When Zerath entered the stuffy classroom, Master Aldrin was in the middle of a lengthy monologue about the impulses the Fateweavers of the third century had set, and how the results of their studies laid the foundation for the order of Fateweavers as it was today, including their many strict rules where the art of Fateweaving was concerned. Half his students looked like they could use an impulse, too, but one of the physical kind. Unfazed by the lack of interest, Master Aldrin continued talking from his armchair at the head of the class.

"Many of you might wonder why there are —" he paused, noticing his colleague by the door, but Zerath gestured him to go on.

It took the old Master a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Anyway," he muttered, "where was I? Ah yes, the achievements of Master Lorcan during the time of the second Cylionic war. Terrible war, terrible …" his voice trailed off like a faint echo in the distance.

Someone in the back coughed, followed by a muffled yawn.

"You see, it was a time of great tragedies, both for common citizens of the realm and for our order. King Duartis of Cylion declared war on the northern kingdoms for their defiance of the God of Fate, and by extension, the Fateweavers. In the northern realms, our brothers and sisters were being hunted, publicly executed like common thieves, if you can believe it. Luckily for us, King Duartis was an adamant believer and a good friend of Master Lorcan, for they both shared many interests and many a bottle of good Cylionic wine. During that time, they often met in these halls we stand in today, discussing the meaning of fate at large and Duartis' role in it. The King of Cylion was more of a scholar than many historical records give him credit for, and he was determined to understand the very meaning of fate and all its intricate implications, to the point where he would've made for a good Fateweaver. It must've been during that time, when his questions planted the seed of an idea in Lorcan's mind, watered with the curiosity only a cerebral man like him could feel."

Aldrin started pensively stroking his white beard.

"One time, according to the historic manuscript of Master Bevon, which we all know was no stranger to a little exaggeration and poetic freedom" — he chuckled briefly — "Duartis allegedly asked Lorcan if there was only one fate for any given person. Now, that might sound like a ridiculous question to you, and so it did to Lorcan — but only at first. Fueled by the sweet taste of Cylionic wine, it got him thinking. Is there only one fate? Or are there, in fact, multiple? And if so, does the God of Fate create these fates? Do we, in our role as Fateweavers, merely pick one of many potential fates? Can we only see one, because that's all there is — or are we just too blind to see more?"

He indulged in a theatrical pause, as his eager eyes drifted through the room. At least some students were still paying attention, Zerath noticed. A few of them were even taking notes, although some of that might have been doodles.

"At the time," Aldrin continued in an ominous voice, "these were radical thoughts, and dangerous questions to ask. Back then, the Fateweavers were more of a cult than an order, and they tolerated little creative thinking. The Elder at the time, Althareon, was a strict traditionalist, and Lorcan would have faced severe punishment had these curious thoughts of his become known. You see, despite his good relationship with the King of Cylion, Lorcan was not even a part of the council of Masters, which only consisted of five members back then, and his curiosity had gotten him into trouble before. Needless to say, Althareon was not particularly fond of him. And yet, Master Lorcan's research marks some of the pillars of our teachings, even today."

Aldrin paused again and took a sip from a tea mug that was standing on the table in front of him.

Somewhere in the room, a chair moved, and the squeaking noise violently ripped through the silence.

Aldrin smacked his lips with relish and leaned back in his chair.

"Now, I'm sure you're wondering what exactly it was Lorcan discovered."

No one in the room made a sound.

"Well, let me tell you. When Lorcan started exploring the theory of a person not just having one fate, but maybe two, or three, or, if you would believe it, infinitely many fates, he soon had to face some existential questions. If there is an infinite amount of fates — are they still fates? Or just possibilities? And do these possibilities become a fate in the process of choosing one? But then what happens to these other potential fates? Do they blink out of existence as soon as you decide on one?"

Again, he chuckled, and his chest thumped under his purple robes.

"You can tell there are more questions than answers here. Lorcan soon realized that the mere theoretical exploration of the matter would not be enough to come to a conclusion, so he started to conduct experiments — unsanctioned by Althareon, of course. Now, I'm not telling you to defy your elders in the pursuit of greatness," he murmured with a wink, "but in this rare instance, the results of these experiments might have been worth the risk."

A soft smile split his wrinkly lips as he interlaced his slender fingers and gently rested them on his belly.

"What Master Lorcan found is that you can indeed alter a fate, or rather, pick one of many possibilities. He did so by not recording what the God of Fate initially showed to him, but something … different. Now, the question he desperately tried to answer was whether this alternate fate was of his own imagination or bestowed upon him by our benevolent God himself. Did he, a mere mortal, create that fate, or did he simply choose it from the options he was given? And was his choice even his own?"

He meaningfully raised his eyebrows and was about to continue, but a raised hand made him pause.

"Yes, my Dear?"

"We were told that it is paramount to always record exactly what the God of Fate is showing us," a blonde young woman in the third row asked, her voice mellow like the song of a bird, "are you telling us that's not actually true?"

Some of the students started whispering, much to Aldrin's amusement.

"Now, before you get all excited, let me finish my tale. Remember what I said in the beginning? This is a lesson about why we have these strict rules. You just learned about the temptation, now you will learn about the price."

The student lowered his arm, patiently awaiting her Master's explanation.

"See, on his quest to finally alter the fate of a human, Lorcan experienced many setbacks and failed attempts. Some of them involved inanimate objects and were easily repeated or abandoned, but others … well. To further advance his studies, Lorcan started experimenting on sentient beings early on. He started with birds, cats, and dogs, and he soon learned that changing the fate of a creature is a most intricate and evolved process. Many times did his efforts of altering fate lead to the same result: the painful death of the being it belonged to, drawn out and cruel, like a deer left to die with a broken limb."

Aldrin gestured with his hands, and for the first time, he had the student's undivided attention.

"Eventually, Lorcan decided that he had learned everything he could from his studies on animals, so he turned to humans to confirm what he'd learned. Now, therein lay a challenge, because it was now much harder to find subjects for his experiments. While his desperate attempts to understand the very fabric of Fateweaving might make him seem a madman, Master Lorcan was still bound by his own moral code. Scientific progress was his ultimate goal, but he was not willing to sacrifice newborn babies of unsuspecting parents. Hence, he needed to find volunteers, and you can imagine that that was no easy feat to accomplish."

Aldrin chuckled and took another sip of tea. Zerath was pretty sure the lesson was already running overtime, but none of the students moved or showed signs of impatience.

"It's ironic, you see," Master Aldrin continued as he leaned forward to set down his mug, "because it appears the God of Fate wanted him to find the answers to his questions, for he provided him with a stellar opportunity to test and verify his theories. And as fate would have it, the person offering him that opportunity was none other than King Duartis of Cylion, who had just become a father again to a pair of twins. The very person who inspired Lorcan to pursue these dangerous thoughts was the one to help bring them to a conclusion. You see, Lorcan had been conferring with Duartis during his studies, sharing with him the theories he crafted and the progress he made. And the setbacks, of course, but that seemed not to deter the king. On the contrary, he even saw an opportunity for the kingdom as a whole. He urged that Lorcan would attempt to alter the fate of one of the children, Clevis, in such a way that they would be guaranteed to defeat the northern realms once and for all, spreading the word of fate as far as the Roaring Mountains. Not too unlikely a fate, if you think about it," Aldrin added pensively and let his gaze drift through the room.

"For the second child, Azon, they had a different plan. They chose a fate far less likely, one that would have the king's offspring live a simple life, away from the noise of war and politics. They should not share their father's interest in Fateweaving, nor their sibling's aspiration for grandeur. And so it came that Lorcan was invited to the royal palace, like he had been so many times before, to record the fate of the two infants. Their friendship over the years made it only natural that Lorcan would be granted this immense honor, and so Althareon and the other Masters did not suspect a thing — or if they did, they were not certain enough to stop Lorcan."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Aldrin paused briefly, then asked: "Any guesses on what happened next? Anyone?"

At first, no one seemed willing to venture a guess, but after a moment of hesitation, a pasty young man in the first row raised his scrawny arm. "Yes, Tobin?"

"Thank you, Master," the boy said with a fragile voice, "I read about it in the additional records you recommended to us last week."

Master Aldrin gave him a satisfied nod. In the back row, some students whispered, then chuckled, too quietly for Aldrin's old ears to hear.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"Yes, Master," Tobin stammered hastily. "After Master Lorcan recorded the fates of both children, all seemed well, and they lived their early years without any incidents. All the while, Master Lorcan and King Duartis observed them meticulously, counting the days until the results of what they did would show. However, it never got that far."

The boy stopped and gave Aldrin a probing look.

"Continue, please," his teacher said with a gesture of his hand.

"Yes, Master. When the twins turned ten, they were presented with events that should set them on their destined paths. Azon was offered the chance to leave court and join a monastery in the mountains east of Cylion, where he could live a peaceful life, far away from the noise of the city. To Lorcan's and Duartis' surprise, Azon accepted the offer with open arms, fulfilling his fate as Lorcan had predicted it. Encouraged by their first success, they also presented Clevis with a choice. Despite his youth, he was offered a seat on Duartis military council to learn the art of warfare from an early age. Clevis had been following the turns and events of the war with the northern kingdoms with great interest, so the two men were certain their plan was bound to succeed. However, they were painfully mistaken. In the records it said that during his first council meeting, Clevis was struck by inexplicable pains and seizures, his body burning up from the inside like a coal in the fire, his limbs moving in unnatural ways … until his body just stopped functioning, his mind and soul seemingly removed, leaving behind a lifeless husk."

The silence that followed was long and heavy. Aldrin nodded pensively, gesturing at the boy that he had done well.

"Thank you, Tobin," Aldrin finally said. "It is true. Their plan failed in the most unlikely of ways. The child destined for glory, the one who should spread the influence of the God of Fate like none before, died. And at the same time, Azon, who was prescribed a fate of irrelevance and seclusion, lived. King Duartis was a broken man from that point onward — with his one son dead and the other one removed from his hearth, he realized what terrible crimes he'd committed, sacrificing his own children in the name of knowledge. With the king's resolve gone like a leaf in the storm, the northern kingdoms saw their opportunity and pushed further south than they ever had before, murdering and enslaving thousands on their way. Fateweavers were hunted like animals, publicly denounced, and executed. Lorcan was forced to leave Cylion, but he had no other place to go to — when Elder Althareon learned of Lorcan's blasphemous transgressions, he was furious, and rightfully so. Though the Elder was kind enough to let Lorcan live, he was banished from the Great Library of Amareth for all eternity. Or, in his case, for thirty more years, which he lived as an outcast in the mountains south of here, never to be heard of again."

He let his words be felt.

"So, what do we learn from this tale?" he asked into the round without expecting an answer. "In the aftermath of what had transpired, many theorized that it was not enough to alter a fate in a way that would seemingly please the God of Fate, but that you had to convince him, persuade him, if you will. If you don't listen to what the God of Fate is showing you, you will have to present good reasons, or else be ready to accept horrifying outcomes, like the death of Duartis' son had shown. In any case, the results of this forbidden practice, which was later named Fatebending, are entirely unpredictable. Whether an altered fate gets accepted is entirely up to the God of Fate. And as much as our patron is wise, he can also be temperamental. It was thus deemed that no Fateweaver should ever make use of Fatebending, lest they want to suffer severe consequences. But as you probably know best," he murmured, gesturing at the students in front of him, "rules are usually more of an incentive than a deterrent, and so many aspiring Fateweavers have tried to follow in Lorcan's footsteps over the centuries."

A few students chuckled, but quickly went silent again when they noticed Aldrin's serious demeanor.

"What they forget, however, is that Master Lorcan, despite being exiled, was one of the most magnificent Fateweavers of his time, and so no one has managed to recreate what he managed to do ever since. No one has succeeded at bending a fate successfully, and so whatever gift or knowledge Lorcan possessed died with him, since he never had a chance to complete his studies and report his findings."

The excitement he had sparked in the ambitious students was snuffed out like a candle in the wind. Master Aldrin smiled at the sight of their long faces.

"I know, I know," he said and chuckled. "I was young once, too, even though you probably find that hard to believe. I know the temptation, but I can tell you now that it is not worth the pain and suffering it comes with. And it sure is not worth it to risk everything for something that is doomed to fail. Then, as now, any attempt at Fatebending is being punished to the utmost. So keep that in mind, and rather focus on your actual studies."

A student in the back raised an arm. Aldrin prompted her to speak with a wink of his finger.

"Master, what happened to Azon?"

Aldrin nodded approvingly. "Good question, Messandra, good question."

The woman smiled and lowered her arm.

"Azon lived a long and healthy life, but was filled with distrust and hatred towards the Fateweavers for what they had done to his family. And can you blame him?"

Aldrin shook his head.

"He eventually left the monastery and settled down in one of the mountain villages, and is said to have been rather popular among the common folk. He never joined the war that was raging in the lowlands, nor did he come back to Cylion, not even when his father died. So in the tragedy of it all, Azon actually fulfilled the fate he was given, however unlikely it may have seemed at first."

Zerath knew that wasn't the full story. The king's offspring, Azon, had spent his entire life despising the Fateweavers and everything they stood for. And he didn't do so quietly — instead, he gathered like-minded people around him, founding a movement whose members would ultimately be the ancestors of the Fateless. It was ironic how the Fateweavers themselves had created their greatest enemies by meddling with things beyond their comprehension.

After a moment of silence, Master Aldrin cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

"Next time we will be discussing the studies on the duality of fate by Master Jerefina at the turn of the century. I'm expecting you to read chapter 23 until then and prepare a summary of her most important theories."

His last words drowned in a murmur of displeasure, followed by a cacophony of screeching chairs. The students gathered their books and inkwells and shoved them in their bags, then hastily rushed out of the door like a mountain river through a broken dam, acknowledging the presence of Master Zerath with courteous nods and whispers.

Master Aldrin slowly got up from his chair, massaging the side of his hip, and walked over to Zerath, who'd been patiently waiting next to the door.

"Kaelen and Elara would've enjoyed today's lesson," Zerath said and politely inclined his head to greet the old Master.

Aldrin chuckled. "It wouldn't surprise me if Elara already read up on the whole history of the second and third centuries."

Zerath joined in on his smile.

"I'm glad you didn't forget to caution our students from following in Lorcan's footsteps."

"Well, we don't want to give our students any funny ideas now, do we?" Aldrin snorted and combed his beard with his fingers. "Besides, the God of Fate is not easily fooled. Any attempt at doing so would be ridiculous."

"I agree," Zerath said more earnestly, "and as much as we want the next generation of Fateweavers to be knowledgeable, some truths are best left untouched."

Aldrin's bushy eyebrows twitched as he gazed at the now-empty classroom. Then, as if he had a sudden realization, he looked back at Zerath.

"I didn't even ask: to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The pleasure was mine entirely," Zerath insisted, "it never hurts to be reminded of our history, even as a Master."

They both inclined their heads in a sign of mutual respect, before Zerath added in a more serious tone: "There has been a raven from Cylion. Bad news, I'm afraid."

The lines on Aldrin's face deepened.

"From the king?" he asked.

"Therein lies the issue."

A brief pause followed as they watched students dart past the classroom in the busy hallway.

"I see," Aldrin finally said. "Montis is dead, then, I assume?"

"As was predicted by the fate tome, according to Kaelen and Elara," Zerath said more quietly, so that no one else could hear them. "But I'm afraid that is not all. It would appear that in the absence of any direct heirs, Vaelorian Dor assumed control of the city."

Aldrin raised his bushy eyebrows.

"The father of the Dor siblings?" he asked in confusion. "That is most … unusual."

Zerath scoffed sourly. "Well, in times of crisis, the military answers to the one that pays them."

Aldrin nodded stiffly. "I see," he murmured. "I take it he was the one who sent the letter?"

"If only it were so," Zerath said bitterly. "It would appear that Vaelorian is blaming the death of Montis on the Fateweavers — on Kaelen and Elara, to be precise, who made the mistake of speaking to the council the day before Montis' murder, warning them about an imminent attempt on the king's life."

"That is ridiculous," Aldrin blurted out, loud enough for some of the students in the hallway to flinch.

"True as that may be," Zerath interjected, keeping his voice down, "the new regent of Cylion does not look kindly on our long-lasting relationship with the city and its rulers. I don't expect us to hear much from Vaelorian himself, and I fear what he'd say if we did. The raven was sent by Lady Rhea, the king's" — he paused — "the late king's right hand."

"On what is he basing these ludicrous accusations?" Aldrin asked with a surprisingly sharp voice.

"We do not know about his motivations. Not yet. But I fear this will be the end of Cylion's military aid to the Fateweavers. Elder Thornec requested both our presence at an emergency meeting of our council later today. I came to inform you."

Aldrin murmured something inaudible, the only words of which Zerath could understand were "not good at all".

"I fear," Zerath disclosed, "we are on our own in whatever is to come. Cylion won't help us against the Fateless, at least not willingly."

Aldrin shook his head in disbelief.

"How did it come this far?" he muttered.

Zerath remained quiet.

"Let's just hope," Master Aldrin finally said, "that Nerina will be successful with her mission. Cut off the head of the snake, and maybe we don't need the support of Cylion."

"I wish it were that simple," Zerath said wearily and exhaled slowly. "But I fear it will get much worse still."

They looked at each other, then at the busy stream of students outside the classroom, their carefree chatter like the sizzling air before a summer storm.

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