A Revelation in Snow - from Isolde

A fierce blizzard swept through Showyth, covering the region in a fresh blanket of snow. All were locked inside as they awaited the storm to pass – that is, except for one young Weaver, who tightly clutched a letter in her hand as she trudged through the icy winds. In the center of the village was her destination, the Elder’s Hall.

The matter was dire. She had to get there, and fast.

“Isolde, why do the threads look so dull?” Gwendolyn had asked her five days ago.

Isolde didn’t think anything of it. She too had noticed the Nexus’s change in colors – radiant hues of gold and silver reduced to lackluster. But the High Weavers said nothing of it, not even any Elders. Whatever the explanation was, it had to be something unimportant.

At least, that’s what she thought, until no more than two hours before at the home of Elder Olga.

“Your little sister’s a natural, Isolde!” Olga said as she rested in her bed, a cool towel placed on her forehead. “Keeps on getting better by the days.”

“She did learn from the best, after all,” Isolde said with a smile. Teacup in hand, she approached Olga’s bedside and carefully lifted the cup’s rim to her wrinkled lips.

Olga laughed weakly after she took a small drink. “I’m flattered, but it’d be foolish for me to take all the credit. The girl has talent, that one.”

“Maybe Gwendolyn will be a High Weaver like you. She’d have a brighter future that way.”

“A High Weaver…” Olga’s dim eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Hm, it’s certainly a likelihood. She’s a lot more capable than I was at her age, I’ll admit.”

“Jealous?”

Olga grinned and swatted Isolde’s arm. “Ah, please! She’s still no match for me—”

A few coughs interrupted her. Isolde patted her shoulder. “There now,” she said. “Remember what the Mender said, you can’t overexert yourself.”

Ignoring her warning, Olga scoffed. “Hmph, I’m no softie. Tired of everyone treating me like I’m feeble!” She coughed again, and the bed shook. “Agh – they even kept me from the Elder’s Meeting tonight. Ridiculous!”

Isolde glanced out the window. The blizzard blew relentlessly, her view obstructed by the flurries of snow. “It’s not like you would’ve been able to anyway, not in this weather.”

“Bah, I could’ve if I tri—”

“Olga? Is something the matter?”

Olga’s eyes had grown wide with what Isolde could only assume was fear. Her fingers clutched the sheets, and her breaths came in short gasps. Did the illness worsen? She had to check.

Veins in Isolde’s body glowed, as the space around her turned dark. All things lost their form, replaced by the endless, intricate labyrinth of the Nexus’s threads. Silver for objects, and gold for the living – like Olga, who to Isolde’s relief, retained a healthy color. Her vision restoring, the light left her body, and the room was normal once again.

Isolde was just about to run for medicine, when Olga snapped out of her trance. But it didn’t matter. Something was wrong, she could tell.

“No, no… This isn’t possible…” Olga began before Isolde could speak. “How could this be?”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Isolde asked anxiously. She had never seen Olga look so concerned.

“The Nexus, it’s— I need to write this. Quickly, now!”

Isolde dipped a quill into some ink, then handed it to her along with a piece of paper. They were snatched away immediately. Olga frantically jotted down a single sentence in large, scribbled letters.

“There’s no time to explain. You bring this to the Elders as soon as possible, you hear?” Olga wheezed out as she firmly clasped the letter in Isolde’s hands. Her face displayed an arrangement of emotions that Isolde could hardly distinguish.

“I-I don’t understand,” Isolde stammered. “Why- how could I—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, girl! What part of ‘there’s no time to explain’ did you not get? Now hurry and leave this place!”

“But the blizzard! How will I get all the way to the Hall out in that?”

Isolde ducked as a pillow was thrown straight at her head.

“Bah, figure it out! Just go!”

And that was how Isolde ended up in her predicament, clinging onto dear life as she fought against the elements of nature. Flakes stuck to her trembling body that had become numb to everything besides searing frostbite. “If only I could weave the weather,” she thought. At any second, she could drop, and the storm would finish her off. But knowing the pain it’d cause Gwendolyn… It wasn’t an option.

Step by grueling step, she inched closer to the village. When she saw its structures just up ahead, it was like she found a haven. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she whispered, “Almost.” Exhaustion plagued every fiber of her being – but she was so close, she had to keep going. And what would Olga say if she failed?

By the time she finally reached the Elder’s Hall’s entrance, her energy was spent, and she collapsed onto her knees. Even rapping her knuckles against the door was tiresome. But she banged and banged on the wood, louder and louder, until the sound was heard over the blizzard’s intensity. The door creaked open, light poured out from indoors, then there stood a Guardian donned in armor.

“Urgent letter… From Elder Olga…” Isolde groaned.

The Elders, seated in ornate thrones around the room, glared down at Isolde’s nearly limp body as if she were a pest. Her voice was so weak they couldn’t hear it, all they knew was that their meeting was “rudely” interrupted. The Guardian retrieved the letter from Isolde, as an Elder from the Mender tribe came forward to evaluate her state.

“She says Elder Olga sent her, sir,” the Guardian said as he passed the note.

“This better be important,” the Elder muttered.

“It ought. Olga’s not the type to play silly games,” another said.

Meanwhile, Isolde steadily gained back some strength as the Mender rejuvenated her. It wasn’t a complete healing, as even High Menders amongst the Elders had their limits, but it was enough to allow Isolde to rise to her feet. She stared intently at the one reading the letter, Elder Hagwin, as her anticipation grew.

“Has she gone mad?” Hagwin said. He sounded almost offended. “I’ve sensed no such occurrence in the Nexus. It’s ludicrous!”

Hagwin sat up from his seat and stomped over to Isolde, his face flushed with anger. He threw the letter at her boots and said, “You dare tell us lies! A High Weaver as experienced and wise as Olga would never trouble us with such a nonsensical statement.”

“Sir, I assure you, I’m saying the truth,” Isolde said calmly, though she couldn’t help but feel intimidated. “I don’t know what the letter contains, but Elder Olga did send me here to deliver it. If you had seen her for yourself, you’d under—”

“Silence!” Hagwin shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls. He snapped his fingers and ordered, “Roe, come. Apprehend this woman at once.”

Roe, a Guardian who had been observing the scene from the sidelines, set out to obey the Elder’s command. Her hand rested on her sword’s handle, but it remained in its sheath.

“Wait, please! I’d never deceive the Elders!” Isolde pleaded, but despite the sincerity held in her words, she was unable to penetrate Roe’s disciplined resolve. She continued to approach, unwavering.

But in that moment, perhaps by a miracle, Isolde was spared. Abruptly, the door flew open. A burst of snowy wind invaded the Hall – and with it, was an unexpected guest. Elegant wings open wide, a Flier with hair like fire had charged into the room. His clothes were torn, revealing burn marks underneath, and he shivered from head to toe.

Hagwin, at that point, was appalled. He balled his hands into fists and stamped a foot on the floor. “Another intrusion! State your name and business, and make it quick!”

“Madigan Flynn,” he panted as he tried to stand upright. “I’ve come from the troop inspecting Sections 50 to 54.”

“And?”

“The Nexus. It’s closing in.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Confused looks were on all, except for Hagwin, who slowly picked back up Olga’s note. Isolde’s heart sunk as she caught his grave expression. What else could it mean, besides confirmation?

“You all think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Madigan asked, his voice raspy. “You conceited bastards! I was there five days ago, I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Quiet, Flier,” Hagwin snapped. “I shall handle this matter.”

Hagwin returned to his chair solemnly. Isolde could easily detect his unease, with the way his lips quivered, and the sight of him being unable to sit still. It was the least helpful for her own nerves. Hagwin, after a deep exhale, turned around the paper, revealing Olga’s writing to all.

“THE NEXUS IS RECEDING. ONE YEAR,” it read.

“Delusions!” an Elder yelled.

“That’s impossible!”

The Elders erupted into an uproar, slamming fists on tables and spewing insults. But Isolde wasn’t enraged, neither was Madigan. One trusted Olga with all her heart, the other was an eyewitness. For them, in a moment of unimaginable horror, the noise meant nothing.

Suddenly, all Elders of the Weaver tribe gasped for air and fell back into their seats, mimicking the same behavior as Olga. “T-This same thing happened to Olga, they’ll be okay,” Isolde attempted to reassure the Menders hurrying to their aid, but to no avail.

And just like before, when the Weavers came back to their senses, they had learned of the truth – the tragic, bitter truth.

There was no longer room for doubt in anyone’s mind. On that night, Showyth discovered their world’s fate. Then the news reached the Menders in Visea, Reapers in Elakin, Guardians in Seris, and finally, the Fliers in Arenard.

All discovered this one thing —

The Nexus was receding, and at its rate, only a year was left.