The Threadbound series : Unraveling

Air Fuels The Fire

Alex

I exhaled a smoke ring, watching it drift lazily through the air, a momentary distraction from the weight of the world that rested on my shoulders. And I thought - Who could hate a party thrown in their honor?

I, Alexander Raaha, could. Don't get me wrong; I loved it—the elegant setting, the Veilwine and Veilborn Elixirs, the ladies in their finery. I was a lover of company and companionship, a party-loving sunshine in most respects. However, there was one exception: old men in tuxedos who enjoyed talking about random things. Case in point, my Uncle Cornelius Raaha, or "Uncle Corny" as I cheekily referred to him in my mind. I had enough sense not to call the Governor of Draakmoor by that nickname to his face. He was currently engrossed in a conversation about Dreamwalker Felines, apparently cats with magic that could appear in dreams.

Uncle Corny claimed to have dreamt of one that told him I would become an Elder Counsellor.

What in the Threads and Looms!

I took it as my personal cue to refrain from indulging in too much sorrowmire root. With resolve, I crushed the cigar under the sole of my boot, extinguishing it against the unyielding marble floor. The embers choked out, leaving behind faint wisps of smoke in the air.

I looked around the room.

They were all here to congratulate me on my candidature, as if a year ago I was not leading an entirely different life. A life that I loved, the one I cannot ever have and I have no one to blame but me.

My father raised a toast in my honor, his chest puffed out with pride. And I, in response, gulped down my Veilwine in one go, feeling the warmth spread through me even as I continued to wear my practiced smile.

As the party began to lose its momentum, I made my way to see my mother, who was engrossed in conversation with another lady. She stopped her talking and planted kisses on both my cheeks. "You're going out now?" she asked.

"Yes, my friends are throwing a party, and I've got to be there," I replied.

Her expression was filled with concern.

"Don't be late, and don't make any drunken mistakes," she advised.

Drunken mistakes that resulted in accidents and deaths- the thought made bile rise up in my mouth.

I hugged her tightly, to feel her warmth and love, and then moved on to find my father. He was engaged in conversation with the Elder Stephanos Lark and Tristan Raaha, my cousin, who was surprisingly dressed in his threadhunter Red. I looked for his twin, Tara but she was nowhere to be seen. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as I approached. Elder Lark gave me a nod and left to the refreshments table. I followed him with my eyes. The man was currently the youngest Elder, in his early forties. His long blond hair reached his shoulders, and the short beard on his square jaw made him look like a wise man. But it was his icy blue eyes, resembling the unforgiving glaciers of the Frostholme Mountains in the North, that added a hint of coldness to his otherwise golden looks.

"Congratulations,Alexie," Tristan greeted me with a friendly punch to my shoulder that broke my thoughts.

I couldn't resist a playful response.

"That's 'Congratulations, Commander Raaha' for you, Hunter," I joked.

Before I could ask Tristan about his unexpected appearance, my father chimed in, his tone serious yet filled with paternal pride.

"I'm not giving you a rundown on all the things you should be focusing on. You know what to do. Also, have fun."

I offered him my first genuine smile of the night. With a sense of excitement and anticipation, I hailed a Veil carriage to take me to the town where my friends' party awaited.

"This is my kind of party," I thought as the lively music reverberated through the tavern halls, filling the air with its infectious energy. Lukas had taken the stage with a group of others, launching into a spirited song. My best friend, Lukas, who had reluctantly given his name for candidature and delivered a speech, seemed surprisingly unconcerned about the election. He often joked that he had only done it because he was the sole available candidate from the Amad family. Lukas had his hands full as a part-time Threadhunter healer and a full-time Skybound ball enthusiast, and right now, he was swaying slightly, holding two bottles of Veilwine in his hands.

I felt someone pat my shoulder. It was Tristan. He settled into the seat beside me, a mug of Twilight mead in his hand, still clad in his threadhunter uniform. His gray eyes scanned the surroundings with a sense of detachment .

"What did he make you do today?" I asked.

He sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Don't ask,Commander Raaha. Plausible deniability."

But his attempt at a joke fell flat.

"Where's Tara?" I inquired, noting her absence from the gathering.

Tristan remained tight-lipped, his silence telling me more than his words ever could.

Guilt weighed on my shoulders as I absentmindedly touched the scar above my eyebrow. Tristan caught the fleeting movement and spoke with a heaviness that hung in the air,

"We are all paying for our sins, Alex"

He emphasized the "we" and "our sins," and his words struck a chord deep within me. Tristan continued, his gaze fixed on Lukas, who was currently pointing at him and shouting something about coming on stage.

"Do not, for one moment, think that Tara, Lukas, or I have forgotten your sacrifice."

But my attention was drawn away from Tristan as I caught sight of a familiar gray-hooded figure moving swiftly through the crowd. My senses immediately stood on edge. The figure made a beeline toward the less crowded counter on the other end of the tavern. Against my better judgment, I decided to follow her while Tristan jumped onto the stage to join Lukas.

She took a stool at the counter next to Commander Vazur. My curiosity intensified. What was she doing with Vazur? Maybe I was mistaken, I thought, hoping that there was a reasonable explanation for their interaction. They engaged in conversation for a few minutes, and to my surprise, she laughed. Then, she let her hood down, revealing a cascade of short dark curls.

Commander Vazur said something and then excused himself, heading out of the tavern. She sat there alone, her gaze drifting toward Lukas, who was now enthusiastically shouting the Sylvanwood Sentinels anthem. Without giving it much thought, I took the now-empty stool beside her.

"My dad asked me to watch out for you," she said as she turned to face me.

Her almond eyes, as dark as etherbrew and as tempestuous as a storm, bore into me, carrying a hint of the power within her.

I feigned innocence, playing along.

"Is that why you're here?" I asked, as if I hadn't noticed her conversation with Vazur.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, and she didn't break eye contact.

"No, I'm here to get some air," she said, her gaze lingering on my lips.

I leaned in closer, our words charged with a tantalizing energy.

"You know what they say, air fuels the fire," I murmured in a raspy voice, while making a small flame on my index finger.

With a grace that was all her own, she slid smoothly off the stool while dousing out my flame with her air power and walked away. Leaving me with a grin that lingered on my lips for a few moments.

Then, I couldn't resist the pull of the night and its sweet promises, so I marched out into the darkness.