“Well,” Roshanak yawned, stretching languidly as if she’d just witnessed a particularly dull cloud drift by. She pushed herself up from her cushion, her eyes half-lidded. “That was a mess. Farhad, you ate the bait again.” Farhad, still wiping crimson dye from his chin, mumbled, “It was a very good date, Mistress. Sweet.” Iskandar, however, was not so nonchalant. His posture was rigid, his gaze fixed on the spot where the anomaly had appeared. He’d already begun tracing intricate arcs in the air with his right hand, a complex diagnostic weave manifesting as faint, coiling wisps of verdant light. “That… that was not a shadow-spirit. It was… engineered.” His voice was tight, a sharp contrast to Roshanak’s placid tone. “Engineered or otherwise, it stained the flagstones,” Roshanak observed, stepping over the spreading scarlet. “And it broke my pot. More cleanup. This is why I can’t nap.” She sighed, a deep, weary sound that conveyed the profound injustice of her disrupted rest. “Roshanak, did you not see it?” Iskandar pressed, jade filaments probing the air around the dye-splashed pedestal. “A construct of pure fate-metal, attempting to anchor itself to a living being. This isn’t a petty theft, this is an invasion.” “It’s a broken pot and a very messy courtyard,” Roshanak corrected, waving a dismissive hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going inside to see if there’s still some of that rosewater tea left before the sun gets too high. Farhad, clean this up. And don’t eat the sponges.” Iskandar watched her amble away, his expression a mixture of exasperation and genuine concern. He ran his hand through his perfectly neat hair, a habit whenever he encountered Roshanak’s unique brand of obliviousness. The jade strands pulsed, picking up residual energy signatures. He narrowed his eyes, committing the readings to memory. Moments later, just as Farhad was gingerly scooping dye into a bucket, a bright, overly cheerful voice called from the archway. “Roshanak! Dearest sister! I heard about the little incident with the pot. Oh, what a shame!” It was Zerrin, dressed in a vibrant marigold tunic, her smile a little too wide, her eyes darting around the courtyard with an almost predatory glint. She bypassed the mess and Farhad, heading straight for the inner courtyard where Roshanak had retreated. “I brought some fig paste, Auntie says you love it so.” Roshanak, already settled on a plush cushion in the sitting room, was indeed accepting a small, sweet pastry from Pari. Her father, Rostam, was adjusting a magnificent, ancient wall-hanging that adorned the far wall – the ‘Veil of Alinjar’, an heirloom woven with the very first fate-threads of their lineage, depicting the founding of Feroza. Its deep indigo hues shimmered, holding centuries of accumulated aura. Zerrin’s gaze locked onto the cloth. A subtle tremor ran through her, unnoticed by anyone else. Her pupils flared fractionally. The System in her mind, dormant since the pillow incident, flared with renewed urgency. [DESTINY SIPHON: PRIME AURA SOURCE DETECTED] [TARGET: ANCIENT FAMILY TAPESTRY – ‘VEIL OF ALINJAR’] [HIGH CONCENTRATION OF ANCESTRAL FATE THREADS] [ACQUISITION RECOMMENDED. IMMEDIATE ACQUISITION RECOMMENDED.] “Oh, Auntie, Uncle, you’re both looking so well!” Zerrin gushed, embracing Pari a little too tightly, her fingers subtly brushing against the edge of the woven cloth. “And this hanging, it’s simply breathtaking. I haven’t seen it up close in ages.” Pari smiled warmly. “It’s always been here, dear. Rostam was just making sure it hung properly.” Zerrin moved closer, her hand reaching out to trace the intricate motifs of the indigo weave. “The craftsmanship… it’s truly unparalleled. May I just…” She subtly began to unhook one of the top clasps, her movements smooth, practiced. Her eyes flickered towards Roshanak, who was now slowly chewing her pastry, utterly absorbed in its flavor. Roshanak, however, possessed an uncanny awareness, even in her drowsy state. A slight shift in the air, a whisper of displaced dust, was enough to register. She merely blinked, her gaze still fixed on her pastry. But her right hand, resting casually on the silken floor rug beneath her, twitched almost imperceptibly. A single, unseen thread of aura extended from her fingertip, merging with the knotwork of the rug. [CRITICAL ERROR: AURA OVERLOAD – SOURCE PROXIMITY] [UNEXPECTED MAGICAL INTERVENTION DETECTED] [SIPHONING ATTEMPT ABORTED] [LUCK DEDUCTION: 5%] The System’s robotic voice screamed in Zerrin’s head, followed by a searing pain behind her eyes. Just as her fingers brushed the second clasp, a sudden, inexplicable force seized her. The rug beneath her feet seemed to lurch upwards, then slam down with impossible gravity. Zerrin yelped, losing her balance completely. She pitched forward, arms flailing, and landed with a resounding *thump* directly onto the polished stone floor, the sound echoing through the quiet room. The heirloom, still partly unhooked, swung wildly and then settled back against the wall, perfectly intact. Roshanak slowly licked a smudge of fig paste from her thumb. “Oh dear, Zerrin. Are you quite alright?” she asked, her tone devoid of any genuine concern. “The rug can be a bit… uneven sometimes. Perhaps you should watch your step.” Zerrin pushed herself up, her cheeks flaming, a small bruise already forming on her forehead. She forced a strained laugh. “Oh, yes! Just a bit clumsy today, I suppose. The air in here is so… heavy. I must be light-headed.” She rubbed her head, her smile faltering as she caught Roshanak’s half-lidded, utterly neutral gaze. “Perhaps you should get some rest, then,” Pari suggested kindly. “You look a little peaked.” “Yes, rest,” Zerrin mumbled, her humiliation thick in her throat. The System was still blaring its error messages, making her head throb. She made her excuses quickly, promising to return later, and practically stumbled out of the house, leaving the household in peace. Roshanak watched her go, a tiny, almost invisible smirk playing on her lips. She finally had a moment of quiet. Then, a hacking cough ripped through the peaceful silence. Rostam clutched his chest, a pained gasp escaping his lips. Pari rushed to his side, only to be seized by a similar, violent spasm. They both crumpled, their hands flying to their mouths. When they pulled them away, their palms were stained with a sickly, unnaturally gray blood. “Mother? Father?” Roshanak’s lethargy vanished. She started to rise, but before she could, the outer door burst open with a crash. Iskandar stood framed in the doorway, his features taut, verdant diagnostic filaments already swirling around his outstretched hands. He didn’t hesitate, casting a complex, luminous seal directly towards Roshanak’s parents, the light bathing them in a pale green glow. His voice was grave, cutting through the stunned silence. “Their fate threads are being artificially severed.”

Gravity Woven in Silk