When Zerath took his seat at the long table amidst the other leaders of the Fateweavers, there was a certain tension in the air.

Next to him, Masters Aldrin and Nerina were exchanging whispered words, taking turns debating the latest rumors. Nerina half-covered her mouth while she spoke, but her sharp voice still cut through the tense silence and let half the table in on her concerns.

Elder Thornec was standing at a nearby window, waiting for everyone to arrive. Once they were complete, he slowly walked over to his chair at the head of the table and sat down with a grunt. His white hair was running down his head in waves, his amber eyes scanning the room, briefly resting on each of them for a few seconds. Master Nerina swallowed her last words and fell silent. Master Aldrin hastily fixed his posture as much as he could, given his age.

"You can probably imagine why we're here, so let's cut the pleasantries."

Thornec's voice was deep and raspy, carrying his anger with every word he spoke. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"There has been a development in the matter of the stolen tome. As it turns out, putting our fate in the hands of two apprentices was as bad an idea as it sounds."

He gazed at Zerath and his demeanor grew even more sour. Next to Zerath, Master Aldrin seemed uncomfortable sitting this close to the source of Thornec's anger.

"Did I not tell you," the Elder continued, and his voice picked up in volume, "that this was a foolish plan, even by your standards?"

"And you," he turned his gaze away from Zerath and pointed at the round of Masters, leaning forward in his chair.

"In all your wisdom, fooled by the promise of a family name?"

Most of them looked at their hands or the table in front of them.

"Dor," Thornec spat out the word like it was spoiled food.

The frown on his face exposed decades of deep wrinkles. Then, he sighed and slowly leaned back.

"But … Elder Thornec?" a woman with a fragile voice from the other side of the table said carefully.

With a peevish wave of his hand, Thornec prompted her to speak.

"Have the Dors not given us enough reason to praise them? Have they not upheld their promise for generations?"

Thornec let out a dry laugh.

"Have they now?" he asked cynically. "I suggest you better take what you read in our flowery history books with a grain of salt, Master Inara."

The woman nodded, slightly embarrassed, and lowered her head again. As a Master, Inara was responsible for the complicated restoration of fate tomes, an art that required a deep understanding of fate weaving. However, her overly intellectual research topic sometimes left her oblivious to more mundane matters.

"Anyhow," Thornec continued with a strained voice, "let's not dwell on the past, as much as I would like to. Instead, we must focus on the present and the mess Zerath's plan has gotten us into."

Zerath could feel eight pairs of eyes on him, some filled with pity, others beaming with condemnation. When he returned their gazes, they quickly looked away — except for Thornec.

"You might want to tell them what happened before we jump to conclusions," Zerath said calmly.

Thornec muttered something only he could hear. It might have been something along the lines of "I'll show you a conclusion, alright".

Everyone was looking at Thornec now, and the anticipation for what he was going to say next was tangible.

"Earlier today, we received a message from the Dor siblings." He briefly glanced at Zerath. "As it turns out, they managed to let themselves get captured — not once, but twice. They were investigating a lead in the city of Tavira, and things went downhill from there."

A grave silence befell the room. Zerath was observing the range of emotions on his fellows' faces. He had talked with Thornec before the meeting, so none of this came as a surprise to him. As much as Thornec was holding a grudge against him in this regrettable matter, he always valued Zerath's advice. Rarely did a day pass without the two of them discussing the states and affairs of their order.

"Now, all of you," Thornec continued with a sinister voice, "should know that Tavira has been of certain relevance in our recent history, though that relevance is hardly something we choose to talk about."

He paused and gazed at the men and women in front of him. Master Inara tried her best to avoid eye contact, while Master Nerina was staring at Thornec in defiant disbelief. Master Aldrin, who was among the eldest in the room, started breathing heavily.

"While these events should be known to the members of this esteemed group, they are never brought up in front of our students. Which, of course, begs the question: how did the Dor siblings know? Why did they go to Tavira?"

Again, he looked at Zerath disapprovingly.

"Let's not fool ourselves," Thornec growled. "If one of the two found out about this stain in our history, it had to be the girl. She's smart, I'll give her that."

Aldrin and a few of the other Masters nodded approvingly.

"But even so — it is almost like she was given special means to further bolster her knowledge," the Elder said with a sarcastic undertone. "Possibly, if not apparently, beyond what is good for her own sake and age."

The silence that followed was long and deep, until one of the older Masters coughed uncomfortably.

"But that's beside the point," Thornec growled after a moment. "Once the Dor siblings arrived in Tavira, they seemed to have made … contact."

"Are you saying they found the Fateless?" Master Aldrin asked warily.

Thornec's eyes fixated on him. "It would appear they found much more than that."

Palpable tension filled the air.

"According to their message, they were taken to the secret refuge of the Fateless, Morathen, where they saw an entire civilization of Fateless, spread out across an underground network of caves and tunnels in the mountains near Tavira."

He let his words be felt, and they were felt deeply. Most masters knew about the rumored existence of this mythical place, but they never assumed it to be real. Zerath could see it in their eyes, the glaring blend of shock and panic, tearing through their masks of projected calm. Studying his colleagues like an anthropologist, he tried to observe the more subtle nuances to their reactions, like the twitching of tiny muscles around their eyes, the grinding of their clenched jaws, or the pronounced twisting of veins on the surface of their silk-nestled necks. He was looking for indications of deeper feelings, hidden truths, or unexpected revelations — understanding the people around him had always been essential to Zerath.

"So Morathen is real?" Master Nerina asked in a hawkish voice.

Before Thornec could respond, he was interrupted by Master Aldrin.

"So that's where they've been hiding all these years," the old man muttered pensively, more to himself.

Thornec cleared his throat. "If we believe the report of Zerath's prodigies," he began, then sighed when he noticed Zerath's scolding look, "which of course we do, then yes. They are hiding in those caves, like rats in the sewer."

"How is it possible that we were unaware of this?" Master Inara asked through gritted teeth.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then, a spark of realization seemed to cross Master Nerina's mind, and she glared at Thornec with wary eyes, her lips forming a sharp line.

"Were we unaware of this?" she snarled.

Thornec massaged his temples, annoyance showing in his expression.

"We had an inkling," he rasped.

"Who is we?" the Master of martial arts sneered, but it didn't take her long to figure it out.

She glanced at Zerath, her gaze stinging like needles.

"Typical," she hissed, and crossed her muscular arms.

"We figured only a fraction of the Fateless were encountered in the skirmishes around Tavira back in the day," Zerath elaborated, trying to strike a soothing tone. "Many were killed, but those were only their fighters. It was logical to assume that the vast majority was still holding out somewhere else. And there is usually an ounce of truth to any legend — same with the one about Morathen, it would appear."

Nerina scoffed, but remained silent.

"For so many years, they've been trying to hide their existence from us. Why act so openly now?" Master Aldrin muttered, "What changed?"

"Maybe they feel like we have gotten weak, secluded in our ivory tower, and too intellectual to fight back."

Thornec's voice was grim, and his words were filled with truth. The other Masters exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Just like we assumed that after our last encounter, the Fateless had learned their lesson and gone dormant for good," he concluded.

Master Nerina moved in her chair, and her face still showed signs of anger.

"If we always assumed the Fateless were still out there … why did we not act on that knowledge?

She held the Elder's gaze, but it was Zerath who replied.

"And do what exactly?" he asked calmly, "How should we have acted? Send another army? Because that went so well last time?"

Nerina fell silent, but didn't look appeased.

Thornec leaned back in his chair, a cynical smile on his lips.

"You haven't even heard the best part," he hissed conspiratorially. "Apparently, they even have a king now."

Laughter of disbelief filled the room, but died down abruptly when the Elder continued.

"Malvorn, he calls himself," Thornec jeered, his words dripping with contempt. "And it would appear he built himself a pretty little golden nest, right in the heart of this dumpster of a city, where he spends his time scheming and plotting our demise."

A few Masters started whispering, sharing angry condemnations and wild theories. Zerath remained silent, wondering where this discussion would lead, especially with the next piece of information Thornec was about to reveal. Today, important decisions would be made in this room — decisions that could alter the course of history.

"Apparently, the stolen fate tome is part of these plans." Thornec inhaled deeply, and his voice got somber. "It seems to belong to an individual who is going to assassinate King Montis of Cylion."

A murmur went through the room as the Masters exchanged puzzled looks.

"Are you sure of that?" Master Aldrin asked in confusion.

Thornec grunted. "Well, it's what our apprentices wrote."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"How could someone with such a fate exist?" Master Nerina snapped. "Whoever recorded that fate would've noticed and taken … precautions."

Zerath smiled gently. "You are rarely one to sugar coat things, dear Nerina."

It was an ancient practice, performed by Fateweavers for generations. In an effort to keep a stable and healthy society, they had decided, long ago, that the good of the many outweighed the good of the few — or, to be precise, a single individual, if their fate tome promised a problematic future. Of course, the judgment of what was considered problematic was not fully objective, and the guidelines evolved and changed over the years. Severe cases would be brought in front of the council of Masters, but in many more obvious instances, the Fateweaver recording a fate was allowed to, even expected to, destroy a fate tome if the future it described was not in accordance with the current guidelines. Petty crimes were tolerated, but anything too disruptive would be slated for deletion — after all, it only took a fireplace. They had all done it, even if they were not proud of it.

"I agree — it raises questions," Thornec said with a grim voice. "But until we know who the owner of the tome is, we won't know who recorded it either. As it stands, we have a king slayer on the loose."

"Speaking of," Master Aldrin said with a brittle voice. "Did we make progress figuring out who this fate tome belongs to?"

"I'm afraid that knowledge is still eluding us," a deep voice at the end of the table replied.

It was Master Oryn, the chief librarian, and as such, responsible for keeping their archives in order. He knew every shelf and every aisle in the Great Library, and he tended to every misplaced book with great care and diligence. Zerath couldn't recall a single time Oryn had not been on top of things, but recent events raised questions — and they seemed to weigh heavily on Oryn's otherwise cheerful spirit.

"We have gone to great lengths to take a complete inventory of the section in question," Oryn continued, once all eyes were on him.

His dark bald head was slightly bowed, and his corpulent body seemed uncomfortable in the narrow wooden chair.

"As you know, this particular section of the library contains some of the most important fates entrusted in our care — kings, spiritual leaders, even most members of this esteemed council have their fate tomes stored in there."

Genuine concern was painted on the faces around Zerath as they became aware of their own vulnerability. It added an unusual personal touch to this matter.

"And yet," Oryn's fingers interlaced on the table in front of him as he continued, "It would appear that all the tomes are present and accounted for. Or, to put it in other words, the tome that was stolen did not belong there in the first place."

The Masters exchanged confused glances. Elder Thornec seemed to already know about this revelation, but it still visibly bothered him the second time around.

"How is this possible?" he hissed. "Fate tomes are among the most powerful objects known to mankind, but they still lacked feet last time I checked. How could this one just end up in there? And in a restricted section of all places?"

Oryn pursed his lips.

"Truth be told: we don't know. Someone must have moved it there."

Thornec stared at him for a long moment, contemplating the implications of his words.

"But is this not a blessing in disguise?" Master Inara whispered. "Yes, a tome was taken. But apparently it was not one of the most important ones."

The Elder did not seem consoled, and neither was Zerath. He looked at Oryn, then at Inara, and when he spoke, his voice carried weight.

"Whether it's the tome of a high king or a poor fisherman, the Fateless clearly went to great lengths to retrieve it. Or do you think they just happened to steal the only book that did not belong in that archive by mere chance?" Zerath shook his head. "No — they knew exactly what they were after, so there must be something special about that tome."

Master Aldrin nodded at him in agreement, then continued to say: "I agree. As much as we need to find out who this tome belonged to, it does not change the importance of retrieving it. However, what worries me is how the thief knew where to find it. If what you say is true," he gestured at Master Oryn, "and the tome indeed did not belong in this section of our archives, then how did the thief know it was there?"

Zerath could sense that the mood in the room shifted — suddenly, there was a faint hint of mistrust, and the Masters started looking around as if they saw each other clearly for the first time. They were glancing at their seat neighbors with newfound suspicion, while desperately trying to avoid eye contact. But when Thornec slammed his palm on the table, he had their full attention again.

"Enough," he bellowed. "This is exactly what they want. We need to be as one, there is no room for mistrust among us." The Elder looked angry, but more at the situation they found themselves in, rather than at his present company.

"I agree there are some worrying thoughts here that, if indulged, lead to uncomfortable questions. I assure you that we will answer those questions — in time."

He sighed. "Luckily, albeit to everyone's surprise, the Dor siblings managed to recover this unknown fate tome."

"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Master Inara asked, keeping her head low in fear of retaliation.

Thornec snorted and looked at Zerath. "I'm afraid that's where Zerath's prodigies decided to go off script. Instead of burning the tome right there and then, like they should have, they decided to go to Cylion to stop the assassin themselves."

Master Inara's dreamy eyes showed signs of confusion.

"But," she muttered, "how are they supposed to change a fate?"

"That's the point," Thornec snarled. "They can't. It's a fool's errand. How they fail to recall the most fundamental lesson of our teachings is beyond me."

"Aren't you forgetting some important details here?" Zerath asked pointedly.

When the Elder made no move to further shed light on the matter, Zerath took it upon himself.

"After recovering the tome from the heart of Malvorn's palace, which, I dare say, is quite an astonishing feat," he said, and a few Masters nodded in agreement, "they were forced to go to Cylion by a scoundrel they met in the underworld. That woman is expecting a great reward from the Dor family upon the return of their offspring. Until then, she is keeping the siblings in her custody."

"Two versus one, and they are not even trying to fight?" Master Nerina scoffed, like her personal pride was hurt. "I taught them better than that."

"Sounds like a smart and capable woman," Thornec added. "Surely, the Dor family can spare some coin. And if not, too bad."

Zerath ignored the snide remarks and continued.

"That's why they did not return here right away, and are instead on their way to Cylion by now. But that's not all of it. There was something strange about that tome they recovered — apparently, large sections of it were just … blank, as if someone erased them."

He paused and looked around, monitoring what effect this revelation would have on people. A few of the Masters were awfully quiet, but the majority just looked puzzled and confused, like a herd of startled sheep. The exceptions were Master Nerina and the Elder himself.

"Impossible," he snorted, gesturing dismissively with his firm hand.

Master Aldrin wrinkled his bushy eyebrows. "I'm not so sure about that," he said carefully, avoiding Thornec's gaze as he spoke. "I remember reading about a technique that allowed the Fateweavers of old to erase passages of a fate tome."

Thornec grunted in discontent. "Those are mere myths, tales of impossible feats. No one has done anything like that for centuries."

"I agree with Master Aldrin," the fragile voice of Master Inara interjected.

Seeing how fate tome restoration was her area of expertise, her opinion would be valued in this particular discussion.

Zerath studied the short woman across from him, who had never really exerted the aura of a true Master. Yet, she was skilled in her own domain, and there were a great many things she could teach the students — and the other Masters, for that matter. While it seemed like she was easily being rolled over, Zerath knew there was more to her than met the eye. He gave her an approving nod, and she returned the gesture with a brisk smile.

"The art of manipulating fate tomes may be long forgotten, but it does exist. And it can still be learned by those willing to study."

"Studied?" Thornec sneered. "By reading some dusty books?"

Inara frowned, but she wasn't backing down just yet.

"The teachings of our ancestors offer great knowledge. We should not cast that treasure of ours aside all too easily."

Raised eyebrows told Zerath that not many had expected Inara to question Thornec's opinion on this matter — or any matter. Lively chatters started sprouting at different ends of the table.

A hint of surprise scurried across the Elder's face, but he was quick to regain his composure.

"Enough of this nonsense," he snarled, raising his hands in a commanding manner.

The room went quiet in an instant.

"Whatever the deal with that wretched tome, it matters not. Zerath's prodigies failed to destroy the tome when they had the chance, and now we have to deal with the consequences."

"But shouldn't we count ourselves lucky that the Dor siblings even provided us with all this valuable intel?" Master Inara asked quietly, oblivious to the reaction she might provoke in Thornec. "Without their quick success, we'd still have no idea what we are up against."

If looks could kill, Inara would have dropped dead right there and then. The discontent in Thornec's eyes radiated through the room in palpable waves, and some Masters winced when they brushed over their faces.

"Thankful?" Thornec snarled, and it seemed like even the birds outside the window had shut up. "You think this pitiful effort of theirs is to be commended? That their inability to defend themselves is something we should applaud?"

Inara seemed to crumble under Thornec's gaze.

"If they hadn't gotten captured, they never would have learned about Morathen and Malvorn," Zerath offered, knowing that he was putting himself in harm's way.

Thornec snorted. "Right," he spat out facetiously, "I guess promotions are in order after such a cunning display of incompetence."

"At least they sent us a letter to warn us," Master Aldrin interjected.

The dark color of Thornec's face seemed to take on a red tint.

"They should've destroyed the tome and be done with it. What are we even talking about?"

His breathing was raspy, and his knuckles were digging into the tabletop.

"You forget they are still apprentices," Zerath said calmly. "Destroying a fate tome is not something that comes naturally to them."

"If they don't learn that while they are young, they will never do," Thornec growled.

Zerath smiled faintly. "Leave that to me."

They fell silent for a moment.

"Malvorn has emerged as the twisted fanatic behind the Fateless' recent surge, and now it is our turn to act," Thornec rasped. "We'll show them why they ended up in that filthy hole in the first place."

"I'm not sure more violence is the answer here," Zerath cautioned.

"I agree with Master Zerath," Master Aldrin said and slowly leaned forward, "We must refrain from seeking open confrontation. The enemy is taunting us — all the more reason not to act rashly. Most of you are too young to remember, but that is exactly how it started last time. A petty affair led to so much sorrow, on both sides."

"With all due respect, Master Aldrin," Nerina shot back, "but stealing a fate tome is not a petty affair. Assassinating the ruler of Cylion is more than taunting, wouldn't you agree? This time, they have gone too far."

Zerath interjected before Aldrin could respond.

"Indeed, they have. But what Master Aldrin says is also true," he gestured at Aldrin, and the old man nodded appreciatively.

"I'm afraid the truth lies somewhere in between — and our best course of action might be to wait for our enemy to take the next step, to make a mistake."

"That is not a course of action, that is the absence of action," Nerina growled, glaring menacingly during the brief silence that followed.

When Thornec spoke, his voice had turned into a bark, and the Masters closest to him flinched instinctively.

"I won't let these insolent pests make a fool out of our esteemed order."

His amber eyes were angry and full of conviction, framed by wild hair that started losing its well-groomed shape.

"We are not seeking violence, they are! Everything was fine until they started making moves again. And now they want to assassinate our closest ally? If we just stand by while they slowly take us down, we might as well disband our order already."

Zerath gestured an apology, then asked: "So, what do you suggest we do?"

The Elder looked at him with stern eyes.

"We take the fight to them."

A collective gasp filled the room. Zerath sighed quietly, knowing that things had been set in motion that would change the course of history forever.

"Let the Dor siblings try to save King Montis, though I fear that ship has left the harbor. We won't reach them in time to destroy the tome, so if they don't figure it out by themselves, Montis is lost to us. The succession of Cylion is unclear. We don't know if whoever follows after him will be friend or foe, and we can't count on their military support any longer. We have to take matters into our own hands."

He paused, then added: "This time, we have to take the Fateless out for good. Too long have we let them sow chaos and disturb order. It is time to end them once and for all."

Thornec's expression was a mask of stone, chiseled by cold determination. Rash as he may be, Zerath thought, he always projected strength and confidence, making it easy for people to follow him — people like Master Nerina.

"Count me in," the woman said and raised her clenched fist. "The weakness of our order is like a sickness. I would be honored to help cure it.

"I applaud your spirit, Master Nerina." Thornec gestured for her to be at ease. "That's the kind of mentality we need to overcome what's ahead of us."

The Elder interlaced his hands in front of him and leaned forward, as if he was going to tell them a secret.

"We are going to erase the Fateless from this world, once and for all. We are going to extirpate this pest that has spread under the mountains, and we will be thorough."

The whispered words hung in the air for a long moment. Here and there, the Masters around Zerath started whispering hastily — he was the only one to speak out loud.

"What you describe is genocide."

He let his words be felt, acknowledging the dooming silence they had caused. But he wasn't going to stop there.

"You really want to go down that route? From what Kaelen and Elara told us, there are children in Morathen, old people, families. Because of one misled man, you want to kill all of them? How does that make us any better than our adversaries?"

Zerath looked around, but most of his colleagues were shy to return his gaze.

"What I describe," Thornec snarled, his voice little more than a low rumble, "is a way to ensure the survival of our order."

Beaming amber eyes were fixated on Zerath.

"You told me," Thornec continued, "not to underestimate the Fateless. Well, I'm following your advice, old friend. I'm not underestimating them anymore. I see them as a detrimental threat to all Fateweavers. The Fateless will never rest until we are destroyed. There will always be people like Malvorn among them. It matters not whether these plans are his alone — his twisted mind is symptomatic of their entire kind."

Zerath exhaled slowly.

"True as that may be, only a fool would walk into what could be a colossal trap. Do you really want to take the battle to them? Have them fight on home turf?" Zerath shook his head. "It sounds to me like you are still underestimating them."

"Oh, you misunderstand me," the Elder rasped and leaned forward. "No one said anything about a battle. We are not going to march an army into their lair. Like you said, we need cunning instead of muscles. I'm sure you are happy to hear that I might take you up on that advice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zerath asked skeptically.

A fiendish smile distorted Thornec's features.

"Leave the details up to me," the Elder said, with the determination of a man who was finally doing what he was best at.

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