For the first time, he was helpless. But he could not accept it.

"No," he gasped, forcing his arms up, forcing himself to stand up straight. Beyond all defiance of rational comprehension, he stared the full power of the Weave directly in the face, stared into the heart of the Goddess herself, and refused to yield. "Not… like… THIS!" he screamed.

But against that power, stubborn defiance could not last long. Its might overwhelmed his attempts to shunt it off, to block it, to slow it down, saturating his body with its power. The end of his tail burst into flame, the tops of his feet began to smolder, and the very air around him became alive with magical energy, charged by its proximity to him. The power was building, building, eating him piece by piece, and he could sense that once it reached the point where it would fill him no more, it would destroy him in a cataclysmic explosion of energy. Just as he had once charged Jegojah's body to the bursting point, so it was being done to him. He had Consumed Jegojah, and now the restless spirit was seeing his measure of revenge.

The pain taxed away what little he had left. He began to sag to the ground, sagging into a funeral pyre formed from himself, and the stark reality of a violent death, a death of the most unimaginable pain, rose up before him. He was too weary to care, the pain was too much to bear, even for him.

This time, there was no escape. Since there could be no escape, then there could only be release.

He stopped fighting. He opened himself completely to the Weave, opening himself in a way he had never done before, an opening without fear, without worry, without defense from the power. It was an opening of utter totality, exposing his very soul to the raging torrent of energy that sought to destroy him. In submission to the finality of his existence, he utterly surrendered to the might of the Weave, allowing it to do with him what it will. So long as it was done quickly. He didn't want to suffer anymore.

The energy within, the energy without, it responded to that submission, responded instantly. It drove into him with renewed vigor, with such speed and force that his body was literally picked up from the rocky ground. In the blink of an eye, he was filled to the limit, reaching the maximum potential of his body. The pain was consumed by that sensation of fullness, a power carrying a sensation that defied rational explanation, neither pain nor sweetness, hot nor cold, fast nor slow, gentle nor harsh. It merely was, and in that instant, he understood that that moment of utter maximum, that he had reached the abyss.

Yet he did not fall in.

It was as if the power stopped. He felt it radiate into him, through him, it reached out and touched the Weave, and then it bonded it to him. The pain washed away, leaving behind nothing but a sensation of the power itself, and then that sense of power faded to the sense of the Weave. And then it was gone.

There was no sensation at first, neither within nor without. Then he felt the Weave bend. He felt it warp, shift, pull towards him, and his sense of it suddenly became as clear as opening his eyes. He could feel the currents and surges within the strands, he could feel the pools and eddies and charges that existed within them. He could see inside the strands, inside the Weave, as if the totality of it were revealed to him. He could see things he had never seen before, sense things he could not before. He could feel Allia and Keritanima through the Weave, could feel the pulsing of their hearts through the Weave, felt that they, and all Sorcerers, were linked to the Weave in ways the modern katzh-dashi could not even comprehend. He could feel Jenna, knew exactly where she was, knew that she was pouting from some kind of punishment. He could feel all of them, every single one, both near and far, old and young, friend and foe, weak and powerful, those long in their power and those who had never actively touched it before. Their hearts, their souls, they were linked to the Weave, made up a part of the gentle rhythm of the beating of the Heart of the Goddess.

And at the heart of it rested a pair of glowing, benevolent eyes, eyes that looked on him with love and gentle compassion. The eyes of the Goddess herself looked upon him, and within them he could only see a loving benediction. The eyes said everything without words. He had surrendered to the power, and in that surrender, rather than destroy him, it had caused him to transcend the concepts of Sorcery. He had crossed over into a new realm of magical communion. He had become one with the Weave itself, and it was tied to him more closely than any katzh-dashi could realize. He was the Weave, and the Weave was him.

Through his mind's eye, he saw, felt the change in his amulet. The concave star in the center of the device shifted, flowed, as two delicate tendrils of black metal grew out from each side of the central star, grew out, bent, then reached out to touch the triangles that surrounded it. The eight lines merged with the six triangles, two each on the top and bottom triangles, one each on the four that formed the sides, and the central star took on the abstract image of a spider sitting within the center of its web of triangles, all held within a circle.

Now, her voice echoed through his mind, through the Weave, through the entire world, now, my dear one, you are truly a Weavespinner.

The power faded from him, and the eyes tumbled away from his inner eye as he lost contact with that sensation. His weariness and weakened condition had overcome him, and he went from basking in the eyes of the Goddess herself to the blackness of unconscious oblivion.

Half a world away, in a large courtyard in the middle of a cavernous maze of carefully tended hedges, there stood a large fountain. The fountain was made of marble, and clear, pure water flowed within its base, the sound of its splashing a soothing sound to any who heard it. In the center of this fountain stood a statue of a nude female, the carving of it defining perfection itself. The face was a lovely one, gentle and kind, and any who stared upon it was calmed and felt peace.

The eyes of the statue suddenly erupted with intense white light, and the features of the statue changed visibly, flowing from that gentle benediction to a sense of triumph, of victory. The statue suddenly became surrounded by nimbus of soft bluish light, the light of High Sorcery. And then it was gone, and the light within the eyes of the statue faded away, leaving nothing but the victorious expression upon the statue's lovely features.

Within the huge central tower of the seven that made up the Tower of Sorcery, at its very core, flowed a magical feature known as the Heart of the Goddess. It was the largest Conduit in the world, the main artery through which the lifeblood of Sorcery flowed. It was the wellspring of the power of the katzh-dashi, a spring of energy from the Goddess herself.

That pillar-thick Conduit of magical energy suddenly flickered into visibility, then flared with a soft bluish radiance. But only for a moment. It was enough for every Sorcerer on the grounds to stop in his or her tracks, to stop and clutch at his or her chest as the power of the Weave expanded, shifted, if only a little, a sense of alteration that no Sorcerer in proximity to the Heart could miss.

It was enough for most of the citizens of Suld to stop what they were doing and look towards the Tower of Six Spires, the center of the city, where a pillar of soft light shimmered in the clear morning air, and then winked out. Most of them simply shrugged and went back about their daily business, for such magical apparitions weren't uncommon when the Tower was concerned.

But others understood it for what it was. And they felt fear.

To: Title EoF