The Loom of Bones pulsed, a slow, deep thrum against the atelier’s floor. Melyan’s breath shuddered, a rattling sound that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet. Her face, a roadmap of fresh creases, strained as she tried to pull her bound arms. The bone threads, however, held firm, their microscopic glass-dust filaments biting into her skin. She coughed, a dry, raspy noise. “You… you’re worse than Kaelus. A true monster.” Nizari watched the withering, the steady decay of stolen vitality. “He stole my life. You tried to erase it,” she countered, her voice devoid of inflection. “My offer stands, Melyan. Expose him, expose yourself, or this artifact will render you dust before the first gong of the Exhibition.” She turned and walked away, the soft tap of her embroidered slippers the only sound in the room as Melyan's despairing whimper faded behind her. The Summit of Oshkara shimmered, a spectacle of polished aurichalcum and woven light. Carved into the topmost peak, the Grand Exhibition terrace floated, suspended by colossal air-bladders that caught the morning sun. Below, the city of Qarhan cascaded in multi-tiered estates, each tier proclaiming its occupant’s rank through dyed banners. The air, thin and crisp at this altitude, carried the scent of exotic incense and the murmur of hundreds of noble voices. The Grand Arbiter, a florid man with a precisely trimmed beard, stood on the central dais, his voice booming over the gathered elite. “Welcome, esteemed patrons and artisans, to the pinnacle of Qarhan’s ingenuity! Today, we witness the craft of our finest weavers.” His gaze, however, flickered to Nizari’s weaving station, an almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes. She sat before her Loom of Bones, its stark white frame a stark contrast to the rainbow silks of her competitors. Her hands moved with practiced grace, guiding indigo threads through the warp, each movement precise and unhurried. Then Melyan appeared. She stumbled onto the terrace, supported by two palace guards, her silk robe, once opulent, now hung loosely on her skeletal frame. Her face was a mask of extreme age, deep furrows carved around eyes that darted with frantic desperation. A hushed gasp rippled through the crowd. The arbiter, startled, half-rose, his earlier composure cracking. Melyan’s gaze locked onto Nizari. A faint, almost imperceptible iron chime echoed, audible only to her. `[FINAL OPPORTUNITY. ERADICATE TARGET OR SUFFER ETERNAL CONSUMPTION.]` A guttural sound escaped Melyan’s lips. With a strength born of pure terror, she flung herself away from the guards, her withered arm shooting upward, pointing at Nizari’s station. “She… she poisoned… the dyes!” Her voice was a cracked whisper, utterly lacking its former charismatic allure. Another ring sounded, sharper this time. `[INITIATING FINAL PROTOCOL. ACTIVATE SABOTAGE.]` Melyan’s eyes glazed over. She fumbled at her wrist, pulling a hidden cord that ran up into the ceiling’s intricate silk canopy. Above Nizari’s head, a massive chandelier, crafted from thousands of razor-sharp obsidian shards, began to descend, its chains groaning in protest. The crowd erupted in screams, scattering away from the impending disaster. Hesna, positioned discretely among the attendees, reached for a hidden dagger, her face a mask of cold fury. Nizari, however, remained still. Her gaze fixed on the falling chandelier, her hands paused mid-weave. The threads on her Loom of Bones, laced with microscopic glass-dust, caught the brilliant Qarhani sunlight. A blinding flare of light exploded from her weaving station, striking the arbiter's face. He cried out, clapping a hand to his face, momentarily disoriented. Just as the obsidian mass reached Nizari’s head, a low, resonant thrum vibrated through the air, shaking the very foundations of the Summit. The bloodline blessing, awakened by the true heir’s peril, manifested as an invisible, shimmering force field around Nizari. The chandelier, instead of crushing her, bounced off with a deafening clang. It spun violently, its chains snapping like brittle twigs, and hurtled sideways. It crashed directly onto the Grand Arbiter’s dais. The impact was cataclysmic. Splinters of carved wood and shards of obsidian flew through the air as the dais disintegrated. Beneath the wreckage, not the polished floor, but a hidden compartment was ripped open. Gold coins, spilling from overflowing coffers, glittered under the sun. Scrolls, tied with official seals, unrolled to reveal forged adoption papers, bearing the stylized emblem of the Volkan estate. The collective gasp of the Qarhani elite was deafening. Whispers, then shouts, of “Embezzlement!” and “Fraud!” erupted. His eyes still stinging, the disgraced official stared in horror at the scattered evidence of his decades-long corruption. Amidst the chaos, a chillingly precise metallic chime pierced the din. `[CATASTROPHIC FAILURE. DESTINY LOOM INITIATING ULTIMATE RETRIBUTION.]` The vibrant hues of the Exhibition, the panicked faces, the falling debris—all froze. Sound ceased. The world became a still-life, drained of motion, save for Nizari and Melyan. Melyan, her face a grotesque rictus of terror, clawed at her throat. From the now-motionless sky, a monstrous bronze spider descended. Its eight articulated legs, crafted from burnished brass and gleaming steel, unfurled slowly. Its multifaceted eyes glowed with an eerie, internal light. It hovered, a grotesque oracle, above the frozen tableau. `[NEW HOST DETECTED.]` The metallic spider shrieked, a sound that tore through the sudden unreality of the frozen world. Its legs retracted, and it lunged, not at Melyan, but directly at Nizari.

The Grand Exhibition