Talothral's gift was not power as most folk imagined. He could not melt mountains with a gesture or call down armies. His craft was maps: he traced veins of cause, the threads that tethered objects, promises, and people. Where others saw a broken thing, he would find the hidden seam and stitch it to something else. Between a torn shirt and the fisherman who mended it, he saw the debt that would later save a child's life. Between an old, empty bell and the empty harbor, he saw how a single ring might wake ghosts.
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"I sought you because the bead belonged to me once," she told him. "I am a keeper of words taken in war. We gather what would unmake borders. I could owe you, or I could ask more." Talothral's gift was not power as most folk imagined