On the night Orn remembered, three figures worked at a loom in an otherwise empty room. The beater kept a steady rhythm, and the shuttle flew across the loom.

“What is this?!” The voice came out shrill breaking the rhythm in the room. The standing figure reached over the woman working the beater and pointed at the cloth coming from the loom.

The young woman working the beater stopped and stared where her sister pointed. Several threads had moved. Their paths had changed. Staring at the fabric they watched men running through a forest, heading straight for an unsuspecting imperial scouting party. Bringing her focus back up, the men turned back into threads. Gently her finger ran across the cloth, tracing the threads back along their path. This lead to another out of place thread, then to another.

Finally, her finger rested on a thread the goddesses knew well. The one they drug across the tapestry years ago. The goddess sitting at the loom glared up at her sister, then returned to her work. The beater moved slowly at first picking up speed as the goddess’ irritation bled into her work.

With each strike of the beater, they watched the threads of the empire’s scouts disappear from the tapestry. They were meant to find a path through the forest. They would only find the ends of their paths instead.

Atr looked up to the threads still being woven and watched the developing pattern. The change was subtle. The truce was still signed, and the peace would hold for years to come. But the war that followed would not be a quick victory, but a grueling affair. This could not stand.

The goddess at the loom stopped again. “Well, what now?”

The older goddess’s hands clenched into fists. Through clenched teeth she ground out. “ We adjust the pattern. Corrections will be made. He will be punished.” Then turning to the youngest woman who was staring idly at the shuttle in her hands, “and you will pick a prophet…”