Suhra spent the following day getting everything ready. Her hands moved with practiced calm, but her mind wasn't quiet. She packed their satchels carefully—ink, parchment, tools, spare cloth—but the weight of leaving pressed into every motion.
At breakfast, she kept her voice steady.
"I know this move will take you to a place you've never seen before," she said as she sealed a flask of ink. "But I'll be with you the whole time. And maybe… you'll meet others. Even make a few friends."
She didn't look up when she said it. The words were meant for Ashai, but really, they were for herself. A quiet plea to the future—that he would be okay leaving the only home he'd ever known.
He didn't answer right away. She thought he hadn't heard, but then—
"Is there water there?" he asked, his eyes lifting. "I like the view by the stream… the way it flows toward the river. Like it's following something."
Suhra blinked, then smiled, caught off guard by the way he always noticed the world.
"Yes. There's water in Virehall, but not like the forest streams. There, it runs through the city. Down the streets, between buildings. All of it flowing to the center."
Ashai's lips turned up slightly. That answer seemed to settle something in him. He loved water—always had.
She remembered the first time he wandered toward the spring alone. She had found him sitting cross-legged at the edge, staring into the current like it had whispered a secret just to him.
The sun had just begun to rise when Suhra and Ashai left their forest behind. The canopy stretched high above them, laced with gold as light spilled between the branches. Every step felt heavier than the last.
"How far are we going?" Ashai asked, breaking the stillness.
Suhra stopped beside a mossy boulder and pulled a map from her satchel. She crouched beside him and laid it flat.
"Not far," she said, tracing a path with her finger. "We're here—just along the coast, near the edge of Silmireth. This place, our home, is part of the neutral region. People come here when there's nowhere else to go."
Ashai leaned over the map, studying the lines. "And the place we're going?"
"Thalvarin. We'll be crossing the border soon. There's a town there called Virehall. It's where the Grand Sigilspire[1] stands—the most refined Sygros academy in all of Cytrix."
Ashai considered that. "What are the people like?"
Suhra folded the map carefully. "They're brilliant. Disciplined. Sygros users shape their world through structure, through design. They craft glyphs that can listen, remember… even judge."
Her voice lowered.
"Listen closely, Sygros weavers aren't easily fooled. Until you turn eight and can enroll as a Novistrand[2], we have to stay quiet. No weaving in public. No strange marks shown. Do you understand?"
Ashai nodded, though slowly. Lingering on the forest around them, watching the way the light caught the glyphs protecting this place.
She reached out and gave his hand a light squeeze.
"You're ready for this," she said—though whether she believed it yet, even she couldn't say.
[1] One of many schools designed around testing and training children who reach the age of eight and have an aptitude for weaving.
[2] A term used to describe a child pursuing the weaving path. The term changes based on the local culture.