Date: May 5, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Eliza stood at the threshold of the small assembly hall, her heart pounding somewhere in her throat. The door before her was massive, of dark wood inlaid with a silver falcon — the symbol of the "Circle of the Falcon." She clutched the invitation letter Aduvio had sent through a messenger this morning. Thin parchment, smelling of lavender, with elegant script: "I'll be waiting. A."
She had come. She didn't know why. Or she did, but was afraid to admit it.
Behind her, at the end of the corridor, came the muffled voices of students hurrying to evening classes. Here, in the eastern wing, where the senior students' rooms and halls for private gatherings were located, it was quiet. Too quiet.
"You came after all."
Eliza turned. Aduvio stood a few paces away, leaning against a column. He wore not his uniform tunic, but a dark blue doublet embroidered with silver, and in this light, beneath the dim magical globes, he seemed almost ghostly.
"I didn't promise to enter," she replied, her voice quieter than she intended.
"But you came," he smiled and gestured for her to follow. "That means a lot."
He pushed the door, and Eliza stepped inside.
The hall was not as large as she had expected. Instead of a pompous amphitheater, it was a cozy room with a low vaulted ceiling, its walls hung with maps and diagrams. In the center stood a long table, around which seven people already sat. Their gazes, when Eliza entered, fixed on her with cold curiosity.
She recognized some of them. The ash-blonde girl whose family controlled ore supplies to three provinces. The heavy-jawed young man, heir to one of the military houses. The twins whose Spirits allowed them to sense each other across miles. All were older, stronger, more confident. All looked at her as if she were a new toy.
"Sit down," Aduvio indicated a free seat at the end of the table. "Don't be afraid. No one bites here."
"Not yet," one of the twins smirked, and a muffled laugh rippled through the hall.
Eliza sat, keeping her back straight. Her golden thread pulsed nervously within her Vessel, sensing the foreign auras, the foreign intentions. She felt their power — each of those present was at least a Warrior, and the two older young men were Pillars. There was more power in this hall than in any course she had attended.
Aduvio took the head of the table, and the whispers instantly ceased.
"We have a guest today," he said, scanning those present. "Eliza of Aurelia. Daughter of Baroness Adelaide. Bearer of the 'Golden Thread' Spirit. Some of you already know her from lectures."
"We know," the ash-blonde girl drawled, studying Eliza with lazy interest. "The one who hangs out with the rabble at the fountain."
Eliza felt her cheeks burn, but she remained silent.
"Everyone has their own friends," Aduvio said mildly, a warning in his voice. "Eliza is here because she has potential we could use. And because she needs protection."
"Protection?" the heavy-jawed young man repeated. "From whom?"
"The 'Night Owls' have been getting too active lately," Aduvio leaned back in his chair. "Yesterday they attacked a boy from her company. Lis, I believe. A black eye is nothing. It could have been worse."
Eliza clenched her fists. She wanted to say she hadn't asked for protection. That she could handle it herself. But the words stuck in her throat because she knew: she couldn't.
"And what do you propose?" the ash-blonde asked.
"That Eliza join us. Not as a full member — not yet. As an ally. She'll attend our meetings, participate in joint training. And we, in turn, will let the 'Night Owls' know that her people are not targets."
"And what do we get?" one of the twins asked directly.
"Her gift," Aduvio replied. "The 'Golden Thread' can strengthen the bonds between us. In battle, that could be decisive. Plus, her mother is a baroness. Connections in Aurelia won't hurt us."
He spoke of Eliza as if she were an… instrument. As if she were an object with a price and a function. She felt a wave of anger rise within her, but she suppressed it. This was the truth. At the "Golden Stronghold," everything was the truth.
"I'll think about it," she said, rising. "Thank you for the invitation."
Aduvio started to add something, but she was already heading for the exit, feeling a dozen eyes on her back.
She burst into the corridor, breathing hard. Her hands trembled. She clenched them into fists, trying to stop the shaking.
"Eliza."
Aduvio had followed her out, his footsteps silent, but she felt his presence.
"You're angry," he said, stopping beside her. "I understand."
"You spoke of me as a thing," she breathed. "Like… merchandise."
"I spoke as one speaks in this world," his voice was calm. "Here, everyone is merchandise. Your gift, your name, your connections. The question is who does the trading and who gets traded."
She turned to face him. There was no mockery in his eyes. Only calm, almost paternal wisdom, which for some reason angered her even more.
"You want me to become like you," she said. "Cold. Calculating."
"I want you to survive," he replied. "And for those you love to survive too. Your kindness is not a weakness, Eliza. But if you don't learn to protect it, the world will crush it, along with you."
He left, leaving her alone in the empty corridor.
The next day, she didn't go to the fountain. She spent the day in the library, studying old records about the nature of Spirits and their evolution. She needed to understand what was happening to her power. The thread inside her had changed — it had become heavier, denser. When she summoned it, the golden light seemed dimmer to her, almost ochre.
"Eliza."
She looked up. Lis stood before her. The bruise under his eye had almost faded, but his gaze was serious, more adult than his years.
"We were worried," he said, sitting across from her. "You didn't come yesterday."
"I had things to do," she replied, setting aside the scroll.
"Things?" Lis smirked, but there was no humor in it. "You were with the 'Falcons.' Rein saw you leaving the east wing."
Eliza was silent. She didn't want to lie. But the truth was painful.
"They offered you to join?" Lis asked.
"They offered."
"And what did you say?"
"That I'd think about it."
Lis nodded, and in that nod was so much understanding that Eliza's heart clenched.
"You know," he said, looking somewhere to the side, "I'm not stupid. I know we're a burden to you. You could be one of them. Strong. Protected. Instead, you hang out with us at the fountain, risking a run-in with the 'Owls.'"
"You're not a burden," she interrupted.
"Don't interrupt," he smiled, a sad smile. "I just want to say… if you decide to go to them, we'll understand. Really. We won't be offended. You're too good to waste your life on those who will never rise."
He stood and, without saying goodbye, left the library.
Eliza sat, watching him go, and felt something inside her crack. Not loudly, not painfully. A quiet, almost imperceptible snap.
She looked at her hands. On her palms, where the golden thread should have flared, a faint shadow appeared. Not gold. Not gray. Some strange, intermediate shade.
She clenched her fists, and the shadow vanished.
That night, she dreamed. She stood at the edge of a vast chasm, and in her hands was a thread. Golden, thin, it stretched to the opposite edge, where vague silhouettes were visible in the mist. Eliza knew that if she let go of the thread, she would fall. But the thread was too thin to bear her weight.
She looked at it, and the thread began to change. It became thicker, heavier. The golden light yielded to crimson. Eliza felt power filling her, the thread becoming not just a connection, but a… chain. A weapon.
She woke in a cold sweat. Moonlight streamed through the window, its light unnaturally red. Or so it seemed.
Eliza sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. Inside her, in the very heart of her Vessel, the golden thread pulsed steadily and calmly. But nearby, very close, in the darkness of her consciousness, something else slept. And that "something" was waiting for its hour.
She didn't know what it was. But she knew: when it awoke, she would never be the same.