VII.

The Tapestry is almost done, Weaver thought. Sure, the story seemed simple and cliché at points, but she liked the tale so far. The final fights would commence soon. The climaxes and twists would occur too, and then, out of the shock and awe, she would appear, though she wasn’t sure how. The hardest part about making her own story was that the story didn’t come as easily as the others that she just knew existed, but still, once the threads were weaved in the tapestry, they were impossible to take back, each thread warped and woven into her story. She had to be careful, which was an odd experience before she just knew what to do, now she had to decide.

Then her hands cramped. She carefully set down her instruments and screamed.

In all of her ageless experience, nothing like this had ever happened before. The occasional bout of boredom or invasive thought, but never physical pain. As if by want or need she returned to the tapestry of the man writing. He was popping his fingers, and standing to stretch. He walked off the edge of the tapestry and returned with a book in hand.

The cover of the book read How to Escape a Void, Weaver gasped at this and returned to her loom. Her hand still hurt from writing, but she had motivation now, either out of fear or excitement, but nonetheless, she decided to get her mind off the man with the book. She had to finish.

VIII.

Arena 1, second only to the Grand Arena of Retsabala, was like the other arena’s, but larger, cleaner, and covered in silver. The semi-finals were under way and a silver robed Hooded Man stood center stage.

“Welcome spectators of all classes,” He said, his soothing, but excited. His voice magically enhanced like the other Hooded Men announcers. “To the first of two bouts in the semi-finals.”

The crowd cheered.

“In this corner,” The Hooded Man waved to the left of the stage, preparing to emphasize every word in the fighters title with the movements of a great salesman and an adequate dancer. “We have the guardian of the city of Triplets, solver of Xnihps riddle, the mute master of the dual sword style, the Over Duke Borthos!”

A tall man walked forward in green robes with twin katanas sheathed at his sides. He said nothing and bowed.

“And in this corner,” The Announcer lost all sense of showmanship and became a stoic log. “An Under Duke’s son, a lucky bastard named Nomis. This’ll be fun.”

Nomis walked with confidence as if the crowd was cheering instead of laughing, for despite all his accomplishments he was still an Under Prince and the people of Retsabala will never see him as more than that.

“Kick his butt Nomis,” A yell came, not from the crowd, but the balcony of Over Royalty competitors. There stood Liev, next to the shining prince Anrak himself, cheering for him without a care for what anyone else thought.

Nomis smiled. “Let’s do this.”

“Begin,” The Hooded Man yelled and Borthos was on Nomis so fast he barely had time to put his shield up.

The mute master wasn’t like Nomis’s other opponents. He didn’t have that confident glare most Over Royalty did or that just as confident smirk the lowers had because they thought they were better than their standing. Borthos fought like a man possessed by the rage of battle but made the expression of an artist onlooking a serene field of flowers.

Nomis almost broke a sweat. The Under Prince fought differently than his past bouts, the spectators that had watched him before could see that he wasn’t making the rookie moves or simple fighting styles he’d used before, as if he was hiding his true talents this whole time.

The Over Prince stood from his chair to get a better view. “Amazing.”

“What’s that, your majesty?” Liev asked.

“Nomis isn’t just fighting better,” Anrak said. “He’s using the way of the mage killer.”

“What?” Liev asked, wondering when the Over Prince had seen Nomis fought before.

Anrak smiled. “Before every fighter in the land could learn a spell, even before magic was distributed freely by the Hooded Men there were times when regular people would have to fight evil mages or sorcerers with this style to defend themselves.”

“I see,” Liev leaned on the balcony to get a closer look at the fight. “So, he’s not just a better fighter, he’s trained to defeat magic itself.

Anrak nodded. “Indeed.”

Liev smiled. “Our friend is quite the wonder, isn’t he?”

Anrak gave Liev a concerned look. “So, you’ve told him the truth?”

“Not yet,” Liev smiled. “But I will. I’ll show him, I will show them all.”

Meanwhile, Borthos, the mute master, had both katanas knocked out of his hands and kneeled in surrender at the end of Low Prince's sword.

The crowd would’ve been cheering if they weren’t on the edge of their seats in confusion. The battle between the Over Prince Anrak and the Mysterious Marquis, called Liev, was still going. Unlike every other opponent the Prince faced during the tournament, that either lost quickly or surrendered to their superior, the Marquis didn’t just fight, he held his own.

Nomis smiled, he had fulfilled his end of the promise and was hopeful for his friend to do the same. If Liev can pull off a victory against the High Prince. He would face the Marquis in the finals of the tournament.

“Must be unsettling,” A voice said behind Nomis.

Nomis turned to see a Hooded Man in pitch black robes.

“What’s that?” Nomis asked.

“Making your way so far only to lose to a member of the upper class,” The Hooded Man said. “To come so close to recognition and then fall back to your place.”

Nomis frowned. “Who says I’ll lose?”

“Your magic proof armor won’t help you against the shining prince or the man in black,” The Hooded Man said confidently to a stunned Nomis that was wondering how he figured out the armor’s secret. “You’re a good fighter, but I’ve watched these two since they were children. They aren’t the same kids you played with.”

“I played with,” Nomis repeated, but before he could ask more there was a huge gasp in the crowd beside them.

Nomis turned to see the shining prince Anrak face down in the arena, spear out of reach, defeated with Liev standing victoriously above him. The crowd cheered and Nomis turned back to the Hooded Man, but he was gone.

“Now to the Grand Arena,” The announcer said. “Nomis versus Liev!

IX.

On occasion, in the middle of a tapestry, Weaver would stop and close her eyes and imagine herself as part of the world she was making. On this occasion, Weaver’s hands were in pain, which was saying something because other than a few accidental pricks to the finger she had no concept of pain outside of her tapestries. With each thread, she wove an ache seared through her fingers. The pain kept her going, the pain lets her know she was getting close. This story will end even if the making this end, ends her.

X.

The Grand Arena made Nillod the Grand look humble and the shining prince Anrak lightly glow. The place was a monstrosity of a fighting arena and Nomis stood in the center. He stood across from the Man in Black knowing that if he lost, despite their friendship, he lost everything. Another member of Over Royalty would win and he would fall back to his place as an Under Duke’s son like the Hooded Man said.

“Ready,” The announcer whispered to both of them.

“As ever,” Liev said. “And are you ready to fulfill your promise?”

The Low Prince looked Liev in the eyes, and he knew then, exactly who the Marquis was.

Nomis smiled. “If you’re done with your little charade. If you’ll fight me for real.”

The Man in Black was taken aback but smiled back at Nomis. “You sure you won’t be embarrassed after you lose?”

“No more than you’ll be after you lose to a Low Prince,” Nomis chided.

“Very well,” Liev smiled. “I think we’re ready.”

“Okay,” The Announcer agreed and ran to the side. “Welcome citizens of Retsabala, to the finals! In this corner, we have Nomis, an Under Duke’s—

“A Low Prince!” Nomis yelled to the announcer.

“A Low Prince.” The Announcer corrected. “Versus—

Liev tore off his mask to gasps from the crowd. The mask dissipated Along with the swordsman’s masculine figure revealing a new person altogether.

“Princess Ailimac,” The Announcer yelled, surprising himself and the audience.

“Yes, it is I,” she said. “High Princess of Retsabala and I come to fight for my own hand.”

The Announcer looked toward the council of Hooded men for confirmation and they nodded. “Begin!”

Nomis barely got his guard up before Ailimac and her rapier was on him, she was even faster when she wasn’t pretending to be a man. Liev must have been a complete forgery because even the way she fought was different: faster, deadlier. Nomis was at his limit and he was loving every second.

“Different than when we played as children,” She said between lunges.

Nomis grunted. “Definitely sharper than the toys we used to play with.”

She smiled, Nomis smiled, the battle ensued.

In the stands the dark robed hooded man sat watching, chanting something from the side of his mouth if any of the other Hooded Men were paying attention, or even a few spectators, instead of being enthralled by the fight they might have noticed a curse.

Nomis was stuck behind his shield and unable to swipe toward his opponent, slowly being pushed to the edge of the ring. He could tell Ailimac was going for a ring out an uncommon but effective way to win, before Nomis could see through her technique, but couldn’t see any way through without getting skewered by her sword.

“Don’t go easy on me,” She yelled.

Nomis nodded. “Never!”

They neared the edge, but Nomis rolled to the side and went to shove her with his shield, but Ailimac was to smart for that and side-stepped away only to continue her flurry of lunges like before. Nomis was stuck there was no way through her offensive.

That’s it, he thought. They were nearing the edge again. Nomis lowered his shield and Ailimac’s sword pierced his side.

Ailimac looked confused. “Why in the world, would you—

Nomis ground his teeth through the pain and punched the princess.

She fell unconscious before him and the crowd. The crowd was silent.

The Announcer looked to the Hooded Men for what to do next, was he really going to announce a Low Prince as the winner. They nodded.

Nomis won.

The dark robed Hooded Man smiled and said to himself. “Not today.”

Years have passed since Nomis’s victory and he has wedded the High Princess and made her Queen. The citizens of Retsabala no longer judged people on class, but on the character for if there King was a Low Prince than they could be anything, and all was well, until the birth of King and Queen’s first child.

The baby was a girl and at her coronation ceremony the dark Hooded Man appeared and rambled about curses and debts and the things bad guys rant about and took the baby. Nomis and Ailimac look for her to this day.

XI.

Weaver’s hands bled as she looked at her finished tapestry and watched as tears filled her eyes. As the image of her parents losing her to the dark robed Hooded Man and sending her here crushed her heart. She wondered what compared her to make this origin of hers and she cried. In the midst of her crying, she did not notice that her tears began to form a door.

She continued to cry and didn’t even notice the knock at the door until the third knock.

“Hello?” She said.

A noise came from the other side of the door.

She walked toward the door. “What?”

“I said,” A voice came from the other side. “Could you please open the door?”

Weaver cautiously turned the doorknob, and the door burst open and knocked her down.

“Oh, sorry,” A voice said. Weaver looked up to see the man from the black void, the one that inspired the dark robed Hooded Man. The one that banished her here. He was smiling down at here.

“You!” She screamed. “You sent me here!”

He frowned and looked around at the tapestries and the loom. “Well, yes—

Weaver stood up and slapped him. “How dare you!”

“Hey—

She continued to slap him and he raised his arms in defense.

“It’s not like that,” He said.

Weaver paused, she saw a kindness in the eye of her villain’s inspiration that wasn’t in her tapestry. Behind him, she saw the writing desk he was sitting at before with a pen and journal laying on top.

“You’re bleeding,” He said.

Weaver noticed her hands. “I am.”

He pulled out a handkerchief, tore it in two, and wrapped her bloody hands. “I didn’t mean to strain you so.”

He looked just like he did in Weaver’s tapestry, a brow that hand a permanent indent on his for the head from furrowing his brow so much and bits of ink on his shirt and vest, but she could hear him, smell his musk, and feel his breath exhale.

“I didn’t think the story would end this way,” He said. “I wasn’t sure stories had endings.

“With cursing me to an endless void?” She laughed.

He smiled again. “Not exactly.”

Weaver sighed. “Then what is this, who are you?”

“My name is Writer,” He said. “I wrote this story.”

“What do you mean you wrote this story?”

“Well, I exist, like you, in a void and create worlds, in books you know,” He pointed to Weaver’s tapestry of him. “I wanted company and I thought of—

“But I made you!” Weaver snapped.

Writer paused a moment to process that. “I guess you did.”

Another door appeared near them.

They both looked at the door, confused.

“Did you make that?” Weaver asked.

Writer shrugged. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Then who did?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Writer said and walked to the door.

“What are you doing?” Weaver yelled. “We don’t know what’s behind the door.”

Writer nodded toward his door. “You didn’t know I was behind that door, did you?”

“No, but… but we don’t know how we got here, we don’t know who’s world we’re in,” Weaver said.

“You’re right,” Writer agreed and held out his hand. “Am I in your head? Are you in mine? Does it matter?”

Weaver thought about that a moment, then took his hand.