Lucian sighed as they walked in spirals.
Again.
Vel Quen had no straight roads, but winding paths that curled inward, like a snail's shell. He couldn't imagine walking through this city regularly.
As usual, Lucian kept the Loom nearby in its case, with his Grimoire.
But that morning, he didn't hear the Loom's comforting hum.
His body was aching far too much to concentrate on that.
Lucian felt like the air around him was thicker than syrup. He tried to concentrate--tried to draw a protective glyph on the Loom. But the second he thought about it, his eyes blurred around the edges.
It was like trying to read a tapestry underwater.
"Something's interfering," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Merry was already drawing breath to suggest rest when Alice spoke softly from the other side of the plaza.
"Lucian. Your bag."
He glanced down.
The Grimoire had opened on its own again.
But not to a Thread update.
To a ritual. One of his own.
