In the dusty glow of the weaving room, Mina ran her fingers over the half-finished carpet. The air smelled of wool and dye, a familiar comfort in her family’s workshop. The intricate pattern shimmered under the light—a labyrinth of vines and symbols that had been passed down for generations.

Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her mind: “Each thread, each knot, has a purpose. The pattern isn’t just for beauty—it’s a story, a shield.” As a child, she’d thought it was just superstition, the way her family whispered prayers as they worked. Now, at 19, it felt like a relic of a past too distant to matter.

But that changed the night she found the letter.

Hidden inside an old wooden loom was a brittle parchment covered in delicate Persian script. Mina held it carefully, reading by the dim light of an oil lamp. The words spoke of King Solomon’s divs—demons bound by his will—and how they could be trapped within patterns.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the symbols. They were woven into every carpet her family had ever made.

She laughed nervously, setting the letter aside. It was just a story, like the tales her grandfather used to tell to keep her interested in weaving. But when she returned to the loom, her hands moved differently, as though guided by something ancient and unseen.

That night, as she tied the final knots of the day, a chill filled the room. The shadows in the corners seemed darker, deeper. Mina froze. A faint whisper slithered through the silence, like dry leaves scraping against stone.

“You’ve found it, haven’t you?”

She spun around, heart racing. The room was empty.

“No one has used the binding in centuries,” the voice continued, low and guttural, coming from nowhere and everywhere.

Mina’s hands trembled, but she gripped the loom tighter. “Who are you?” she demanded.

The shadows coalesced into a shape—tall, hunched, with eyes that burned like coals. A div. Its jagged grin sent a shiver down her spine.

“You think you can trap me, little weaver? That these patterns still hold power?”

Mina stepped back, her mind racing. The letter had spoken of this moment. She didn’t need to fight the demon. She only needed to finish the carpet.

Her fingers flew over the threads, tying knots with precision and speed she didn’t know she possessed. The div snarled, lurching closer, but with every knot, its form flickered, growing fainter.

“You cannot bind us all,” it hissed. “There are a thousand more like me, waiting.”

Mina didn’t stop. The final knot tightened, and the div let out a piercing scream before collapsing into the carpet. Its shape writhed beneath the threads for a moment, then disappeared.

The room was silent again.

Mina collapsed onto the floor, staring at the finished carpet. The pattern seemed alive, the symbols glowing faintly before fading back into the wool. She traced them with a shaking hand, understanding for the first time what her family’s legacy truly meant.

They weren’t just weavers. They were guardians, keeping the world safe one knot at a time.

And as Mina stared at the loom, she realized her work was far from over. The div had been right—there were a thousand more waiting. And she would be ready for them.