The Weave Mage

         That boy. Who is he? An Enchanter's apprentice, it seems, but his thread is strange. I can not see what color it is from here thanks to his imitator's curse, but I can sense its brightness. Most Enchanters have dull threads underneath the black of their curse, so this one stands out. And his pattern. It is complex, that much I can see. I must see him close. I must see his pattern in detail, and perhaps it will explain the bright I sense.
         I press closer through the throng of people. Their threads are boring greys, with hints of dull color on occasion. No bright colors among the lot of them, no greatness or willingness to stand out. I could change their colors, but it would be more trouble than it's worth. I'm closer to the boy now. His pattern is even more extravagant now that I am closer and have a better view of it. I only need a small portion of him, and I can retreat to explore his pattern in the comfort of my chambers. A cut of his hair, perhaps.
         A soft tug and a flash of my knife, and I have it. I don't wait to see if he noticed; I'm already moving away, one with the crowd once again. I dare not Weave through the masses until I'm out of sight. I worry for a moment that he'll see me, that my own pattern stands out among these greythreads, the rich purple it is. But that would be preposterous. He is an Enchanter, and Enchanters can not see the threads binding this world together, crude imitations that their powers are.
         I'm far enough away from the boy now, and I begin a Weave. I dance through the greythreads, finding the fastest paths thus allowing me to return to the castle faster than any giftless could hope. It's far quieter here, thankfully. No throng of greythreads sullying the ground. Just one of many benefits to being in the King's employ. I reach my chambers and step inside, sure to close the door behind me. I like my privacy.
         For now, I store the hair I collected from the boy in one of many vials I have. Don't want to lose it while I prepare. Now, what was the sigil I need, again? Hard to remember, there's so many and I've rarely needed to use this one. I should consult my notebook.
         I pass by the loom on the way to my bookshelf. On it is what those without sight may think are a confusing mass of browns and blues. But I can see it true. I see my deliberate placement of the colors. I see perfectly what it will become, by virtue of its thread.
         The King asked me to create a tapestry depicting the Battle of Malrak, in which a dragon of the same name was slain. Poor thing. The dragons never stood much chance against an Enchanter, and the beasts have been on a slow but steady decline ever since those foul imitators first showed up, all those millennia ago. I would much rather learn from them, personally, but I've never sought one out. I wonder if the ones who slew this one knew that his name was Malrak, and that the land in question was named after him, rather than the other way around. Probably not.
         I doubt the King will be pleased if he were to find out I'm putting off work on the tapestry today. He pays good money for my work. But I'm not worried; a Weave Mage is oh so rare, and our skills are simply unmatched.
         I stand in front of my bookshelf and pull out the notebook I need. I've heard some greythreads calling it a grimoire on occasion, though I can never understand why. There are no runes to be etched by an Alchemist, no incantations to be spoken by a Caster. No, the sigils within are neither spells nor rituals, or at least not on their own. They do have some power, but they mostly serve to guide my Weaves, and so are useless to those without our sight, The duller threads can't even comprehend their shapes.
         The first section of my notebook is where I drew the tapestry sigils. There are no labels, for I always know what they mean. I use these ones primarily to enhance my work, to help it give off the proper emotions to an observer. The Battle of Malrak tapestry will have sigils along the lines of triumph and awe. Though perhaps I will also sneak in a touch of pity for the dragon. But only a little. Too much will ruin it.
         I flip to the section for practical sigils. The first part of this is filled with simple ones. There's a sigil to hide, to find, and also the one to travel I used to move through the crowd on my way here. There's even a few shallow fortune-telling ones that reveal small things such as love and wealth. They all take such little effort, yet they satisfy most who don't know better. I turn through the book into the more complex variants until I find the sigil I seek.
         This one resembles a tree with many branches and no leaves, with a hollow in the center where the target is placed. This sigil helps me delve into one's thread and look at their pattern, allowing me to also see their possible futures. Yes, this will work nicely.
         Notebook in hand, I retrieve the boy's hair and place in on the floor in the center of my main chamber; I don't want to bump into anything as I weave. I will have to look fast after I begin, for such a small sample will work for minutes at best. With the world as my thread and my mind as my needle, I Weave the sigil around the boy's hair.
         And I delve.

         William. The boy's name is William. Oh, and what a fascinating pattern he has! The imitator's curse is coiled tightly around his thread but I see a rare opportunity in his future to shed it, revealing a radiant orange beneath. Such a color is for those who are near certain to change the world. What trials must he overcome to do this? I wonder. Does it have to do with how he sheds the curse? I peer deeper into his pattern so that I might catch a glimpse.
         I see Shadows! Foul beasts of corruption, those who orchestrated the creation of the Imitator's Catalyst and stole our Weavers' Loom! What do these foul things have to do with the boy William? I must look deeper.
         And now I see the Imitator's Catalyst itself, the pieces found and assembled in his hand! Destroying it must be what leads to the unraveling of his curse, though the chance that he chooses instead to use it is also present. It must depend on how he deals with the Shadows. I simply must help this boy. How did he find the first piece?
         I go backwards through his branches, closer to the now. I see him, a year from now, departing the city with his teacher and a group of adventurers. I see that the cause came to him days before, in the form of a letter bearing the royal seal. But the King doesn't know where any pieces rest. Where does the boy go?
         Forwards again, by a month. To the north he travels, the crypt of a lord long dead. The first piece lies there.
         And then the boy's hair is burned out, and my delving ends. I have seen enough. I must quickly write down in my journal the things I have learned. I don't trust myself to remember something so important. I won't be able to do anything with this knowledge at the moment, for I still have a tapestry to complete. But after that...
         William. Oh, sweet William, my new favorite thread. You have a long, hard path ahead of you. But I am here.
         And I will help you.