Part of me wants to go right back in and confront the creature, but its presence here leads to a bunch of rules and philosophical questions that I didn’t think about before. Like, isn’t this supposed to be restricted to humanity? The Bui that Azo and I killed had been here almost from the beginning, maybe actually from the beginning, absorbing that poor kid’s soul right under our noses. Are the Bui somehow exempt from the restrictions, or do they count as one of us, so long as… what?

  They have two levels. Two. Almost like they still have two souls. They aren’t absorbing the souls whose body they steal, they’re keeping them alive.

  I push off the wall, feeling sick. I need to go, to breathe unfiltered air, to do anything to calm my spinning mind. The hallway passes in a blur. I duck through the lobby and lean out into the street, dragging in the alien lilac air and holding it in my chest until it hurts.

  God, what do I do? Can I even fight Grettel, or whatever is inside Grettel, inside of Haven? Is what it's doing somehow not an attack? If I activate an offensive Skill, what would even happen to me?

  “There you are.”

  The gravel rain of Zara’s voice is filled with relief. I turn and, stomach in knots, force myself to inspect her.

  Zaratiumynya, Laranya Fateweaver

  Level: 29

  Strengths: Will, Charisma

  Weaknesses: Strength

  The Laranya are the Competitor species of the First. A species akin to the arachnids of Earth, the Laranya’s dedication to the art of creation is second only to the gods themselves. Generally a peaceful species, the Laranya are still terrible foes when they are forced to turn their creative potential to war.

  Zaratiumynya was a respected Weaver among the First, healing the fracturing web of the Mother to preserve the sanctity of Her rule. Feeling the call of instinct’s song, she made the difficult choice to abandon her work in order to birth a cluster of young Laranya to inherit her wisdom and love.

  My heart does strange things in my chest. Relief that she is still herself, but also… sorrow. Zara is a mother torn from her children, and, if they’re anything like spiders from Earth, that is a great many children who’ve lost their mother.

  “Here I am,” I say simply. She tilts her head in her customary uncanny sign of curiosity. There’s something in her face, something careful, guarded, like she’s holding the pieces of her expression together by force of will. “What?”

  “It is nothing,” she whispers, gesturing with two delicate limbs towards the door. “Will you walk with me?”

  I follow her out into the streets, and we take a path away from the main square. The protections of Haven don’t discriminate by district, so every direction is equally safe, but I’ve never gone down the street where she leads me. There are buildings here without marking, doors closed.

  Curiosity stirs in my chest. This area looks nothing like the Qellis meeting hall. What could be behind these doors?

  After a few minutes walking in silence, Zara finally begins to speak.

  “I have not shared much with you of the fate spun for me before our meeting.”

  “And you don’t have to,” I say quickly. I don’t necessarily want to reveal what I know, but I also don’t think my heart can take hearing about her children right now. “It’s not like I’ve told you much, either.”

  “It is a story worth weaving,” she says. We come to an empty archway that leads to a tiny courtyard complete with stone pavers and a tinkling fountain. Nostalgic vertigo strikes, followed by the certainty that this scene was lifted straight from Earth. She gestures for me to sit, though she remains on her feet. “If you are of a mind to listen, I think it will help you… understand.”

  “Sure,” I say reluctantly, not loving the way she said that last sentence.

  “I served under the First Mother for forty-seven cycles.” Her body begins to sway and move, telling the story as much in the instinctual physical language of her people as with her words. It is mesmerizing like a distant siren’s song, its words in a language never spoken. My eyes follow, but my heart listens. “I returned the Weave to its natural perfection, soothing that which was strained, securing that which was untethered, and smoothing that which was frayed.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I… see it. The Weave. A spider’s web on a global scale, each strand speaking to a truth about the universe deeper than any human philosopher has ever reached. Its silk threads blanket oceans and cover mountains, impossibly strong, impossibly intricate. When the wind blows, the web sings an unearthly symphony, trembling reality into being. Even seen in metaphor, it is clear there is a voice behind its song, a will crafting its certainty.

  I’ve only seen its like once, and only recently. It is like the symbol carved on my own soul, but complete. Like the coastline of a map, the closer you look, the more you discern, your vision growing more perfect and yet more narrow, on and on into infinity.

  And there is Zara. Her legs are precise as any surgeon, her soul singing the song of the web in a gentle harmony. Her role in the Weave’s existence is small but vital, a cog in a natural machine that requires perfection to operate. There are thousands like her, millions, laboring to maintain the infinite wisdom of the First Mother. It is hard work, tedious and precise, but all the more worth it to add one’s voice to the chorus.

  She found a piece one day that would not mend. A strand that would not sing. In her heart, she knew that it was not her place to smooth this roughness. The song reached an end for her, a natural conclusion, and she followed its fading notes to a mate, and offspring, new souls to hear the truth of the melody of the Weave.

  Blue light. A minor key. Discord trembling through what was endless harmony.

  And I know the sound of this jarring, ripping note. Its words sear themselves into my soul directly, writing new paths across its surface, bringing new beauty to its shape and new sorrow to its song. They are words I know, and their meaning is sharp and certain as broken glass.

  Be sure you are safely away from any other life forms in order to make the transition as smooth as possible.

  “No.”

  The word ghosts from my lips like the last breath of a frozen corpse. But my denial can’t change the past. Nothing can.

  We’re silent, for a time, the world hanging between us on a tenuous thread. Even the fountain’s song has fallen still. She doesn’t dance, doesn’t sing, though her stillness is a eulogy in and of itself.

  “Your children,” I say when I can find my voice. I see again the bright splatter of Dean Hannah’s blood, the impossible sharpness of its shearing, the sound of it squelching to the ground. “They wouldn’t… they wouldn’t leave you.”

  “No, they would not,” she answers, words like snow falling in an empty forest.

  “Zara…”

  “Do you understand?” she asks, stepping close, every one of her myriad eyes locked unwaveringly on my face. Her body is contorted with an agitated need. “Do you see?”

  “No one could,” I answer, forcing myself to stare back, open and vulnerable. “But I feel even a piece of it and I am broken.”

  The silence stretches as she searches for something in my eyes and seems to find it.

  “I’ve made something for you,” she says abruptly, her posture returning to indiscernible rest. “Out among the trees of my people. Will you go with me to retrieve it?”

  “Of course.” I stand immediately, then hesitate, looking up at the darkening sky. How long did I listen to her dance? “Does it have to be tonight? I’m supposed to meet with the leaders tomorrow morning. We can meet up after and go. Promise.”

  “No,” she says, her carapace clicking as she turns to regard the lilac sky. “There is no harm in waiting until tomorrow. Thank you, Sam. For listening. For everything.”

  I give her a nod, leaving her to the gentle peace of the fountain’s endless hum.

  My heart is full and broken. I shared something with another soul, something deeper than any connection I’ve ever known. Her trust in me is colossal. I won’t break it.

  I mean, shit. She called me by my name. I never thought that’d happen.

  Achievement! “Paint with all the colors…”

  You’ve managed to discern meaning in a connection shared between two souls! That level of connection can only be formed from mutual trust and understanding, as a soul does not open up to just anyone!

  Reward Upgraded!

  Somehow, you managed this achievement with a sentient of a different species!

  Reward (Pending): Perception (Legendary) evolves to Soul Sight (Mythic)!

  If accepted, your soul is able to pierce the veil of other’s facades, understanding more of their true self and intentions than perhaps they do themselves! This choice may close you off from future evolutions.

  Uh… Kora? You seeing this?

  “There is something strange happening around you, Competitor. I have not seen more than a handful of true Mythic abilities before the final rounds in all my time witnessing this Tournament. And already you have three. The only unfortunate circumstance of your extraordinary fortune is that these abilities will not help you slay your foes.”

  Sister, don’t I know it. But still, pretty cool. And Zara made something for me! Hopefully using all that random shit I gave her that was super rare or whatever.

  “By the Twelve, you are the strangest sentient I’ve ever met. One moment I can feel your soul grow closer to another, your heart waxing poetic about the nature of the universe and the power of trust and faith, and the next you’re talking like your species failed its evolution somewhere along the line.”

  What can I say? I’m complicated.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.”