The Braided do not see time as a river. They see it as a tapestry—each life a thread, each choice a knot. To them, prophecy is not prediction. It is reading the pattern that already exists.

Their seers go mad young. The human mind was not meant to perceive so many threads at once. Those who survive the madness become Oracles, and their word is law among the Braided.

But even they cannot see where their own threads lead.