Mira moved through the hallway with quiet steps, her curiosity pulling her forward like an invisible thread.
The dusty side room came into view, and she paused at the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in what Viktor and Kaida had built.
The machine stood there—crooked, cobbled together from broken furniture and salvaged parts, but unmistakably a spinning wheel. Beside it was a crude loom frame, half-assembled but functional enough.
And scattered around the floor were bundles of long grasses, plant fibers that had been processed and separated.
Some of them looked like flax, others like hemp.
There were even small clay bowls filled with what looked like crushed herbs—petals and roots that had been mashed into a thick paste, creating natural dyes in muted reds, yellows, and browns.
Mira crouched down, picking up a strand of the processed fiber. It was rough but workable, twisted just enough to hold together.
