Fate plays no favourites when the die is cast, its meaning ubiquitous to mortals and its extension limited by a Farthan. Only when the scarf loses its colour, can their shackles be lifted.

— Study I of Tarkas, Third Verse

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Lillianne watched as Varna’s figure crumpled down to her mother’s feeble body. With a solemn expression, she looked out the nearby window, rays still entering the quiet room. An indescribable vexation washed over her as she sighed quietly. She was sure her graceful manner collapsed in that instant, for she sympathised with the circumstances that befell Varna’s mother. She hadn’t known her though, not once.

Attempting to quell her increasing resentment, Lillianne silently moved toward the window, closing the curtains upon the room. Taking notice of the dimming light, Varna straightened her back and broke the silence.

“Actually, I came here to ask for advice.” She said, her voice raspy.

Lillianne paused, turning to face Varna. “May I ask for the matter?”

“I …” Varna pushed herself up from the bedding, the sheets crumpling as she unconsciously gripped them tighter. Her words choked her speech in her throat—it was as if a string was pulling them deeper into her ego. Pinching her thigh, she grimaced in pain to overcome herself. “I want to leave the city.”

All that could be heard was the sound of cattle, heightened by the ludicrous statement that defied all Farthan sense. In no world did any resident of the Rayan City consider leaving its premises. All they needed to do was stay content with their position. And even if such a statement were hyperbolic in nature, the institute’s teachings certainly were not.

“My Lady.” Lillianne stammered. “Is that truly necessary?”

“It is.” Varna frowned. “It’s necessary.”

“ … May I ask what for?”

“Just a personal goal.” Varna averted her swimming gaze.

Lillianne sighed, turning to face the closed curtains. Her heart palpitated slightly, and her fingers curled, rubbing against each other. She respected Varna, unquestionably, for she was the Duke’s niece, but part of her envied Varna’s position. Not a word left her mouth, though, for silence was the only response she had. That was the greatest strength she possessed.

“If it is what My Lady wishes for, then I have nothing against your affairs.” Lillianne broke a fragile smile.

Varna, adjusting her position to sit beside her mother, took out the thread she held in her pocket. She stared at it for a few moments, before unravelling the tangled string.

“I know it’s too late to say this, but can I trust you to keep your silence?” Varna inquired.

“The words of My Lady are of utmost importance—”

“I can only say the same, Lillianne.”

Lillianne hesitated a response. She peered deeper into Varna’s dark pupils, which seemed to gaze back at her. An indescribable emotion filled Lillianne’s body, and the passion she once knew seemed to light itself for just this moment.

“I can guarantee that nothing leaves this room.”

Varna exhaled in relief, twiddling with the thread she so loved. It seemed as if its already translucent composition faded further.

“I want to leave through the Institute’s gardens.” Varna explained. There seemed an air of melancholy as she spoke. “I found through Percas that the outskirts of the garden lead to a cliffside.”

“And, My Lady? Farthos is high enough as it is already. How will you reach down the oceanside?” Lillianne asked.

“Duke Egreiss.” Varna responded swiftly. “I figured out that a specialised fleet of his would make rounds to the Marlyn Capital.”

Only bewilderment struck Lillianne. Stammering, she responded. “Even then, how would you pass the surveillance?”

Smiling, Varna pulled out a needle from her pocket. Small, yet prominent, the needle appeared as if it were an extension of the Scarves she’d seen in the institute. Its looks were, too, prismatic in colour, and its transparency almost nil—it appeared as if the needle itself were a mirage.

“Surveillance means nothing when faced with fate.”

Lillianne’s expression quickly collapsed into panic. Instinctively, she approached Varna, attempting to grab the needle from her hands. Varna, making haste, hid the needle in her hand and recoiled from Lillianne.

“My Lady! Do you realise what it is you’re doing?!” Lillianne hadn’t noticed her raise in tone.

“Of course. I know perfectly what it means.”

“You may lose the only chance to step foot in this land ever again!”

Varna scowled. “What? So you’re telling me I should expose everything to Her Excellency like the imitation I am?”

“No, I—” Lilliane stammered, struggling to excuse herself. “I only meant for you to understand the weight of your actions.”

“I understand my actions better than anybody else.”

Lillianne paused, before sitting on a nearby chair. The wood groaned upon its first use in a long while.

“Then, what else are you to use the needle for?”

“Only that.” Varna delayed. “I promise I won’t use it for anything else.”

A sigh escaped from Lilliane’s lips. She looked over at the worn loom, her gaze filled with a sense of longing.

“And your title, My Lady?” She turned to face Varna. “Have you not gotten your appointed Fated yet?”

Varna smiled awkwardly, raising her hand to rub the back of her neck. She averted her gaze as she felt her own saliva slide down her throat.

“I’ve actually been ignoring it.” She stammered.

“Pardon me?”

“I haven’t been paying attention.”

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The cattle resounded ever louder with the passing second, as Lillianne tried to make sense of Varna’s confession.

“Have you not even started weaving the scarf?”

“I have.” She repeated. “I have. It’s just— I don’t think it’s my place to govern over another’s life.”

“But, My Lady, you risk damaging their fate either way.”

“No, I—”

“Is it not our place to keep destiny in order?” She emphasised.

Varna brought her gaze down, her face turning red from shame. “Right.”

Lillianne sighed, before resigning herself to Varna’s circumstances. She stood up, approaching the window and letting light occupy the room once more. Varna squinted her eyes, before facing Lillianne as she spoke.

“For now, let us discuss the matter over tea.” She smiled. “I admire your courage, My Lady. I truly do.”

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On the day of the departure, near sunset and outside the Rayan Gardens, only an hour before the fleet would make its rounds, Varna sat on the lone rock near the cliffside. Knitting her mother’s incomplete scarf with a worn needle, she wove the thread over itself as she passed the time quietly. Although this method of knitting, she knew, was considered primitive by the city’s, she spent no time idling by as the forgotten tradition continued to lose its brilliance among the city’s residents.

Varna wore a different Scarf that day. Rather than the accustomed scarf she’d been given, she wore a Scarf that was far more translucent and prismatic in colour. Its kaleidoscopic brilliance outshone all the other Scarves she’d seen; a mere glimpse of the Scarf could captivate a human. Despite its effulgence, however, Varna felt no attachment to the heap of thread, only taking it along with her out of obligation—Lillianne convinced her at the last moment.

She envied the Scarf in fact of its transparency which outlived her mother’s. If only such life could be transferred to the one she was knitting, then perhaps her resentment toward the history of her race would quell by itself.

Varna hummed a familiar tune as she waited to speak with a certain individual. The fritters, she noticed, had visibly decreased in number. Even if the night had yet to come, the hushed croaks of them could still be heard, provided that one focused on the matter. Perhaps it was because of the recent influx of wind, or perhaps it could be likened to the spectacle she missed only by a year, that the fritters had disappeared that evening.

Nonetheless, the sound of parting grass entered Varna’s ears as her appointed individual arrived. Holding the scarf in place, she turned her head to face the figure.

“Percas.” She said, nodding to an empty space beside her. “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime.” Percas raised a half-smile. “So, uh, what’s the occasion?”

“Hm?” Varna raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Your outfit. Were you out?”

“Oh, uh,” Varna brought her attention back to knitting, “just felt like it today.”

Percas affirmed in scepticism, before turning his attention over the cliffside. The sun had already set, and the cries of the fritters could be heard nowhere. The clouds below appeared rather thin, and the bare ocean lay still with the moonlight glistening off its body.

“You know, Percas.” Varna spoke abruptly, continuing to knit her mother’s scarf. Its transparency had waned significantly since the ceremony a year ago, and has continued since. “I’ve been thinking about a few things recently.”

Percas nodded, his expression filled half with interest and the other with worry.

“I’ve thought about the ceremony last year, and how it’s affected me as a Stringer.” Varna huffed, continuing, “I’ve also thought about our current lives—day, and age, and all.”

“Okay.” Percas sat down next to Varna, leaning on the rock. He felt oddly agitated. “What are you getting at?”

“Relax, Percas. I’m not going anywhere.” She continued. “Not yet, at least.”

For a moment, Percas’ manner relaxed, before taking notice of Varna’s sudden statement.

“Varna? What do you mean—”

“You’ve probably already noticed, but I’ve never really done well. Socially, I mean.” Varna’s focus wavered, pricking herself with the needle. She winced in pain as the cut bled slightly. “It feels a bit awkward to say this, but I really appreciated talking with you, even if it felt a bit estranged.”

“I know, but—”

“I’m going to leave the city. Today.” She announced, small amounts of blood still trickling down her finger.

Percas choked on his own words. His hands shivered, and his heart palpitated. He could feel his face grow redder by the second—only the frigid breeze from the cliffside kept him at bay, and even that felt odd to him.

“What? Why?” He stammered, his speech confused as the words flew out of his mouth.

“Well, I can't fulfil my wish without seeing the world for myself.” Varna confessed, as she stood from the rock and held the knitting equipment. The blood smeared on the scarf, and she frowned, trying to clear the scarf of it. It only smudged further.

“You can’t! You know what it’s like out there already! They’ve told us all about it—it’s too dangerous.”

“They lie.” Varna responded bluntly. “How can they say that when they’ve never seen it for themselves? Only now are they planning to make rounds to human ground for the first time.”

Percas stuttered, unconsciously grabbing onto Varna’s sleeve. “Even then, what about your family? Your mother? Father? You’ll never be able to step foot here again—that’s the ruling.”

Varna hesitated, clenching her fists tight as the cliffside wind blew through her hair. She could feel the breeze grow stronger and the air grow colder, as the moonlight shone down upon the lonely grassland. Distant sounds of fans cutting through the wind reached her ears.

“I have nothing left for me here.” She finally responded, resolute.

Percas stopped pleading, letting go of Varna’s hand with an expression of resignation. Scratching his arm, he averted his gaze and stared at the ground. Empty, and only a dead fritter lay in its spot.

“I see.” He said, defeated. “So you don’t plan on coming back?”

“No.” Varna raised a weak smile. “I like this place a lot—not the city, but the outskirts. But, unless the thread leads me here, then I will never come back.”

Percas looked up to the stars as they looked back down at him. The moonlight felt intrusive that night, penetrating his skin as he felt destiny tie him down. Was there really nothing left? he thought, gritting his teeth in frustration.

“How about your duty? You’ll lose your status and everything.” He asked, weakly.

“I’ll do it myself.” Varna replied, grabbing the Scarf she wore around her neck and rubbing its threads together.

“I see—”

The wind grew ever stronger as the sound of fans approached the cliffside behind Varna. There, a fleet of airships began passing a bit below the edge of the cliff, as indiscriminate chatter could be heard faintly from them. Varna, taking note of her cue, turned around to face the cliff.

“Percas.” She spoke loudly to overcome the intrusive noise. “Thank you for everything. I swear to never forget it, even on the thread.”

Only silence came in response. Varna glowered, clenching the scarf in her hand tightly as she began walking toward the cliff. Percas looked at Varna’s back, his knees glued to the floor as the chains of sense shackled him to the ground. He stammered, trying to articulate his disoriented thoughts, but could only speak nothing. Only his hand waved the still air as Varna grew ever closer to the edge of the cliff.

“I’m still here!” Percas forced the words from his throat. “I’m still—”

Percas collapsed weakly, the dirt marking his knees. He sighed, watching as his own breath carried itself through the air. Clenching his fists, he tried to contain his increasing bitterness—only to stab at the ground, time and time again.

“I’m still here.”

Percas said, ever faintly. His pleading fell on deaf ears as Varna stood in front of the cliff. Only a step remained between her and her wish, as Duke Egreiss’ fleet passed by a few metres below her. She hesitated, slightly, looking up to the horizon as she contemplated.

The night sky, full of stars, watched as she pulled out the transparent needle from her pocket. With silence, she pulled out her mother’s scarf, and placed her needle upon it. The recently-knit portion gleamed ever brightly in the moonlight, as it grew more and more transparent.

Closing her eyes, Varna jumped down from the cliff toward an unassuming airship. A sense of relief washed over her, as the draft caressed her body down the cliff. Nostalgia filled her emotions, as she recounted the time she spent in Farthos. Inexplicably, drops of liquid travelled up her face, increasing in amount as her shaky hands impaled the scarf.

Though she was glad to step toward an uncertain future, part of her wished for another outcome, another way to achieve her goal—yet fate played no favourites. She knew, and yet, a tinge of regret came in tears.

She missed her home, more than she should have.