Selis Weaver - The Threadkeeper

The town of Haverford thrived in the quiet spaces between fortune and hardship. The wind carried the scents of fresh bread and tilled earth through the streets of Haverford, weaving between market stalls and bustling townsfolk. To most, the town was a simple place, hardworking, unremarkable, shaped by the ebb and flow of fortune. But one among them saw beyond the surface, beyond chance, beyond the unpredictable turns of life. Selis Weaver saw deeper. She did not believe in luck, nor chance, nor randomness. She believed in the weave, the intricate pattern of fate that bound every soul together. And she was its keeper.

From her modest tailor’s shop, Selis Weaver, chosen of Veyna the Fateweaver, worked with needle and thread, but her hands spun far more than cloth. She could see the threads of destiny, fragile, tangled, poised to unravel if left unchecked. Some called it intuition. Others whispered that fate itself guided her. But Selis knew the truth. She was Veyna’s chosen, a caretaker of the grand tapestry, nudging the threads into place when fate threatened to fray.

She had sensed the first unraveling before dawn. A farmer, Callum Varrow, trudging toward town desperation plain upon his weary face, his crops wilted, his spirit beaten down by a cruel season. In one world, he would lose his land, his family would suffer, and Haverford would weaken. Not while Selis watched.

She reached into her satchel and withdrew a golden needle, a strand of glowing light, pulsing as though alive, left an image of stitching behind it. Whispering Veyna’s name beneath her breath, she pulled the thread taut and twisted it with care, plucking the course of fate itself.

In the marketplace below, a noble merchant paused, turning his head as if struck by sudden realization. His eyes found the farmer, and a peculiar thought entered his mind. Had he not been meaning to invest in land for his family estate? Had he not been searching for fertile soil? Wouldn't Varrow's land near his be perfect?

Moments later, an offer was made. A price far greater than the farmer had ever imagined. A Deal struck. A new future set into motion.Selis smiled. The weave had been altered. The right path preserved. But her work was never done. Later that afternoon a familiar pull stirred within her, a fraying strand, a future teetering on the brink.

Corlen, a merchant, prepared to leave for Greenfield, his cart loaded with fine silks. In another future, bandits would strike, his trade lost, his life taken.

Selis reached into her satchel, twisting a golden thread ever so slightly, tapping at fate, careful not to tug or tear.That evening, an old friend would warn Corlen of recent attacks on the roads. Unease settled in his gut, urging caution where none had been before. Instead of traveling alone, Corlen would hire guards.

The next day, when the bandits emerged from the brush, they would be met with steel instead of surrender. Corlen would survive. His trade would prosper. Haverford would grow.

Selis exhaled, releasing the thread.

She was not a ruler. Not a warrior, nor a hero sung in ballads. But with every stitch she wove, every thread she adjusted, she kept her town safe, not from monsters or invaders, but from the slow decay of misfortune and misguided paths.

The people of Haverford would never know the hand that shaped their destinsie, the pits of fate they had avoided.

But Selis would always know hers.

She was the Threadkeeper of Haverford.

And the tapestry of Haverford's fate would never fray beneath her watch.