Gaia

Chapter 13 Threads Woven in Blood

Shay sat upright, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. Then—

A knock sounded at the door.

She walked toward it and opened it, only to find Damien standing there.

He smirked faintly as his eyes swept over her—her nightdress clinging lightly from sleep, her dark hair tousled and spilling over her shoulders. “Morning suits you, Shay,” he murmured, voice low and edged with amusement.

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Good morning, Sir Damien,” she managed, clutching at the doorframe.

His smirk deepened. “We need to talk,” he said. “I’ll return in half an hour. Be ready.”

Before she could reply, he turned on his heel, his boots echoing down the corridor, his cloak whispering behind him.

Shay stood frozen for a moment, mortified—and a little breathless. Then she walked toward the bathroom and drew a warm, fragrant bath.

Steam rose from the copper basin filled with perfumed water, faintly scented with lavender and crushed petals. She sank into it, letting the heat dissolve the last shreds of sleep and dream from her body.

When she rose, skin flushed and glistening, she wrapped herself in a towel and turned to the wardrobe. Inside hung the garments gifts from the Queen—soft silks and fine leathers.

Her fingers hovered until she found the perfect ensemble: a midnight-blue tunic that hugged and accentuated the curves of her body, the fabric sleek and supple, flowing naturally with her movements, paired with matching black pants and high boots that rose to her knees, gold-stitched and dripping with black edging. The outfit was cohesive, functional, and commanding, revealing the strength and grace of her form.

She brushed out her long, dark hair until it gleamed like obsidian, then dabbed a trace of perfume—amber, rain, and wild jasmine—along her pulse points.

Another knock.

“Shay?”

She opened the door. Damien stood there once more—his gaze sweeping over her again, this time with a renewed interest that flickered like something unspoken between them.

“Come,” he said, quieter now.

He led her down the corridor into his chambers, his boots echoing against the stone floor and his cloak whispering behind him, the sound carrying a subtle, almost musical authority. Firelight pooled in amber gold across the walls. Maps were unfurled across his desk, and blades gleamed faintly from their mounts.

He gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”

When she did, he began to pace around the room, long strides echoing softly, hands occasionally brushing over the backs of chairs and the edges of the maps. “You’ve been… different since last night,” he said softly. “Something’s changed.”

Shay hesitated, then nodded. “It wasn’t just a dream,” she said. “It was a memory. My grandmother—she spoke to me. Or rather… something spoke through her.”

Damien stopped mid-step, gaze narrowing. “What did she say?”

Shay’s voice trembled slightly as she repeated the words—the voices of her ancestors, the warning of Gaia’s tragedy, the command to seek the god beneath the waves.

When she finished, silence lingered. Damien’s gaze drifted to the fire, then back to her. “Threadmakers,” he murmured at last. “Your grandmother… she was one of them.”

Shay’s breath caught. “Threadmakers?”

He nodded slowly, then resumed pacing. “The ancient weavers of fate—those who could see the strands of destiny itself. They vanished ages ago. If your grandmother was one of them…” His eyes flicked toward the leather-bound book on her bedside. “Then your line is bound to something far older than prophecy.”

Shay rose and moved toward the window. Her gaze swept over the village below—stone cottages nestled between the forests, smoke curling from chimneys, the river glinting in the pale light. Beyond, rolling hills stretched toward the horizon, the world laid out like a map waiting to be rewritten. The sight made her chest tighten with both awe and the weight of what she was discovering.

Damien stepped up behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence. “Then the voices—my ancestors—” she whispered, shivering slightly at the intimacy of his nearness and the memories that surged through her.

“—are calling you to finish what she began,” Damien finished for her, voice low, reverent, and commanding all at once.

The firelight flickered, shadows moving across the room, and Shay felt the pulse of destiny hum in the air between them, thick, electric, and unavoidable.