Where Threads Entwine

the air. Elara ran a hand over the intricate pattern of the half-finished tapestry, her fingers tracing the silken threads. It wasn't just the touch of silk she felt; it was the hum of poss

d him, vibrant yet strained, like taut bowstrings on the verge of snapping. His own thread, a bold, defiant silver, was tightly bound, burdened by the weight of his kingdom. But then, she saw another, faint thread, a shimmering gold, inexplicably tangled with his own, leading straight to her. A young guard, noticing her quiet presence, pointed. "Prince Kaelen, this is Elara. Her weaves are said to bring... good fortune." He seemed hesitant to utter the word "magic." Kaelen turned, his gaze, the color of storm-grey skies, swept over her. He was a striking figure, tall and powerfully built, carrying the weight of his lineage with a weary grace. His lips thinned. "Good fortune, peasant? My kingdom needs more than quaint superstitions." His tone was dismissive, yet Elara felt a deeper current of desperation beneath his hardened words. "My Lord," Elara said, her voice steady, "I weave what the threads reveal. Perhaps, if you would allow it, I might see something relevant to your plight." She held out a small, intricately woven hand-cloth, its pattern shifting subtly in the sunlight, reflecting the hues of autumn leaves and deep river stone. Kaelen eyed the cloth with skepticism, then glanced at the ailing Sky-Serpent, its breath labored. "What have I to lose?" he muttered, taking the cloth. As his fingers brushed hers, Elara felt a jolt, a sudden surge of energetic possibility flowing between their threads. Kaelen, too, seemed to flinch, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he masked it. He returned to his Sky-Serpent, Blackfang, a magnificent creature whose usual obsidian scales were now dull and patched. He used the cloth to gently wipe Blackfang's brow, more out of a paternal instinct than belief. As the cloth touched the dragon's skin, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer seemed to emanate from Blackfang's scales. The dragon let out a soft sigh, its breath a little steadier. Kaelen's eyes widened. He looked from Blackfang to Elara, a flicker of something new – not belief, perhaps, but bewildered curiosity. "What was that?" Elara merely smiled faintly. "Perhaps the threads wish to untangle, My Lord." Despite his lingering skepticism, the undeniable, if subtle, effect on Blackfang convinced Kaelen to take a chance. He invited Elara to accompany him back to Aethelgard, not as a mystical cure-all, but as a "curiosity," a last resort for a desperate prince. Elara, sensing the profound necessity in the tangled threads around him, agreed. The journey to Aethelgard was arduo