The pulsing pain in Kael's side had subsided to a dull throb by the third day of his recovery. Liora's healing abilities had mended the worst of his wounds, but the exhaustion of thread manipulation lingered in his bones. Sitting cross-legged on a thin mat in her modest quarters behind the Temple of Renewal, Kael studied the weathered journal of his predecessor by candlelight.
"Focus on your breathing," Liora instructed, her voice gentle but firm. "The threads respond to emotional states. Agitation makes them vibrate; calm makes them still."
Kael closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. For days now, they had practiced the fundamental Observer techniques described in the journal—methods to dampen his thread signature and avoid detection. Progress was slow.
"I don't understand why this is so difficult," he muttered. "In the novel, Observers just... did it."
"Fiction simplifies," Liora replied. "My grandmother spent years mastering these techniques."
As Kael focused on his breathing, a sharp pain lanced through his temple. The room disappeared, replaced by a vivid scene not his own: *A younger version of his current body stood before an elderly man with eyes like molten gold. "Again, apprentice. Feel the threads, don't force them."*
The vision faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Kael gasping.
"What happened?" Liora was at his side, concern etched across her features.
"A memory," Kael explained, still disoriented. "Not mine—his. The original Kael's training."
These flashbacks had been occurring with increasing frequency during his recovery—fragments of the original consciousness that had inhabited this body before him. Each one left him shaken, a stark reminder that he was an intruder here.
"The body remembers what the mind has forgotten," Liora said thoughtfully. "This could help your training. The knowledge is there, buried within you."
Over the next hours, Liora guided him through visualization exercises. "Imagine your threads as a tapestry," she instructed, her hands tracing patterns in the air. "Each thread connects you to the world around you. To quiet them, you must temporarily loosen their weave."
Kael closed his eyes, picturing golden filaments extending from his body in all directions. With careful mental effort, he imagined them becoming less taut, more diffuse. To his surprise, he felt something change—a lightening, as if he had shed a heavy cloak.
"Good," Liora whispered, suddenly farther away than she had been. "I can barely sense you now."
Opening his eyes, Kael saw her standing across the room, her expression admiring. She approached him again, extending her hand palm-up. A faint golden glow emanated from her skin, coalescing into a small, shimmering web.
"You never said you could manipulate threads," Kael observed, watching in fascination.
"Only in small ways. My grandmother taught me before she died." Liora's fingers danced, and the web expanded into a dome that briefly surrounded them both. "Thread barriers. Temporary shields against detection."
"Why hide this ability?" Kael asked.
"The Great Houses hunt those with threading abilities," she replied, her expression darkening. "My grandmother abandoned the Observer clan to marry my grandfather. She lived in fear of discovery her entire life."
As the days passed, Kael's control improved. He learned to maintain his "quieted" state for longer periods and to create rudimentary thread barriers of his own. During one particularly focused session, he discovered a hidden page in the journal, carefully glued to the back cover.
"Look at this," he called to Liora, carefully separating the delicate paper. The page contained detailed diagrams of two figures standing back-to-back, threads flowing between them. "It says Observers once worked in pairs—one to see threads, one to manipulate them."
"The Weaver separated them," Liora read over his shoulder. "To prevent them from growing too powerful together."
On the seventh day of his recovery, disaster nearly struck. During a particularly deep meditation, Kael experimentally tugged on a nearby thread. The result was immediate—a pulse of energy radiated outward, like a stone dropped in a still pond.
"What did you do?" Liora hissed, rushing to the windows and drawing the curtains.
"I don't know, I just—"
"You triggered a thread alarm," she cut him off. "Every sensitive within half a mile will have felt that."
They spent the next hour in tense silence, Liora's thread barrier drawn tight around them. When no Temple guards or House agents appeared, they cautiously resumed their conversation.
"We need to get you to the Academy," Liora decided finally. "It's the only place with comprehensive records on Observers."
"The Astral Chronomancy Academy?" Kael's heart raced. In the novel, the Academy had been a nexus of political intrigue and forbidden knowledge.
"My grandmother left something that might help." Liora retrieved a hollow book from her shelf, extracting a yellowed parchment. Unfolded, it revealed intricate drawings of the Academy—including passages and rooms absent from official maps.
"The Forbidden Archives," Kael breathed, recognizing the central chamber from the novel's descriptions. "This shows how to access them?"
"Yes, but first you need to gain admission." Liora produced official-looking documents bearing the Academy's seal. "The entrance examinations are in three weeks."
Kael eagerly scanned the application papers, his excitement fading as he reached the requirements. "Demonstration of magical aptitude in at least one school of practice," he read aloud. "I don't have any magical abilities."
"Not conventional ones," Liora corrected. "But thread manipulation is the oldest magic of all. We just need to make it look like something they recognize."
As night fell, Kael stared at the application papers, a new obstacle in his path. Yet for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt a sense of direction. The Academy held answers—about Observers, about the Weaver, and perhaps about how to survive the story he had fallen into.