Morning arrived slowly over the Truman estate.
Light slipped through the tall eastern windows of Anyo's room and spread across the marble floor in pale gold stripes. Dust drifted lazily through the beams, rising and falling in the still air like tiny wandering spirits.
The room itself was far too large for someone his size.
A massive bed dominated the center of it, its dark wooden frame carved with curling patterns that twisted into one another like vines. Thick blankets lay in a messy pile where a small figure had clearly been tossing and turning.
Books covered almost every other surface.
Three tall shelves stood against the far wall, each one packed tightly with leather bound volumes in shades of deep green, brown, and faded red. Some were thin and worn. Others were thick enough to look more like bricks than books.
A large writing desk rested beside the window.
Its surface had once been perfectly polished walnut, though now it carried shallow scratches and faint ink stains left by years of study. Several books lay scattered across it, one of them open near the edge.
A chair sat pulled slightly away from the desk.
Not pushed neatly in.
Dragged.
Because someone had climbed onto it.
And that someone was currently sitting upright in bed with wide awake eyes.
Anyo Truman blinked toward the sunlight, his dark hair sticking out wildly in several directions.
For a moment he just sat there.
Then the memory returned.
Two days.
His heart immediately started beating faster.
"Testing day…" he whispered.
A grin slowly stretched across his face.
Two days.
At the age of five, every child in the kingdom had their magical reserve measured. It was the moment that decided nearly everything about a person's future.
For noble families like the Trumans, it was even more important.
They were known across the Kingdom of Laselle for producing powerful weavers.
And Anyo intended to prove he belonged among them.
He slid off the side of the enormous bed and dropped the short distance to the floor. The cold marble made him flinch as his bare feet touched down.
The rug beside the bed helped a little. It was thick and woven from dark blue fibers that felt warm compared to the stone.
Anyo rubbed his arms.
Then his eyes moved toward the desk.
Specifically, toward the open book waiting on top of it.
His expression immediately brightened again.
He hurried across the room and climbed onto the chair, gripping the edge of the desk to pull himself up. From this height he could finally see the page clearly.
The letters looked wrong.
They were blurry.
Not completely unreadable, but close enough to make reading frustrating.
His nose wrinkled.
"That is annoying," he muttered.
Tutor Relan had shown him something yesterday.
Something small.
Something simple.
But something that had worked.
Anyo raised both hands in front of him and closed his eyes.
Nothing happened.
His fingers twitched.
His eyebrows slowly pulled together.
"It worked yesterday," he mumbled.
He tried again.
This time he concentrated harder.
And suddenly…
Something brushed against his fingertips.
His eyes snapped open.
Thin strands of pale light hovered around his hands. They were faint and delicate, like threads spun from mist.
The weave.
A grin spread across his face.
Carefully, he pushed the strands forward.
The threads drifted downward and touched the page.
Immediately the blurred ink tightened.
Letters sharpened.
Edges grew darker.
The words became clear.
Anyo stared at them.
His mouth slowly fell open.
"I did it…"
Excitement exploded through him.
"I DID IT!"
He threw both arms into the air.
Which was a terrible idea.
The moment his concentration broke, the threads dissolved. The sudden shift of balance made his foot slip off the chair.
For a brief moment he flailed wildly.
Then gravity won.
Anyo fell backward and landed on the marble floor with a dull thud.
Pain shot through his back and arms.
He lay there staring at the ceiling.
"…worth it," he decided.
A knock came from the door.
Anyo rolled onto his side and sat up quickly.
"Come in!"
The door opened just enough for someone to step through before closing again behind them.
Morning light slipped into the room for a moment, outlining the figure that had entered.
Lysara Truman.
She stopped just inside the doorway.
Her eyes moved across the room.
The chair.
The desk.
The open book.
Her younger brother sitting on the floor.
Nothing escaped her.
Her dark hair had been pulled into a high ponytail, though several loose strands clung to her temples after what had clearly been a morning training session. A faint flush colored her warm olive skin, and the sleeves of her training clothes revealed arms shaped by years of disciplined practice.
Even standing still, she carried a quiet sense of pressure.
Many adventurers found it uncomfortable to stand close to her.
Anyo never had.
A golden amulet rested against the center of her chest.
Its surface reflected the morning light faintly. Within the metal, Anyo could just barely sense something else — a dense and complicated pattern of weave twisting through itself in layers far too complex for him to understand.
He could perceive it.
But understanding it felt like trying to read a language he had never learned.
Lysara's eyes finally settled on him.
She slowly shook her head.
Then she pressed two fingers against her temples and rubbed them.
"Have you been training again?" she sighed.
Anyo jumped to his feet instantly.
"I DID IT, LYS! I DID IT!"
He pointed wildly toward the desk.
Lysara walked past him toward the open book.
Her movements were quiet.
Even standing only a few steps away, Anyo could not hear her footsteps against the marble floor.
He tried copying her.
Heel.
Toe.
Heel.
Toe.
Two steps later his feet made loud slapping sounds against the stone.
He stopped immediately.
"…how?"
Lysara hid a small smile.
She leaned over the desk and examined the page. Faint traces of weave still lingered in the air above it.
Her eyebrow lifted slightly.
Then she turned back toward him.
"At this rate," she said with a small smile, "you might even catch up to me."
She walked over and placed a hand on his head, rubbing his hair until it became even messier than before.
Anyo's eyes lit up.
"You mean I am almost as strong as you?"
There was pure admiration in his voice.
Lysara was the person he admired most in the world.
She brought him sweets from the city. Showed him sword movements he tried desperately to copy. Demonstrated weaving techniques that made magic look as natural as breathing.
He had failed every attempt to imitate them.
But he remembered every single one.
Lysara watched him quietly.
For a five year old, he was unusually curious.
And curiosity was dangerous in a world like theirs.
"Do not worry about strength," she said gently. "Your mind will save you far more often than your muscles."
At the word muscles, Anyo's eyes immediately shifted.
He leaned closer to the golden amulet at her chest, examining his reflection in the polished metal.
"But brother has muscles," he said. "And he is strong."
Lysara sighed.
"Brother Damian is… different," she said.
Her tone held a mixture of amusement and mild irritation.
"Muscles are the only thing that could save a barbarian like him."
Anyo tilted his head.
"But strength wins fights," he said. "Are we not one of the strongest families?"
Lysara crouched down so their eyes were level.
For a moment, her expression grew serious.
"My dear brother," she said quietly, "you admire strength because you have never seen it fail."
She tapped his forehead gently.
"The battlefield rewards the person who makes the fewest mistakes."
Then she stood.
"Now clean yourself and come downstairs," she said. "Mother wants all of us at breakfast."
Anyo blinked.
"All of us?"
As far as he knew…
That almost never happened.
Something about today felt different.
And he had the strange feeling he was about to find out why.