Kaelen had only been to Master Zerath's private office a few times before. It was a dark, cramped room, with bulky curtains keeping out most of the sunlight during the day. It was an effort to protect the valuable scrolls and drawings that were piling up on the aching shelves and the cluttered desk from their inevitable decay. A scholar's study through and through, the small room was housing a collection of memorabilia and trinkets from a life devoted to science and research. The stuffy air carried the scent of ink and paint, and a tall grandfather clock, probably older than Zerath himself, was steadily ticking in the corner.

The sun had not yet risen, and the few candles Zerath lit were doing little to keep the darkness at bay. They were flickering in between the scrolls and books that were crowding the velvet-covered tabletop, dropping tears of wax onto the ragged-looking fabric, and almost scorching nearby stacks of paper. Zerath was standing behind the desk, his purple robe wrinkled, with his back towards Kaelen and Elara. He was pensively studying a chalice on the shelf, deep in thought, and occasionally grooming his beard with his slender fingers.

Kaelen's legs were jumpy, and he had to press his hands on his knees to stop them from bouncing. He felt deeply distressed and ashamed of what had happened. After all, he had let the thief escape — twice.

Next to him, Elara was fidgeting with a strand of her long, dark hair. Her body looked tired, but Kaelen could tell her mind was wide awake. Mere minutes ago, he had been hammering against Elara's door, only to drown his half-asleep sister in a wild jumble of words, trying to summarize what had happened. After initial confusion, she had quickly taken on a serious demeanor, looking deeply concerned as he told her about the mysterious assailant and the theft of a fate tome. She hadn't said much, only that they should immediately seek out Master Zerath, which they did.

And so they ran through the dark halls and corridors of the Great Library, their steps echoing through the night, until they reached an old tower in the east wing that housed the private studies of most Masters.

Kaelen was surprised to find Zerath still awake at this time of day, but Zerath looked equally surprised when he ushered them inside. When Kaelen told him about the theft, Zerath had been listening carefully, not taking his eyes off Kaelen. While Kaelen spoke, Zerath's facial expression went from curious to increasingly serious, and his bushy eyebrows were slowly inching towards each other. Once Kaelen had finished his unnerving report, it had taken Zerath a long time to collect his thoughts.

"That … dream … you had," Zerath finally said, with a voice that sounded like his mind was still far away, "would you say there was anything … different … about it?"

They were the first words to come out of Zerath's mouth since they arrived, and they surprised Kaelen. The connection of the theft to his dream was definitely not the most pressing matter, he thought, but then tried to hide his impatience when he responded.

"I don't usually dream," he said hastily, his eyes restlessly scanning the room, "so the fact that I had this dream in the first place was different."

Zerath turned around and looked at him.

"I see," he murmured absently, and slowly sat down in the bulky armchair behind his desk. He rested his arms on the tabletop, interlacing his long, wrinkly fingers.

"When we were talking about your dream the other day," Zerath continued, this time more present, "I was making a point about the different kinds of dreams one can have."

He paused, and the silence made Kaelen's leg bounce again. He felt oddly uncomfortable in Zerath's office, like the overly full shelves were drawing in on him, soon to bury him under historic volumes and scriptures. The air was stuffy, and not enough for three people in such a confined space. He felt restless, like water close to boiling, bubbling and churning. His scrambled thoughts were racing through his mind, and the momentary quiet only made them louder.

Finally, Zerath picked up the thread again.

"Well, I didn't tell you about all kinds of dreams one can have."

"Master Zerath," Kaelen interrupted before his Master could continue, "With all due respect — shouldn't we talk about the matter of the stolen tome first?"

Zerath studied him for a long moment.

"Patience is like waiting for fruit to ripen; pick it too soon, and all you will taste is bitterness."

Kaelen felt anger spread in his mind like a lichen. Oh, I can taste the bitterness, he thought. But at the same time, he embraced the feeling, as it numbed his increasing panic and allowed him to turn his focus outwards.

Biting his lip, he chose not to vent his emotions.

"There are dreams," Zerath continued, "that are only called dreams for lack of a better word. It's like calling a fate tome a mere book — people choose simple terms, because they don't know better. They don't look beneath the surface of something that seems familiar, and thus fail to see things for what they truly are."

He glanced at one of the flickering candles.

"What you experienced was not a dream, Kaelen. It was a fate premonition, a foresight granted by the God of Fate himself. You saw your own fate before it unfolded."

Elara looked shocked, but to Kaelen, this only confirmed what he had already suspected. He wanted to respond, but Zerath wasn't done yet.

"Fate premonition is a rare gift, even among Fateweavers. It is not known to be a skill one can learn, and yet, mostly older Fateweavers and Masters possess it. Of course, not all of them view it as a gift. The ability to foresee one's fate is a double-edged blade and poses a great burden on those who have it. Seeing your fate does not mean you can change any of it. And so the knowledge of what's to come can be worse than the reality it conveys."

He wrinkled his forehead and gave Kaelen a pitying look.

"I'm sorry, Kaelen. Sorry that you were given this ability, and sorry that you had to find out like this," Zerath concluded with an excusing gesture.

Kaelen considered the old Master's words for a moment.

He didn't know what to make of this revelation, and whether he should feel special or cursed. His anger was slowly subsiding, making room for frustration and confusion.

"Does that mean," Kaelen whispered, his gaze aimlessly wandering through the room, "that I will be able to see my future from now on?"

Master Zerath sighed and took off his golden-rimmed glasses. His eyes seemed smaller this way, sunken deeply in the craters that were his wrinkly eye sockets.

"Fate premonition can take many shapes," Zerath said while cleaning his glasses with the sleeve of his robe. "Some people experience them hundreds of times throughout their lives, others only once or twice. They can show you glimpses of the future, or entire chapters. They can be merciful, and only show you the nicest times, or be soul crushing, and taunt you with the tragedies that are yet to come."

"Great," Kaelen sneered, thinking back to the discomfort his dream, or rather his fate premonition, had caused him.

"Some people learn to control their fate premonitions," Zerath continued, "even master them. It takes years of practice, and it might all be in vain, but if they do succeed, they can even use fate premonition as a tool."

"Doesn't sound like a particularly useful tool," Kaelen muttered more to himself.

"You are not wrong," Zerath admitted. "Knowing your fate usually does more harm than good. Which is also one of the many reasons why we never read our own fate tomes."

They fell silent for a moment, and Kaelen realized that Elara had been oddly quiet this whole time. She was listening carefully, but seemed busy arranging all this new knowledge in her mental storage. When Kaelen glanced at her, she briefly returned his gaze, and her green eyes were heavy with concern.

Kaelen sighed. "So what now then?"

Zerath put his glasses back on his long nose and leaned back.

"Now, we hope that this fate premonition of yours will have been the last of its kind, and that you can live your life in peace. That is, after the matter of the stolen tome is resolved, of course."

His words struck a nerve with Elara, and she awoke from her state of quiet observation. She hadn't used her voice much since Kaelen rudely knocked at her door, and so her words sounded raspy and fragile.

"Master Zerath?" He answered with an encouraging nod.

"Why would anyone steal a fate tome?"

It was the obvious question, and it had been at the top of Kaelen's mind as well.

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"Of course — the why," Zerath began. "Why do people do what they do?" He paused and let his gaze wander through the room, allowing it to rest briefly on a blurry oil painting that occupied the only visible wall space.

"This particular section of the archives, which our thief chose as their target, contains some of the most valuable fate tomes in our possession. What makes them valuable is, of course, the knowledge they contain — knowledge about the most influential citizens of the realm, their perfidious schemes, and darkest secrets. In the wrong hands, such knowledge can be abused in a multitude of ways, to advance political agendas or tear down entire circles of society."

He paused briefly, then sighed.

"Of course, besides gaining knowledge, there is an even more tangible motivation to possessing a fate tome — one that you should be all too familiar with after our lecture the other day."

Kaelen knew immediately what he meant, and it twisted his guts.

"A fate tome gives you great power over its owner. Destroy the tome, and you destroy the person it belongs to. It's like an assassination, but from afar. You can extinguish a potential adversary in mere seconds, anytime you want. Their entire life will be on borrowed time, forever to be at someone else's mercy."

What Zerath said wasn't new to either of them, but they still needed to hear it again. It didn't make them feel better, but saying out loud what everyone was thinking made this whole situation seem more real.

Elara was quiet for a moment, but then suddenly looked startled, like she thought of something she couldn't quite make sense of.

"If everyone's fate is being woven and recorded by a Fateweaver," she said slowly, "Shouldn't the Fateweaver that wove the fate of the thief have foreseen their actions? Like Kaelen … but sooner, and more definitive."

A smile played on Zerath's lips.

"Clever girl," he said and nodded in her direction.

"What you say is true — which begs the question of why no one ever mentioned it, or warned us about the theft." He paused briefly and pensively tapped on a piece of paper on the tabletop.

"There are different possible explanations," Zerath continued, "none of which I like. The worst one? A Fateweaver did see it coming — and chose to stay silent. Now, why would they do that? Maybe they saw a greater good at the end of all this and thought the theft was a necessary evil."

Zerath let his words sink in.

"However, a far more likely, yet still unnerving, explanation is rather simple: the thief did not have a fate tome in their name. They were Fateless."

Kaelen and Elara exchanged puzzled looks. Zerath gave a strained smile.

"It's not exactly a topic the Fateweavers like to talk about. I figured the concept was new to you."

The smile gave way to a serious frown.

His gaze adrift, he continued: "But it is true, not everyone's fate is recorded by one of our ranks. There exist people who elude our watchful eyes, ones who stay in the shadows and shun the light of day. They raise their offspring in their twisted ways so that we may never learn of them, and so we can't weave their fates. Their lives are chaos, their actions unpredictable."

He glanced at Kaelen, then at Elara, who had opened her mouth in quiet protest.

"How come we have never heard of these Fateless?" she asked. "Shouldn't we be taught about them, if they pose a threat to our order?"

Knowledge was sacred to her, and she didn't appreciate it being kept from her.

"There is an official answer to that question," Zerath said, "and an unofficial one. The Elder would tell you that they don't deserve our study and time. That they pose less of a threat and are more of a nuisance. Like with many things, the Elder and I disagree on this topic. If it were up to me, I would've told you about them long ago."

"Was that the official answer? Or the unofficial one?" Kaelen prodded.

Zerath grimaced.

"The two of you are not content with woolly answers — that's a good quality to have," he smiled wearily. "It will get you in trouble one day, but I'm sure you will be able to handle it."

Kaelen glanced at Elara and saw a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

"The unofficial answer," Zerath continued, and the playfulness left his voice, "is that we are ashamed of the past. Or, at least, we should be. Long ago, the Fateless rallied against us, with the support of the common people. Some of the other Masters are struggling to admit that. Their pride blinds them, and so they chose to cover the entire existence of the Fateless in a mantle of silence. But in doing so, they become fools once again — but this time, it is of their own doing."

Zerath's words carried bitterness, and Kaelen was surprised to hear his Master talk openly about disagreements in the upper ranks of the Fateweavers. He usually kept his feelings to himself.

"I wonder what it's like to be fateless," Elara suddenly murmured next to him. Kaelen was not sure if she had meant to say that out loud. Master Zerath seemed surprised, too, and raised an eyebrow. Elara blushed and quickly added: "Purely hypothetically speaking, of course." She looked at her hands and bit her lip.

"Of course," Zerath repeated, studying Elara with interest.

"Make no mistake," he said, "being Fateless is not some indulgent fantasy, nor does it make your life any less difficult."

"Do the Fateless really not have a fate? Or is it just not recorded?" Kaelen asked while Elara licked her wounds. Zerath considered the question for a long moment.

"Does it make a difference?" he finally asked back, catching Kaelen off guard.

"I — I don't know," he muttered. "I guess if they have a fate, it's of no consequence? Because whatever happens, no one would ever know if it was fate or mere coincidence."

Zerath nodded approvingly. "Looks like you answered your own question. Ultimately, only the God of Fate can say for sure. But he is not known to be talkative." He smiled briefly, making his dimples ridge his pale cheeks.

"In truth, the uncertainty of their futures is as much of a bane to them as it is to us," Zerath said, and let his fingers slide over the back of a large book in front of him. "And I mean that in the most literal sense. When the lives of those with a recorded fate touch the lives of a Fateless, things get … blurry. It's like trying to see the northern mountains on a hazy day."

"So they affect our fate tomes?" Kaelen asked skeptically.

Zerath inclined his head slightly. "When you happen to meet one of them, yes. Unless you had a very skilled Fateweaver record your fate."

"You said the Fateweavers and Fateless have a history together?" Elara inquired after a moment. She had regained her confidence and was back to feeding her curiosity.

Master Zerath sighed, and his face seemed to turn even more gray than usual.

"Luckily, the Fateless usually keep to themselves. There are very few records of encounters between them and us, but yes, we have run into each other. That said, they have never, in all history, been this bold. Striking at the heart of our order is a truly confident move. And who knows what is still to come? I fear this was only the beginning of some grander scheme."

They fell silent for a moment. Through a crack in the curtains, Kaelen could see that the sun had slowly started to rise above the horizon. The first rays of sunshine were dragging across the carpet-covered floor, leaving a trail of dim orange light in their wake.

Elara was the first to speak again.

"Are you sure the thief was Fateless?"

"I can't be sure, no, but my gut is telling me so." He paused — then, his demeanor grew softer again.

"And my heart would rather believe it than question the integrity of one of our fellow Fateweavers."

"How come the Fateweavers have not cracked down on the Fateless yet?" Kaelen asked. "Surely, with all their influence, it should not be too difficult to track them down."

He was still trying to wrap his head around the concept of people without a fate. A written one, anyway.

Zerath smiled sourly. "You will find that the Fateless are more resourceful than one would expect. They might even have powerful benefactors who begrudge our influence and status. Supporting the Fateless could, after all, be the best way of taking a jab at our order. All in secret, of course."

Ever since Kaelen had joined the Fateweavers, it had seemed like the world was a happy place after all. It was easy to forget about politics and power games in this bubble of mutual respect and good manners. He was not naive, but he had actually started believing in the good of humanity. The theft of the tome, and now hearing all this talk of scheming and plotting, was a punch to the stomach. He could only assume that Elara was feeling the same way.

"I know this is all a bit much to take in," Zerath said as if he'd read his mind, "so I want to come back to the pressing matter at hand: a tome is missing. It goes without saying that we have to recover it before any harm befalls it."

And with that, the feeling of guilt was back, and it took hold of Kaelen's mind like a fungus. A sudden rush of heat overcame him, and he could feel droplets of sweat forming on his temples. A high-pitched thrum numbed his senses, and without even realizing, he started scratching his thighs vigorously — only the gentle touch of Elara's soft hand made him stop. She gave him a calming look, then turned to Zerath.

"Do we have any idea who the tome belongs to?" she asked, without letting go of Kaelen's elbow.

"I could say that I am not at liberty to discuss that, and it would be true," Zerath admitted. "But the painful truth is: I have no idea. We will have to find out as soon as possible. I will be talking to the Elder. I assume he will want to look into the matter personally. Until the identity of the tome owner is clarified, we have to expect the worst."

Slowly calming himself, Kaelen was going through a list of the most important people of the realm. It was worrying to think that it could be any one of them, maybe even the Elder himself. And destroying the tome would rip them out of the fabric of time, just like the quail chick.

"Retrieving the tome is paramount," Zerath continued, "and with every hour we waste, the trail becomes colder. That is why, when I talk to the Elder in a few moments, I will request that you, Kaelen, be tasked with retrieving the tome — immediately. That is not to say it was your fault the tome got stolen in the first place, but I'm sure you would like a chance of redeeming yourself, regardless. And I am equally sure the Elder will heed my counsel," he added with a bitter smile.

Kaelen was hit by a swirling blend of emotions. He felt even more shame than before, anxiety at the monumental task he was about to be given, but also pride that he was trusted with such an important matter. He had no idea how to retrieve the tome, but he would do everything in his power to get it back.

Next to him, Elara seemed less certain.

"Master Zerath," she asked carefully, "if the tome is so important, shouldn't the task of retrieving it be given to a Master?"

What she was asking was completely fair — and yet, it felt like a stab in the back to Kaelen.

Zerath studied her for a moment. Then he looked at Kaelen.

"I am confident Kaelen can do it. He has shown strength and tenacity, and with you at his side, he practically has a Master's knowledge to draw on."

Elara blushed and smiled faintly.

"And besides," Zerath continued, "I can't shake the feeling that Kaelen is meant to retrieve that tome. Fate premonitions usually have a deeper meaning — they don't just show us arbitrary events in our future. Whatever the God of Fate intended with this one, I would not want to stand in his way."

Kaelen barely heard these last words. Mentally, he was already bracing himself for what was to come. The thief had eluded him before — how could he best them this time? And where would he even start looking?

Even so, his voice was full of conviction when he spoke.

"I won't fail your trust, Master Zerath, I promise."

Zerath smiled softly. "I know you won't."

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