, I'll you with your next try."

His voice is slow and calm. "Will cutting her deeper be something that will make living with Inara easier? It's going to feel good now - trust me, I know - but there's a cost on the back end. Will it feel just as good later? Sometimes it does, sometimes it really does, but is this one of those cases? If there is conflict inside of you about what to do you need to listen to each facet of yourself, the angles at which you can approach the problem, the tools at your disposal. There's tension that feels ready to snap, so what's snagging in your weave?"

He hums, and it's easy to tell that he's looking at Velvet Rook, because Velvet Rook is in front of Vesper, making eye contact with him over Vesper's shoulder. Like Luck-Spinner, he's dressed formally, but more like he's stepped out of a royal court of an age long past, a velvet-lined feathered cloak thrown across his shoulders.

"It isn't that one side is wrong. It's that you're pulled in different directions because different parts of you are spun to serve different needs," Weaver continues.

Rook sighs, then smiles, all sharp teeth. "Is the path you want to take one that does the same harm back to those who harmed you, or do you want them to know you could have hurt them, but you chose to be the... 'better' person. Make it stick in their craw."

. "Not everything has to be powered by spite," Weaver huffs. "Sometimes it's just the better choice politically, to make things go smoother in the long run, even if you want an advantage now."

"But it's your life. Your sister. Your choice. Your future." Rook drawls slowly, watching Weaver. "So. What are you going to do with that last name?"

Weaver stiffens, then starts arguing with Velvet Rook in a language that is definitely not English, giving Vesper plenty of time to think as their voices fade into the background noise of the demense like someone turned their volume to low.

I want to hurt her. I do. She deserves so much worse than this. But... Weaver isn't wrong. As good as lashing out and take a chunk out of Inara now might feel, she's not some separate person I'll never have to deal with again. She's part of me, thanks to that demon.

I stare at the worktable's smooth wooden surface as Weaver and Rook continue arguing.

I don't care about being the better person. Not really. Whether it's software or magic, this world isn't set up to reward blind heroism -- you have to take what you want. If I have to choose one path, I'd rather hew to that truth. Cut all I can from Inara. Lock her up in my head.

But Rook is wrong. The choice I make now doesn't determine what I do in the future.You can always make a new choice, choose a new path, be a slightly different person. But... Weaver is right that cutting from Inara come back to haunt me. Short term versus long term. The same thing Inara has so much trouble with.

Ugh.

"Okay," I say, cutting through the Fae conversation going on across me. "I'm ready."

Weaver makes a rude gesture at Velvet Rook over Vesper's shoulder, making the other facet laugh quietly and flicker away into the aether of their demense as Weaver's hands move to cover Vesper's hands with his own. "Follow my lead."

Vesper feels his magic wrap around her hands, the threads that overlap his hands and fingers pulling hers into motion. "Decide where to make the cut, then repeat after me and make the motion to cut. You need to call on Weaver."

Take +2, Weaver succeeded on his support check

snip (only a little): [1, 3]+1 Result: Success! 🎯

I take a breath to steady myself and select the place to cut, near the end. Just a little. And then, "Weaver."

This time, it works. My voice slams into reality like solid matter, fingers slowing slightly as they encounter a resistance that wasn't there moments ago.

"There you go," he says, encouraging, helping her catch the clipped piece of potential.

"Now, you need to graft it into place, where your own is damaged..." his threads leave her hands as he moves, circling to help her locate the thread of her own, damaged, magic.

"Again. Weaver, with intention. Move like you're threading a needle, then carefully stitch it in. Unless..." he laughs quietly to himself.

He turns his closed hand over, opening it to reveal the same fine bone needle that Name-Maker had used to stitch Vesper into her new shape. "Take this. A material focus is helpful for sewing threads. Weaver, thread the needle, and stitch. You can try to use a mortal needle as a focus in the future, but I recommend getting one made of bone or ivory. Your own if you can, but someone or something else's is fine if you can't make your own."

Take a +2 for the bone needle focus

stitch: [3, 4] Result: Success! 🎯

My own bone? How am I — no, nevermind. I can worry about that later.

I take the thread and needle and do my best to follow his instructions, stitching it into the scorched, frayed strand of my own broken Gift. "Weaver!

The suture on Vesper's Gift is no more painful than one on her skin would be. But pulling the foreign Gift-thread through has all the tactilely intimate nails-on-chalkboard sensations of pulling wool yarn through a gap in one's teeth. The new thread sheds fibers that meld into the burnt filament. The graft feels raw... but good. Painful like picking out shrapnel out of a closed over scar.

"I think it worked," I say. "Can I try casting something? Or should I wait and let it settle first?"

"The more you carefully flex your skill the faster the graft is going to heal up and integrate into your system. Don't aim too high too quickly or you could burn it right back out again."

chromatic weave (sparks): [4 💥 3 = 7, 2]-1 Result: Success! 🎯

Something small, then. I reach into my soul and find the mana flowing through it, drawing out a strand and shaping it into Fire with a gesture. Another gesture imposes it onto reality, and a handful of tiny sparks flash between my hands. It's so easy now. Effortless. Nothing like that time at Arcanum, and certainly nothing like the countless hours I spent locked away in my room, practicing the spell over and over again so I would have some proof that magic was real.

I almost hug Weaver in that moment, but somehow I doubt he'd appreciate the gesture. So, instead, swallowing back my tear before they can fall, "Thank you."

Weaver grins. "My pleasure. I hope it's everything you wanted. So. If you're ready, we can go back to Saint's place and we can get you an actual meal. And dessert. Have you had ube or turon, before?"

There's the sound of a dish being set down somewhere in the room and the smell of fresh baking. "The little chips would be dissapointed if I didn't bring back more dessert."

"More dessert?" I ask, smiling as I recall Saint's kitchen. "But no, I haven't. What are you making?"

"I'm better at cooking than Saint ever was," Weaver says smugly, trotting over to grab a container full of fresh-baked purple cookies topped with crystals of sugar and a casserole dish loaded up with crispy treats topped with caramel. "Ube cookies and turon - turon is like lumpia, except you make it with bananas inside and can top it with caramel."

He offers both, if Vesper wants to try them before they head for the bondway.

Weaver offers me some and of course I try them. New, delicious-sounding food, how could I not?

They're just as tasty as advertised!

He'll lead the way back to the bondway after making sure they've grabbed Inara's repaired robes.

Vesper follows!

The trip back through the bondway is easy and relaxed - at least until Weaver glances up and pauses, frowning at the sky. "... that's... weird. Vesper, I think the movement of the stars is speeding up. That's not supposed to happen."

Vesper, make an Occult check

Rolled: [7, 4]-1 Result: Success! 🎯

Vesper, you remember a book of fairy tales you read as a kid. In one, the protagonist entered a fairy circle and attended a ball with a fairy prince and they danced and danced all night and the stars danced in circles overhead too, and when the girl left to go back to her village the next day, she had found that ten years had passed and everything she left behind had moved on without her.

"The bondway is our relationship, we haven't even been in a real argument in weeks, the bondway should be fine," Founder says, staring up at the sky in concern, looking back towards his own end of the bondway and then towards Saint's, pointing up. "They speed up the closer we get to Saintsholm. What the hell is he doing?"

I peer up at the sky. They do in fact seem to be accelerating, although it's a bit hard to tell with the aurora. And maybe real magic doesn't work like it does in books, but I remember reading about something similar in a story... "Uh, we might have a problem. Does time, you know, pass differently in here?"

Please don't let it be ten years, please don't let it be ten years, please don't let it be ten years...

"Sometimes, but it's the kind of thing I do on purpose? I was thinking it might be nice to drop you back into the world close to your friend when he was free to talk to you but I didn't actually do anything to make that happen?" He trails off, brown skin paling. "Oh, shit, I told him to get some sleep and heal up, but that shouldn't have done this! Damnit, Jude! This is what happens when you do everything on instinct you stupid, stupid man!"

"So we're going to be sent into the future by what, half a day or so? That doesn't seem too bad."

Founder pushes the desserts into Vesper's arms before he can drop them, then fists his hands in his hair and focuses on his breathing for a good long minute, stomping his feet to redirect his restless, furious energy. "Half a day, at least, so far."

He tips his head back again, staring up at the stars. "Okay. Okay. This probably isn't the nightmare scenario. This is probably the we are racking up debt with my bestie scenario as she keeps an eye on the borders of the lot while we spend way more time here than I thought. It's fine. This is fine. If anyone gets worried about you they'll just call, I have a cellphone, it's..."

He goes silent, then pulls his phone from his pocket. ".... we don't have service in the bondway unless we're both maintaining service. Fantastic. He forgot to turn on phone reception."

"We should hurry, then. Right? The longer we spend in here, the more time will pass outside?"

"I'm a little worried it might do something funny to you if we run through the doorway like this," Founder admits, chewing his lip and tapping one foot, arms crossed. "Saint keeps his doorways sturdy, but you're mortal. I can pull you through, though. It... should be safe? Safer than waiting in the bondway and letting him run out the clock."

"Maybe you can go through first and check on the situation on the other side?"

"... it's definitely not safe for you to be alone in the bondway," he shakes his head. "It's a clear path right now, but the moment you're without a guide is the moment you'll become lost. It's not your bond, so you don't have the same... relationship to the space."

"Mhm. Sounds like there's nothing for it but to hurry through." How bad can it really be? If it damages my body, I can just heal it — and if it damages my soul, well, Weaver's more than proven his skill at fixing that kind of damage.

"Right. Okay. So..." He'll button up his denim jacket and stuff the container of cookies into it. "... you hold onto that dish, I hold onto you, and hopefully we get Lucky," Luck-Spinner says, offering his arm, catching the container of cookies which is no longer constrained by a loose denim jacket and has to be resecured.

I adjust my grip on the dessert tray and take Luck-Spinner's arm.

Luck-Spinner nods and checks that his own cargo is secured. He begins to walk, holding on tight, pace slowly picking up as they draw closer and closer to the doorway into Saintsholm.

"Three. Two. One-"

Moving through the doorway feels like stepping onto a moving walkway at the airport that's going far, far too fast, a hook into the guts that slingshots them both through the doorway at a much higher speed than they entered it, natural steps sped up, sending Patron and Pontiff reeling, even if Luck-Spinner manages to keep his footing and support Vesper in turn.

Continued in... Chapter 2.5: The Lost Cause