Location: Dathomir - Weavewood
His prosthetic had imitated some of that. Sensors translated pressure and temperature into something his brain could understand, but this wasn't translating anything. Ace reached into the Force and his breath hitched. It actually flowed through his left arm. For so long, that awareness had ended below his elbow. Flesh became machine, and whatever remained beyond belonged to metal and circuitry. Now the current continued through his forearm. His wrist, palm, and every finger.
"I can feel it."
The witch watched him. "Your hand?"
"No." Ace stared at the black fingers. "The Force."
He reached deeper and Threads emerged around the limb. They ran through it as naturally as those throughout the rest of his body, following the shape of something that shouldn't exist. Yet near the center of his forearm, they tightened.
Ace narrowed his attention and saw a convergence. Threads crossed and folded around one another so densely that he couldn't follow them individually.
"The Knot."
The witch moved closer as Ace remembered the vision.
"Those women." His gaze shifted toward the wall he'd touched. "Whatever they were making kept falling apart."
The witch returned to the inscriptions. This time, she studied them with something they hadn't possessed before. Context.
"'Form is given.'" She translated slowly, moving between damaged sections. "'Form is bound.'" Her fingers traced another carving. "'What is woven must be knotted, lest it return.'"
"Return where?"
"Perhaps nowhere."
Ace looked at his hand again and the witch approached him.
"May I?"
Her small blade appeared again. Ace immediately understood, extending his left arm. The blade drew across the back of his hand, but there was no blood. The black surface separated beneath the edge, splitting into thin strands around a narrow opening. Green light brightened between them. Ace still grimaced.
"Hurt."
"Good."
"Good?"
"It means it is not merely decorating you."
Before Ace could answer, the damaged strands began moving. Returning. Threads pulled toward the shape they'd occupied moments earlier. Black material followed, crossing and tightening until the cut disappeared. The green light beneath it settled.
Ace flexed his hand. "So it heals."
"No." The witch shook her head. "I don't think it heals at all." She indicated the convergence Ace had found. "It remembers."
Ace frowned.
"The Knot did not give you a hand."
He raised it. "Could've fooled me."
"You gave it that."
His eyes lifted toward her.
"The Knot gave it somewhere to remain."
Ace was quiet as the witch looked around the chamber.
"These Weavers existed before Vethrisa. Your clan claimed descent from them and inherited fragments of what they understood. Their practices. Their prophecies. Their obsession with the Weave."
"They knew this was here."
"They knew something was here. There is a difference."
Ace remembered generations spent chasing the Final Weave. His mother. The Mother of Teeth. Everything Vethrisa had decided he was supposed to become.
"So they were wrong about me?"
The witch considered him.
"I did not say that."
His expression tightened. "Then what are you saying?"
"That Vethrisa mistook inheritance for ownership."
Ace looked away. Whatever Vethrisa had done across generations was real, he was living proof of that much. But the Weave had existed before them, and the people who studied it. Even the chamber they'd spent generations trying to reach had belonged to someone else first.
They hadn't created the beginning. Guess they didn't get to decide the ending either. Ace looked down at his arm again.
"The Knot."
"Yes."
Ace looked down at his arm again. "What happens without it?"
"I suspect the form would unravel."
Ace flexed his fingers. "So the Knot is holding it here."
"It is maintaining the pattern you gave it."
His brow furrowed. "Keeping it from disappearing."
"Yes."
Ace fell quiet. Green light moved faintly beneath the dark surface of his palm. He could still feel the Force flowing through it, uninterrupted from elbow to fingertips.
"An anchor."
The witch looked at him. "What?"
"That's what it's doing." Ace slowly closed his hand. "Anchoring the pattern here. To me."
She considered the word before looking back toward the ancient inscriptions. "I suppose so, yes."
