Where Vojta Tapestry

A heavy woven scene hangs between carved stone columns, lit by a warm amber glow that makes the battle lines read like a frozen fever. Soldiers in mail strain with pikes and shields across hills of stitched smoke while small fires burn in a distant town under a dusky sky, and the upper right bears a looping inscription that asks plainly Where Vojta. Three domed, mechanical figures march from the right, their metal skins caught mid-stride as the weave itself unravels into a square, pixelated void at the edge of the cloth. Frayed threads, ash-dark smudges and a figure turned toward that dark patch read like evidence: someone may have slipped through or been erased, but Vojta is still not in the scene. The hall holds the tapestry like a report, warm from depicted fires and cool from the stone underfoot, the question suspended in the amber light.