Dragonkin 4 You're my Mate? No thanks.

Part 11 Testing fate

In this weaving chamber where the threads of fate are spun, Clotho warns sharply, "As you can see, we're busy right here. So, don't get in our way". Raising her voice, she points to my errant foot which is about to land on a tangle of threads, "Take care not to step on the threads lying on the ground!" while herding me to a huge set of doors at the end.

Side-stepping handmaidens carrying large basketfuls of thread spools, I widen my eyes at the sheer volume of spools. Handmaidens collect the spools from various parts of the room and sort them into baskets which another team carry into the next room.

"Stop gawping like a tourist, and hurry through here. Once the threads are fully fused, it's impossible to sever," Clotho barks her command while Atropos moves closer to the doors.

Pushing a set of heavy doors, we step into a dark room. Eyes adjusting to the dimness, I stare in awe.

Stepping into the Fates' hall, millions of glowing threads of distinct colors link one shiny colorful orb to another. It looks like entire galaxies of stars have been shrunk to fit in this room, each orb representing a mortal's life. Green for jealousy, red for anger. Some orbs are dulling as life fades away or expires for that mortal while some are shining with vibrancy, depicting a youth at his peak.

Threads of different shades and colors connect several orbs. Some threads emanating fear, power and various auras. Some threads are fraying at the ends, almost severing the connection between the mortals while some connect tightly, symbolizing a close connection between the mortals. Some threads are heavily intertwined, showing how tightly knitted a couple is, that no matter how they drifted apart, they'll always be brought back together.

I am in awe. The fates of every mortal living in the world is represented here. How do they keep track of the individual connections? I have trouble simply dealing with one – Feros.

This chamber is also a place of sadness – the mortals' fates are determined by the gods. They have no say in the matter regarding who they love or hate, where they'll be born into, where and when they'll die. If it were up to me, everyone should have a say in handling their own life.

The gods are spared from this manipulation, we lead lives entirely controlled by ourselves. Do we? The creator might have a say in how we run our lives... maybe I'll ask him, if I ever live to see him.

Lachesis stands in a corner of the room supervising her subordinates while admiring her handiwork. Her handmaidens bustle about the room, tying threads together while consulting a luminous board floating in front of them. It's a hive of activity.

"Your guest is here, Lachesis," Atropos announces sourly, walking past her solemn sister. She takes out her shears and starts trimming and cutting some threads in the center of the room. Like harvesting fruits, she teases a thread out from a bunch of entwined threads. Sliding her finger along the thin luminous thread, she follows the lead to the orb. She then holds the orb carefully on her palm, and meticulously cuts the thread linking the orb to another. The thread loses its luster as it falls away from the orb. Shriveling, the thread wrinkles into dust and floats away as if carried by some unseen wind in the room.

"Oy, Atropos, please make sure you check the name list first before you start cutting the next one. We have some errors rectified this dawn because of your cutting spree last eve," Lachesis reminds her sister.

Rebutting sarcastically without missing a beat, Atropos snarls with a smirk, "So says the one whose underling connected a thread to the wrong orbs!"

"It was an oversight. Do you see how many orbs we must connect here? We have more connecting to make than your severing," Lachesis refutes absently, her attention focused on the refreshed name list manifesting on her board.