“I have always been, and probably will always be, a terrible Weaver. Weaving is about imagery, evoking an object so powerfully in the reader’s mind that the object is forcefully invoked into reality. Unlike my sister’s Weaving, which can affect others as well as literally conjure things from thin air, my phrases only work on myself.”

Adamas leaned to the side to grab his sword. Tilting it sideways, he indicated the painted symbols on the hilt as he continued to speak.

“Because of my lack of talent, I ended up getting picked on as a child. It didn’t help that my parents were prominent in the community, or that my younger sister was a genius in the family talent. I was surrounded by people with high expectations of me, and didn’t have the ability to meet them — no matter how hard I tried to improve my Weaving. That’s why I left home at the age of thirteen: to find my own path.”

While the Weaver seemed to be telling a somber past, he didn’t seem sad at all, more serious than anything.

“After leaving, I spent the first few months living with the Dancers, learning about their talent and developing my own. While there, I made a few friends. One of whom was a boy about my age.”

“Kai,” Mono guessed.

“Kai,” he confirmed. “He was another guest trying to deal with his own issues. Back then, he had terrible, frequent fits of hiccups which severely impaired his talent.”

“Hiccups?” That sounded ludicrous to Mono. “Just what is his talent?” Kai had been able to move quickly between two places, but the movement was different from what R’han did. There was no optical illusion, just a jump from one place to another.

“He can stop time.”

Mono straightened up in interest. “How does that work?”

Adamas frowned. “I thought you were familiar with the concept since you had it in one of your stories.”

“I know what ‘stopping time’ entails, but what are the specifics? How long can he do it? What else can he do with time? And why, out of everything else, do hiccups matter?” Mono asked.

“When he holds his breath, he can make everything stop moving.”

It was Mono’s turn to frown. “That makes no sense.”

“‘With bated breath, the world stands still,’” Adamas said with a shrug, his hands doing a see-saw motion, the Weaver equivalent of air quotes. “It’s a complicated talent, one I never really fully understood — even after spending the better part of a decade travelling with him.”

“That long?” Mono asked. “What did you guys do?”

“Explored the country, got into fights with other people, got into fights with each other, and entered martial arts tournaments. The final one we entered into together was a qualifier for the national competition, where people vied to duel Ezume Mori.”

Adamas paused, as if expecting a reaction to the name.

Mono shrugged. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Seriously?” There was a look of complete shock on the Weaver’s face. “He’s the undisputed best swordsman on the continent.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

Adamas shook his head in disbelief. “One of these days, you’re going to have to tell me exactly where you’re from. It’s got to be extremely far if you’ve never heard of him.”

“Another world,” Mono replied.

“Right,” Adamas chuckled. “Anyways, who he is wasn’t as important as what he represented to me. A man from a faraway country without talents, he managed to make his way to the top and hold the spot for decades. Dueling him has been my dream for the longest time. What better way to show that I had proven myself than by being acknowledged as someone capable enough to challenge the Ezume Mori.”

“‘Has been,’” Mono noted, “did you not qualify?”

Adamas’ grip tightened around his sword. “No. I didn’t. In the final duel, the last victory to qualify, I was matched against Kai. We agreed to a match without our external talents, but he decided that keeping the promise wasn’t worth it. During the final bout, he froze time and quite literally stabbed me in the back.”

“Why wasn’t he disqualified?” Mono asked.

“Our agreement was between each other as friends, not an actual binding restriction in the eyes of the tournament. While his actions were unpopular among spectators and participants alike, they were allowed.” Adamas idly moved an arm to lay his hand over a spot just beneath the shoulder blade. “I might have been able to avoid the attack, but I hadn’t expected a friend to do something like that.”

“And what happened after?”

“Nothing, I left the moment I could that day, and I haven’t spoken to Kai since. Well, until today, that is.”

“So,” Mono said, “you have no idea why he did what he did.”

“Not a single clue, and I honestly don’t care. He deceived me, a friend of years, in order to deny me something I had been chasing after for as long as he had known me. As far as I’m concerned, there is no excuse for his actions, and I want to never see his conniving face again! End of story!”

The Weaver took in a deep breath before letting out a long exhale.

“You know,” he said while returning to a more moderate volume, “I do feel better now. Even though nothing’s changed about my opinion of Kai, saying this stuff out loud has made me realize just how long I’ve held onto this grudge. I suppose it’s time to let go of the anger and move on since nothing has come of it after four years.”

“I’m glad this has helped you,” Mono said warmly, “thank you for telling me.”

“And thank you for listening.” Adamas turned to look out the window. “My story wasn’t as long as I thought it was; it still looks to be a bit early in the night. We actually have some time if you want to talk about your problem.”

A familiar tightening sensation began in Mono’s chest. “My problem?”

“Your family,” Adamas replied evenly.

“I-I don’t have an issue with my family.”

“Everytime Vivian and I talked about family, you would always give some small reaction,” Adamas said. “Now, I don’t know if she noticed, but for someone who has spent a long time interacting with the Dancers and their talent, it’s easy to read your body language.”

Had he been that obvious? Mono thought. “Alright, fine, I do have a strained relationship with my family,” he admitted, “but, I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“That’s your decision.” Adamas leaned back to recline on the bed. “Just know that, until you address it, you won’t be able to Weave.”

“Why not?” Mono asked.

“Vivian may be a genius Weaver, but she’s a terrible teacher because Weaving is second nature to her. When you two were talking in the cart, I immediately understood the problem from the few snippets of conversation I overheard: you’re too inexperienced to Weave phrases that affect others, and you don’t understand yourself enough to make phrases for yourself.”

Mono crossed his arms. “Of course I understand myself.” How could someone not?

Adamas shook his head. “No, you don’t. Right now, you’re mentally putting your problem in a box and avoiding it. It’s normal for people to do that, but your specific issue is one closely tied to your identity, so ignoring it prevents you from fully understanding yourself.”

He stood up and walked to the door, continuing to talk as he did so. “I’m going to go get some food now; I haven’t eaten a single thing all day. Just remember: if you want to Weave, or learn from other talents, you need to think about your thoughts.”

With that final piece of advice, Adamas opened the door and left, leaving Mono in silence.

Thinking about thinking? Adamas had no idea what he was talking about, Mono decided. Sure, he had issues with his family, but they weren’t pressing ones. Unlike the bow, which Mono should really go get. Vivian was probably going to sleep so he had to hurry and —

Mono stopped himself. He had just deflected the focus from his family to another topic, exactly like Adamas had described. Leaning forward a bit, he clasped his hands together as he tried to think about the day he had run away.

He ran away because — Vivian’s probably going to fall asleep. He should ask her before she does so he doesn’t bother her.

He had a brother, and he had to break the promise they had in order to — Adamas, Vivian’s brother, could probably also unlock the cart. If he was worried about bothering Vivian, he could go ask him instead.

He was only thirteen when he ran away, but he felt that he could manage since — didn’t Adamas also run away when he was thirteen? How had he managed it? Speaking of age, what was the age for adults here? Was there a different age for alcohol consumption? Not that he would try alcohol, of —

“Agh!” Mono yelled, slamming a fist into his leg in frustration. Adamas had been right, he realized. Not only right, but spot on. Every time he tried to think about his past, there would be a brief moment of anxiety, and then his mind would flit to a different topic.

Mono was furious. Magic was at his fingertips, and the only thing stopping him from learning was himself. He wanted to scream, to pick a fight, to do something…

Other than address the actual issue.

The thought made Mono freeze. Even with the problem neatly highlighted and the solution handed to him, he had instantly thought about ways to immediately feel better rather than solve the underlying cause. If he really wanted to change, all he had to do was sit here and think it out. If avoiding the problem was the problem, then the only way to break the habit was to take the obstacle head on.

And so, Mono sat, refusing to get up or allow his mind to wander from the goal. That was easier said than done, however, and he found that thinking about the day he ran away was almost impossible; after years of avoiding thinking about it in detail, mentally dodging it had become a habit, a deeply ingrained one. He decided that he had to work up to it, going over his memories before and after the day.

He had decided to run away… because… of a story he had read. Actually, a lot of stories had runaways as protagonists, and it just seemed to make sense…

In Los Angeles, he had spent some time on the streets… because a thirteen year old had few options by themselves… Fortunately, he met some kind people...

An indeterminable amount of time passed as Mono began to inch closer and closer to the repressed memory. It was mentally exhausting work, like trying to play The Game. The goal of The Game was to not think of The Game; and everytime one thought about The Game, they lost. Actually, it was more like the opposite, since he had to focus on something without allowing — his mind had strayed from focusing on the memory again.

With a sigh, Mono quickly uncrossed his legs, shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed, and recrossed them. He was about to dive back into his meditations when he heard a knock on the door. Mono looked at the candle and saw that a good chunk of wax had melted away. Adamas must be back from his meal.

He walked to the door and opened it as he said, “This is your room too. You don’t have to knock.”

It was Vivian.

“Oh,” Mono said, “hi.”

“Hello,” she said with a smile. “I brought you some things from the cart. You had mentioned something about taking care of your bow and practicing Weaving tonight, but forgot to take anything inside. So, I went and grabbed them for you.”

Mono accepted the wrapped bow and his leather satchel, which contained all of his writings and Vivian’s Weaving notes. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” There was a brief pause before Vivian continued. “Actually, I should be thanking you.”

“For what?”

“Talking to Ad. We ended up talking over a meal since I hadn’t finished mine either before the whole incident with Kai had occurred. Somehow, you got him to open up about something that he’d been keeping silent about for four years. You really do have a way with words,” she complemented.

“I didn’t say anything special.”

Vivian shook her head. “Don’t be modest. It’s your talent after all.”

“No, really,” Mono replied, “it wasn’t anything special.” If his words had been impactful, it had been because of Sojourn’s stone. The rock often changed his words to be more effective on listeners; it was probably why his stories were so popular even though his story-telling was far from perfect.

“Well, regardless of what the words were, it worked. I just wanted you to know that I’m thankful for what you said.” She began to walk away. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Mono closed the door once Vivian had taken several steps down the hallway. It was good to know that the siblings were getting along again.

And, he had the bow and his papers!

Quickly setting the bow on his bed, he undid the satchel’s clasp and pulled out the notes, a small porcelain bottle filled with ink, a quill, and several blank sheets of dark-brown paper. Now that he had taken Adamas’ advice, would he be able to do something?

Taking a seat, Mono set Sojourn’s stone aside to consult the list of symbols and make a phrase. If he had to choose an “element” that he liked, then he would have preferred water over fire. After a brief moment, he wrote a simple phrase on a piece of paper.

Air to water.

Changing a stroke on the symbol for air from a thin line to a bold, jagged one, Mono attempted to change the meaning of “air” to “frigid air,” in hopes of making water through condensation. As he was drawing the symbol for water, there was a brief feeling of… something… which made Mono finish it with a swirled flourish instead of a straight line. There wasn’t anything like the flourish in Vivian’s notes, but he had felt like doing it.

Once finished, he read the entire phrase out loud while staring at the symbols.“Air to water.”

After a brief moment, there was a stirring in the air. The words came together in Mono’s mind into an image of morning dew coalescing onto blades of grass from the crisp, cold air. It was deeply vivid, almost nostalgic as it called to mind the first time he had seen a sunrise. Mono smiled in anticipation. This was it! He was finally able to —

Nothing happened.

Mono looked at the words in defeat. There had been no glowing like the Weavers’ phrases. Maybe he had imagined the air changing.

Oh well, a single day wasn’t likely to change much, he reasoned. He should continue practicing anyways; maybe it would work if he wrote the symbol for water correctly.

Putting the quill back onto the page, Mono began to rewrite the phrase properly, only to have the quill tear through the page when writing the bold line in “air.” Confused, he held the paper closer to the now dim candle to see why it had been so easy to poke a hole in it.

A part of the page was now soaking wet.