Aliacia (prime)/The Unweaving

The sound of boots on the stairs echoed through the narrow hall of the guest quarters of Oleander House. There was a pause, then a knock. It was sharp, brisk, and too respectful to be mistaken for anything but one of Jaysehn’s old crew.

Aliacia didn’t look up from her tea. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and a gust of salt-laced air followed the woman inside. Broad-shouldered, sun-worn, dressed more for the deck of a boat than for the streets of Solhaven, she stood among the furnishings looking ill-at-ease.

“Lady Aliacia,” she said with a half-bow that was far too formal for someone who used to call her brother ‘that stubborn bastard with a heart too big for his ribs.’

“We got five of them,” the sailor reported. “Three in the Peasant Holdings. Another one at the Crossroads of the Zoo, and another spanning the willow tree at Fasthr's Lance.”

Aliacia’s brow furrowed. “Fasthr's Lance? Bold.”

“Aye. But not bold enough. We used the wands you gave us. They curled and vanished like smoke. Like they were never there at all.”

“Or like they’re waiting to come back,” Aliacia murmured, her gaze slipping toward the window. "Were there anymore of the spiders that attacked at Zelia's Temple last night?"

The sailor shook her head, fingers drumming absently on the hilt of a short blade. There was a silence between them, heavy with something unspoken: that this was more than just webs. That something was coming.

“Thank you,” Aliacia said finally. “Get some rest. I may need you again soon.”

Once the door closed behind her, Aliacia sat still for a long time, staring into the cooling tea like it might offer answers. It didn’t. And she could no longer pretend this was just some prank. Maybe that apprentice from Gosaena was right. Maybe it was time to find out the truth.

She reached for parchment. Her quill hovered for a moment, tip dark with ink, before she began to write.

To those who have watched the webs gather,

You are invited.

At Rumor Woods, where memory walks beside the living, we will attempt to find what remains of Jaysehn Ranshai—and whether he rests in peace, or has been caught in something far worse, something that is coming for us all.

Bring a memory. A token. A blade.

Bring your voice, if not your faith.

This isn’t just for him anymore.

Lady Aliacia Ranshai