Ari was born in winter.
Her mother, Hanah, was pleased.
Her father was not.
Ward was a believer, and the prophecy said The World Weaver would be born of winter.
Hanah told him to knock off his nonsense and be happy for a healthy baby.
And Ari was very healthy. It wasn't at all surprising when she started showing a knack for ice magic - sorcery ran in both sides of the family. Ward was a healer, born in spring, and Hanah was a researcher in solid state alchemy, a field of study her own winterborn sorcery was especially well-suited for.
Prophecies are quickly forgotten as life with an infant goes on. Lack of sleep leaves little room for such worries, and the misgivings Ward had at the birth of his daughter on a particularly cold and stormy winter night were quickly replaced by the day-to-day antics of a child whose winterborn curiosity often led her straight into fire.
---
Ari released the thread of memory she'd been holding onto. It wasn't a thread she could influence very strongly. She'd been there, but as an infant, she'd had no cognition of choice, the tiny brain still operating purely on instinct and need.
Changing threads operated on choice. She could step into any thread, but she only had the influence of the version of herself that she stepped into. She had to find the threads that would give her the power. Infancy was not one of those threads.
As Ari brought herself back to the present, she could feel the presence of another and she immediately went on guard, quickly standing and turning to face the intruder.
"Hey, Ari, chill," Vance said.
Ari relaxed. Vance was her roommate. A monk of the Order. He was studying Aleatoric Sorcery as well.
"Visiting threads again?" he said.
Ari nodded. She didn't tell him what threads she was exploring, or why. Or that they were the forbidden threads of the past. The shielding she'd had to do to prevent the Headmaster from detecting her intrusions in threads that were protected by the Chaos Accords had drained her and she didn't have much space left in her head for words at the moment.
"You know it's not safe to do that alone, Ari," Vance sighed. He was fond of Ari, but her obsession with her studies scared him at times. "Brother Stavius ..."
Ari cut him off. "I know. I was just curious is all. Not like I can do anything about the threads anyway." She didn't tell him she'd already figured out how to counteract the dampening ring that all novitiates at the War Abbey were given to prevent them from manipulating threads before they were fully trained, experienced, and sanctioned to do so. Working with the threads of time, space, and reality itself was precarious work.
"Well, we need to get to Sermon anyway. ," Vance said. "Let's go."
---
Ari pulled herself further back. So many threads. It was getting harder to remember who she was, easier to lose herself in them as she relived the various threads of the lives that she'd traversed to get where she was.
The World Weaver.
But it still wasn't enough.
She still hadn't found the right thread.
The one that would give her the power she needed.
A flit of the wrist and the life thread of a young believer twitched. The girl brought a plate of food to the shrine that she tended.
Ari consumed the food in the way that only The World Weaver could.
Reweaving reality required a well-fed body.
The offerings of her threads served her well.
---
