The cavern was immense, a palace hall carved from rock, its ceiling lost to heights that might as well have been sky. And every surface was veiled in threads.
Millions of them.
They crisscrossed the space in elaborate, ever-shifting patterns, horizontal, vertical, diagonal, each humming with its own distinct vibration. Some gleamed gold, others silver, some the deep red of blood, others black as the void. They moved constantly, flowing, being woven, measured, and cut all at once.
It was awe-inspiring. Oppressive. The sheer scale of it sucked the air from my lungs.
My gaze flickered to the Fae beside me, and I blinked.
She was utterly blind, with milky white eyes scarred over as if burned. Her face held the frosty beauty of all Fae, with pointed ears and skin that seemed faintly luminous. She wore simple gray robes, and her movements were graceful, despite her sightlessness.
A sliver of arcane knowledge from Persephone’s memory surfaced.Of course she was blind.That was why the others had stopped at the door. No one could keep their sight after looking upon the Fates and their threads.
“Hello, Bloom.”
The first voice called me by the name I’d worn in this life. I turned toward the sound.
My heart skipped an icy beat, but it was too late to unsee what I had already witnessed. The hood was gone.
Before me sat three females. They were not goddesses. Not immortals. Not mortals. They were unlike any other beings—singular, existing outside all hierarchies, beyond every law that bound the rest of creation.
The first sat at a spinning wheel that turned of its own accord. She appeared youngest, her features soft, almost unfinished, as if she were still becoming. Her hair was silver-white, a cascade down to the ground Her eyes glowed the pale blue of a morning sky. A robe of pure white pooled around her.
The second sat at a measuring apparatus, a vast frame with countless notches and marks. She looked middle-aged, fully formed, with sharp features and dark hair pulled tightly back. Her eyes held the deep amber of late afternoon sun. She wore golden robes trimmed with unreadable symbols.
The third sat at a worktable laden with shears, some small as sewing scissors, others large as swords. She appeared the oldest, though not frail; mature, with silver streaking her blonde hair. Her eyes glowed a sunset red. Her robes were crimson, edged in black.
They were the Three Sisters. The Fates themselves.
Clotho, the Spinner, wove the thread of life from her distaff. Lachesis, the Allotter, measured its length and breadth. Atropos, the Inevitable, held the shears that would cut it.
A tremendous relief washed through me—I hadn’t gone blind. I stared directly at them, into the heart of their power, and my sight remained.
Before the relief could settle, a burning question rose, sharp on my tongue.
But I bit it back.
These beings were not my allies. I would need to tread carefully, revealing nothing.
The one who had greeted me was Lachesis. She could spare a moment while her sisters wove and cut, their fingers moving with magical speed in a blur of intent and power.
“The quiet one,” Clotho the Spinner chimed in, her voice devoid of inflection. I couldn’t tell if it was complaint or observation.
“The quiet one finally bites,” Lachesis remarked, a dry snort in her tone. “And this time, she’s shown her teeth and tipped the balance.”
So they dragged me here, unkindly. Yet I kept my tongue still, waiting. The more you speak, the more you expose your weakness.
Before them, the threads stretched across the cavern like immense, horizontal harps, flowing and shifting at lightning speed. Every mortal’s breath, every immortal’s reign, every choice and its consequence—all were woven into those luminous, complex strands.
In the center of the chamber lay a sea cave, its water lapping at a stone bank with the sighs of a distant ocean.
The sisters noted my attention drifting from the threads to the swaying water.
“The musical water soothes us,” said Atropos, without looking up from her shears. “As you see, our work never ceases.”
“The tidal pool is a marvelous design,” I said, speaking for the first time since my capture. “One could even swim after a day’s labor.”
“Now she speaks,” Atropos purred. “And she wants a secret.”
