The old granary at the edge of Willow's Hollow had been abandoned for years, its wooden beams weathered silver by time and neglect. Now it hummed with new purpose as Lydia Rooke transformed it into something between a classroom and a sanctuary. She worked alone in the pre-dawn hours, weaving protections into the walls with movements that made reality blur at the edges, creating a space where young minds could explore dangerous truths without fear of lasting harm.
When the children arrived that first morning—summoned by messages that appeared beneath their pillows like fallen leaves—they found the granary utterly transformed. The dust and decay had vanished, replaced by a circular chamber lit by floating orbs that cast no shadows. Seven tapestries hung from the walls, each depicting one of the Weavers' Orders in threads that seemed to move when observed directly.
"Welcome," Lydia said from the center of the room, where she sat cross-legged on a woven mat that looked suspiciously similar to the ones Mara Vayne created at her loom. "To your first lesson in understanding what you are becoming."
Eris entered alongside Liran and behind them came Vera Ashford, her sharp eyes already cataloging the impossible architecture of the space, and Kael Thorne, whose silver thread caught the light of the floating orbs like a beacon. Other children followed—a nervous boy named Marcus whose stutter had recently begun producing visible ripples in the air, and twins named Senna and Sage whose dreams had started bleeding into each other's sleep.
"Sit," Lydia instructed, gesturing to cushions arranged in a circle. "And before we begin, understand this: what I teach you here is not secret, but it is sacred. The knowledge itself won't harm you, but using it carelessly might."
She waited until they were settled, noting how Eris and Liran sat close enough to touch but carefully maintained distance, how Vera positioned herself to observe everyone else, how Kael's hand unconsciously went to his silver thread whenever he felt uncertain.
"Tell me," Lydia began, her voice carrying the particular cadence of someone who had learned to make lessons memorable, "what do you think the Weavers' Guild is?"
"Magic users," Marcus offered, his voice creating those telltale ripples. "P-people who can do impossible things."
"Collectors," Vera said with characteristic directness. "You find children with gifts and take them to your towers."
"Protectors," Kael suggested quietly. "My father says you keep the kingdom safe from things normal soldiers can't fight."
Lydia nodded at each answer. "All true, in their way. But incomplete." She rose in one fluid motion, moving to the first tapestry—deep blue shot through with silver. "The Guild is, at its heart, a family born from shared understanding. We are those who have looked into the abyss of our own pain and found power waiting there."
She touched the tapestry, and it came alive, showing figures moving through shadows, appearing and disappearing like smoke. "This is my Order—the Order of the Veil. We are those who learned to hide so completely that we discovered the spaces between being seen and being invisible. My gift came from years of needing to disappear to survive."
Her hand moved, and for a moment she wasn't there—not invisible, but somehow occupying a space that eyes couldn't quite focus on. Then she was back, solid and present, moving to the next tapestry.
"But here's what they don't tell you in the stories," she continued, touching a green tapestry that depicted an endless library of forbidden books. "We are not limited to one gift, one path, one way of transforming trauma into power."
She gestured, and suddenly the air around her shimmered with barely visible threads, each one connected to one of the children. They could see them now—gossamer strands of possibility that linked thought to thought, heart to heart.
"I belong to the Order of the Veil, yes. But I also work with the tools of the Order of Threads." The connections pulsed with subtle color as she spoke. "Because pain rarely teaches us just one lesson. My need to hide also taught me to understand the invisible bonds between people, to manipulate perception not just through absence but through the careful weaving of what others expect to see."
Liran leaned forward, her altered sight catching layers of meaning in Lydia's demonstration. "So you can belong to more than one Order?"
"Belong is a strong word," Lydia replied, dismissing the visible threads with a gesture. "Every Weaver is initiated into one primary Order—the one that most closely aligns with their core trauma, their fundamental transformation. But we train in all seven paths during our apprenticeship, because understanding each Order makes us stronger in our own."
She moved to the next tapestry—silver and crystal depicting waves of sound and vibration. "Take your mother, for instance."
Both Vayne children straightened at this, and Lydia smiled softly. "Mara Korh—your mother—was primarily initiated into the Order of the Veil. Her mastery of invisibility was unprecedented. But during her evaluation, she demonstrated such a powerful affinity for the Order of Resonance that the Order Head nearly claimed her for their own."
"Resonance?" Eris asked, his voice tight with the effort of containing his own gift. "But that's... that's what the Weaver said I might have. Echoflux."
"Indeed," Lydia confirmed. "Your mother could imprint commands directly into someone's mind using nothing but her voice. A single word from her could make an enemy forget she existed, or remember things that never happened. The Order of Sight also tried to claim her—she could see through any deception, any illusion, with unsettling clarity."
She paused, letting the weight of this sink in. "In the end, it took the Guild Master's own intervention to place her. Three Orders wanting one apprentice—it was unprecedented at the time."
"Has anyone ever actually belonged to multiple Orders?" Vera asked, her analytical mind already working through the implications.
Lydia's expression grew solemn. "In the thousand-year history of the Weavers' Guild, only four individuals have been formally recognized by three Orders simultaneously. It requires not just talent but a depth of transformation that most minds cannot survive intact. Three Orders means three fundamental traumas resolved into three distinct forms of power—it's like being broken and reforged not once but multiple times."
She moved through the remaining tapestries more quickly—gold and copper for Synthesis, steady brown and green for Anchorage, silver and white for Sight, luminous threads for the Order of Threads itself.
"Each path offers its own gifts," she explained, returning to the center of the circle. "And during your time with me, you'll explore all seven. Not because you'll master them all—most Weavers spend their entire lives perfecting their primary Order—but because understanding each path helps you understand yourself."
She sat again, this time producing a small wooden box from her robes. Inside were seven stones, each a different color, each humming with its own frequency.
"These are Resonance Stones," she explained, placing them in the circle's center. "Training tools that will help you identify your natural affinities. Close your eyes and extend your hand. Let instinct guide you—don't think, just reach."
Eris's hand moved almost immediately, drawn to a silver stone that sang with perfect clarity. But as his fingers closed around it, his other hand drifted toward a blue stone, hesitating just above its surface.
Liran reached for two simultaneously—white for Sight and green for Verdant Truths. The stones pulsed in response to her touch, their frequencies creating an odd harmony.
Vera's hand hovered between gold and green before settling decisively on gold—Synthesis. But Lydia noticed how the green stone flickered slightly, responding to her presence even without touch.
Kael moved slowly, uncertainly, before his hand settled on brown—Anchorage. The stone's steady pulse seemed to calm him, and his shoulders relaxed for the first time since entering.
"Fascinating," Lydia murmured, watching as Marcus reached for silver—Resonance, like Eris—while the twins each chose different stones that nonetheless hummed in harmony.
"These are just first impressions," she cautioned as they opened their eyes. "True affinity emerges through training, through understanding, through the slow work of transforming your wounds into wisdom. Some of you may find your primary Order immediately. Others may spend years discovering where you truly belong."
She collected the stones carefully, but not before Eris noticed something—as Lydia touched each one, it responded slightly, as if recognizing her. Not just the blue of her own Order, but all seven, each acknowledging her understanding of their mysteries.
"For now," she continued, "we'll focus on the basics that all Orders share. Control. Understanding. The ability to touch your gift without being consumed by it." Her gaze found Liran specifically. "The skill to see truth without losing yourself in its layers."
She stood, and the floating orbs rearranged themselves, creating patterns in the air. "Magic—true magic, not the hedge wizardry of folk tales—is the art of transforming interior experience into exterior reality. The Guild exists because we discovered that the deepest transformations come from the deepest wounds. But a wound untended festers. A wound understood and integrated becomes a source of strength."
The morning passed in exercises that seemed simple but left them exhausted—learning to sense the flow of energy through their bodies, to recognize the moment when emotion began transforming into something more, to pull back before that transformation consumed them.
When they broke for midday, Eris found himself walking beside Vera toward the door. "Your mother," she said quietly, not quite asking a question.
"I didn't know," he admitted. "None of it. She was just... Mother. Who made breakfast and sang lullabies and told us to be careful of the old roads."
"Three Orders," Vera mused. "That's not just power. That's survival. What does someone have to endure to be broken and remade that many times?"
Before Eris could respond, Liran appeared at his other side. For a moment, the three of them stood in the doorway, looking back at Lydia, who was already preparing for the afternoon's lessons.
"She sees us," Liran said softly, and through her altered perception, Eris understood she meant more than just physical sight. "She sees what we could become. All the paths we might walk."
"Is that good or bad?" Eris asked.
Liran's smile was small and complicated. "I think that depends on which path we choose."
As they left the granary, the morning's revelations settled into their bones like new weight, none of them noticed Lydia watching from the window. Her expression held the particular sadness of someone who could see too many futures at once—the glorious and the terrible, the paths that led to mastery and those that led to madness.
Seven stones, seven paths, seven ways to transform pain into power.
In the distance, thunder rumbled despite the clear sky, and Lydia wondered if Mara had felt it too—the storm that was coming, the changes that were already beginning, the moment when hiding would no longer be an option for any of them.