《Oops, Space Spider [AH Fanfic]》 1 - Spider I am spider. It is calm. My web is bright, a shimmering nest of delicate lines. It is perfect. Glorious. Light comes through the strange nothing I can touch. Beyond its barrier I can see the green of trees and grass. I see them move. Prey? I move to focus. No. It is wind. Tricky wind. There is no wind here. I remember the wind. It moved my web. Made it glitter in the light. But wind is not prey. My web traps my prey. It could not trap the wind. Wind is not prey. It is tricky. Tricky wind. I try to go to the trees, one leg stepping off my web. The strange nothing stops me again. It is okay. My web is here. I will wait. Wait on my web. Wait for the prey. Maybe the strange nothing will let me pass some day. But not today. My web shakes. Prey? My eyes see nothing. Tricky wind? My web shakes again. No, the wind flutters. This does not flutter my hair. Not wind. This vibration comes from the wood beyond my web. Far below. I scuttle to the dark corner of my web. Safe. The shakes still happen. But I am safe. Safe in my web. I am calm. In a flash my surroundings change. I do not feel my web. Where is my web? I do not see my web. I want my web. I try to move, but can not. Tricky wind? No, the wind moves. I can not move. I will wait. I will watch. I am calm. In front of me is the large one. Is it a spider? Where are all its legs? It must have lost its legs. How sad for large spider. Its hair is long, golden like the morning light. It is pretty. But it is not as pretty as my web. Where is its web? Can it not make a web? I miss my web. Where is my web? Today there is another large one. Smaller than the other large one. It also has missing legs. Such sadness for the large ones. To lose so many legs. Tragedy. Maybe they will feel better with a web. I can make a web. A web for the large ones. A third large one is behind me. I can see some of it. I want to turn to look. To look at this large one. To see if it has all its legs. Its hair is black. Shiny. But not as shiny as my web. But I can not move. So I will wait. Wait until I can move. Wait until I can find my web. I am calm. The large one in front of me looks at me closely. Its pedipalps are strange. Pink in color. No hair. Poor large one. First the legs. Now the pedipalps. I really should make a web for the large one. It must be sad with missing legs and strange pedipalps. Its pedipalps move rapidly. A dance? I do not know this dance. Curious. I watch. I watch until her pedipalp dance stops. I am calm. In a flash my surroundings change. The large ones are gone. Good bye, large ones. I hope you find a web. I am in my web. My safe web. My beautiful web. I am calm. But something shines in my eyes. Thoughts come with the light. ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®A Dragonslayer has bathed your body in Space Magic, changing it permanently. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. You grow more resilient, stronger, and more nimble: +10 Vitality, +5 Endurance, +5 Strength, +5 Dexterity, aging has significantly slowed effects. The flow of your Mana has changed: +10 Intelligence, +10 Wisdom. Your attunement to the Fabric grows closer: Space Magic improved by 100%.¡¯ ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have met the requirements for a species evolution: Space-Touched Silkspinner ¨C Be an arachnid capable of spinning Silk, Space-attuned body.¡¯ ¡®There have been many Noble False Widows before you, but none have ever been held by the magics of a Dragonslayer and survived. The Space-Touched Silkspinner relies on their Silk and Space Magic to snare prey. Once ensnared, the prey will not suffer from mundane venom, but rather Fabric-disrupting magics.¡¯ ¡®As a creature of insufficient intelligence, this evolution will automatically be chosen for you. Bonuses and skills will now be applied.¡¯ ¡®Evolution: Space-Touched Silkspinner Vitality +5, Dexterity +10, Intelligence +15, Wisdom +10 Space Magic improved by 100% Silk strength improved by 100% Body Enhancement Magic improved by 50% Skills gained from Space-Touched Silkspinner: Active: Disruption Bite ¨C lvl 1: Send a chaotic pulse of Space Magic into your target through your bite. Your intelligence stat increases the damage potential. Category: Space Magic Active: Silk Spinning ¨C lvl 1: Silk produced by your spinnerets is 50% [after bonuses 75%] stronger and stickier. The increased stickiness does not affect your ability to unadhere at-will. Your ability to manipulate Silk is slightly improved by your intelligence stat. Category: Body Enhancement Passive: Space Touch ¨C lvl 1: As the owner of a Space-attuned body, perceiving the fabric of Space immediately around you and manipulating it at a touch comes natural to you. Category: Body Enhancement ¨C Space Magic Passive: Silk Awareness ¨C lvl 1: Perceive stimulus using Silk as a medium with 100% [150%] increased clarity. Category: Body Enhancement¡¯ ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have learned the general skill Space Magic Resistance¡¯ Space Magic Resistance ¨C lvl 1 Most would have been shredded into nonexistence by a Dragonslayer, yet you¡¯re still whole. The twisters of the Fabric will find you less susceptible to manipulation. Name: Species: Space-Touched Silkspinner ¨C lvl 1 - Active: Disruption Bite ¨C lvl 1 - Active: Silk Spinning ¨C lvl 1 - Active: Free Slot - Active: Free Slot - Passive: Space Touch ¨C lvl 1 - Passive: Silk Awareness ¨C lvl 1 - Passive: Free Slot - Passive: Free Slot General Skills: - Space Magic Resistance lvl 1 Status: Vitality: 17 Endurance: 6 Strength: 6 Dexterity: 18 Intelligence: 25 Wisdom: 20 Health: 120/170 Stamina: 60/60 Mana: 0/250 ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have been afflicted by Mana Starvation (minor): Nullified health and mana regeneration, Evolution paused¡¯ The thought-light fades before my eyes. It was pretty. But not as pretty as my web. It is also wrong. Wrong thought-light. Calling me not smart. I am spider. ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®Name changed to Spider.¡¯ Yes, thought-light. I am spider. Without the thought-light in the way, I see another web. Not my web. It is everywhere. It is a pretty web. More pretty than my web. Blasphemous. I try to touch the other web. My leg passes right through. No sticking. No movement. I repeat my poke. One moment in front. The next behind. What a tricky web. Is it made of wind? No, it is too pretty to be wind. What spider spun this web? I will learn from their web. I will change my web. My web will be better than the other web. Maybe then I can catch the tricky wind? And then I will show the spider who spun this web my prettier web. My web that catches the tricky wind. 2 - Secret Mission ¡°Three, two, one,¡± Cless¡¯s mum finished counting down. The moment Ilea disappeared by teleporting away through the strangely silent wizardry of space magic, Cless started her stopwatch. ¡°Mum, stay here. I need to save someone. Just a few seconds! Trust me!¡± It hurt Cless a little to leave her mum with whom she just reunited. Cless had finally gotten back to London with the help of Ilea after seven years in the realm of Elos. Travel between realms apparently was a rare occurrence. A freak magical accident had pulled both her and Ilea to Elos through unseen rifts on Earth. No one could explain how the rifts formed, other than by pure happenstance. She knew she would have eventually figured out a way to Earth on her own, but Ilea offered her expertise. Cless loved Elos for its freedom, its sights, its excitement, and most of all its magic. But it lacked one thing: her family. Even if Claire had ostensibly been her adoptive mother nearly the entire time on Elos, just knowing her parents were out there back on Earth where she couldn¡¯t return until now tugged at her heartstrings. She feared she would had soon forgotten their faces. Now, while Ilea worked her magic to free her dad from prison, Cless needed to complete her self-assigned mission. She teleported up to the top floor of the concrete parking garage. A dark corner, away from the artificial lights and prying eyes, made for her destination. From her storage necklace she pulled out a painting. Its magic paint rendered a spider in lifelike detail. A floating one. When she had finished painting the piece a few days ago she showed it to Claire, like she did with most of her works. Claire puzzled for a few spare seconds between her piles of endless boring paperwork in service of running Ravenhall before pointing Cless towards some bestiaries tucked away in her office. None contained the monster. She had even resorted to asking Dagon, but the living encyclopedia hadn¡¯t seen it before. Spiders don¡¯t float, it would seem. Thankfully she didn¡¯t have to pay for the non-answer from the librarian. He was always so stingy with his knowledge. Libraries in England are free! But now the mystery had been solved. Cless saw the spider with her own two eyes earlier today in her childhood home. It apparently lived in her attic. Ilea captured it in her space magic to prove to her mum that magic is real. Cless wanted to save the creature without Ilea¡¯s help. Already her debt to the woman felt endless. First she got her out of a dungeon and gave her a new life in Ravenhall on Elos. Now Ilea reunited her with her family. How do I repay a goddess? A golden fog of mana built up on Cless¡¯s hands. It infused into the painting, forming a solidified connection. To her senses the painting now acted like a shining beacon. She quickly tucked it away in the shadows, hiding it from any casual glances. She hoped the painting was far enough outside of Ilea¡¯s perception. The woman had a knack for finding things she wasn¡¯t supposed to. The girl jumped off the parking garage. She let herself free-fall. A smile grew on her face. For some reason using magic on Earth just hit differently. She held freedoms none other had. In Elos everyone had magic. Here? Here she was special. Super. Even Ilea said so. Magic arrested her descent and thrust her onto the floor of the parking garage with her mum. Her mum spotted her and called out in a hushed whisper, ¡°Cless, where did you go?¡± It looked like her mum really wanted to yell at her, but seeing as they were literally in the middle of a jailbreak she held herself back. A quick run later and Cless stood next to her mother once more. Her breath wasn¡¯t even strained, such a short run not putting much of a dent in her Stamina. ¡°Step one of saving someone. It¡¯s a divination thing. Don¡¯t tell Ilea. Act natural.¡± ¡°You have some explaining to do, young lady.¡± ¡°Sure, later.¡± Cless remembered to fix her wind-tousled blonde hair and brought out the stopwatch. She put her finger to her lip, signaling for quiet. Like a movie director she pointed forward and mouthed a countdown. As she lip synced the silent ¡®one¡¯ her hand lowered. One moment: empty air. Next moment: Ilea reappeared with one other. Dad. ¡°And, time,¡± Ilea said. Cless experienced the chorus that the Art always sang in Ilea¡¯s presence. Ever since she gained magic in Elos the Art called to her. Its song came not in words but emotions, impressions, and very rarely images. The images, up until recently due to her growth in power, depicted events currently happening in Elos. Her magic channeled the Art divination into her paintings. They became realistic snapshots in time, often showing developments in far away lands. Since her upgrade it seemed the Art breached the barrier between realms and time, showing her not only Earth but Earth in the future. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Others called her magic a gift, a rare one. Up until that weird lady came back from the land of the demons she had never met another divination mage like herself. The demon lover didn¡¯t channel the Art like she did though. Ever since Ilea slayed a dragon the Art had swelled into a grand crescendo around her. She intuited the Art¡¯s ask and played her part by stopping the watch and cheering, ¡°Thirty seven seconds!¡± Good, the stopwatch kept her on track. Task done, Cless soaked in the sight, letting it sink in that it finally happened, and ignored the words being exchanged. My family. Tears of joy streamed down her face. She had already seen her parents through the Art, but those were fleeting glimpses at best. In-person, her dad looked simultaneously smaller and bigger. The height perceptive difference came solely from her own growth, but he certainly had gained a lot of muscle since she was younger. Fighting the government does that, I suppose. Worry lines creased his forehead and eyes. But he looked at her while hugging her mum. Tension visibly left him, like he could finally stop holding a seven-year-long breath. The sensation of Ilea¡¯s magic wrapped around Cless and her parents. It paradoxically felt unbreakable yet gentle. A hug from a goddess. A moment later, they all appeared in Elos. __ After the explanations concluded, the Art¡¯s chorus faded into the distance as Ilea left the Michaelsons with Aki. Well, technically just one of Aki¡¯s machines. Now the enchanted dagger controlled all the Taleen creations at once. Cless¡¯s dad still wore his thousand-yard stare while nursing a bottle of ale. Her mum looked a little better, but it was clear they both needed time to accept the newly expanded universe they just became a part of. Cless regarded the machine with a little suspicion. She used to play with Aki when she was younger, but ever since the Iz incident he acted too seriously for her tastes. Controlling a million machines at once that are responsible for the protection of hundreds of thousands of lives seems to change a dagger. Responsibility ruins everything. The girl put on her most sickeningly sweet and innocent smile, ¡°Aki, do you mind taking care of my parents for a bit?¡± The machine¡¯s green eyes increased in intensity. His deep voice spoke, ¡°Cert¨C¡° Her mum interrupted Aki, ¡°Cless, we just got here. It¡¯s been seven years. Tell us what you¡¯ve been doing all this time.¡± The woman closed the gap and wrapped Cless in a hug. ¡°Yes, honey, tell us.¡± With a grunt to stand, her dad joined in. Warmth and love suffused Cless. She breathed in the comfort of having her family back. She couldn¡¯t place the intangible difference between her parents¡¯ hug and, say, Claire¡¯s. But that inexplicable something lightened her heart. She squeezed them back, not too hard. Level ones were fragile, after all, even if strength was her lowest stat. Part of her wanted to stay, however time was fleeting. Her painting-based beacon to Earth wouldn¡¯t last indefinitely. She whispered using English lest a certain nosy robot told a certain goddesses, ¡°I¡¯m going back to Earth. My magic tells me the spider in the attic is special. If I don¡¯t bring her to Elos she¡¯ll die. There¡¯s not enough magic there for her.¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just ask Ilea to bring her?¡± Cless imitated Ilea¡¯s voice, ¡°Sorry, Cless, only I get to bring new monsters to Elos.¡± She would¡¯ve rolled her eyes for effect if she wasn¡¯t still mid-hug. ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t get to Earth?¡± ¡°Not until Ilea opened the way. The window is closing, so I need to leave.¡± ¡°Will you be safe?¡± ¡°Yes, mum. I¡¯m really strong. Didn¡¯t you identify me already? Concentrate on me like you want to know what I am.¡± ¡°Mage? With two question marks?¡± ¡°Yeah, one question mark means stronger than you. Two means way stronger.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, sweetie¡­ can¡¯t you just stay?¡± ¡°And doom the spider? No way!¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather have a daughter than a spider.¡± ¡°Pff, you¡¯ll have both soon. I gotta go. Really. Trust me. And don¡¯t tell Aki.¡± She broke out of the hug. Both her parents still looked concerned. They gave each other meaningful looks. A conversation not of words, but mostly eyebrow and eyelid movements with tiny head tilts ensued. Mum cracked first with a sigh. ¡°Love you, my little artist.¡± ¡°Be safe, kiddo. Love you.¡± Cless smiled, ¡°Love you, too.¡± The girl flew off, leaving her shocked parents with Aki whose eyes narrowed. Once safely secluded on the mountainside, she conjured her ethereal brush. Focusing on the beacon-marked painting, she began her spell with an excited grin. Don¡¯t worry, spider. Super-heroine Cless is on the way! 3 - Asvesta-Bartosik Field The bank of monitors spitting out live feed data reflected in Jacquelyn''s glasses. Her puffy eyes struggled to stay open. With a yawn and a blind grasp she lifted her tea. The last cold, gritty, bitter dregs filled her mouth. She shuddered in disgust after she swallowed it down, but found few things better for keeping her awake. And awake she needed to be. She couldn¡¯t afford to lose this internship, no matter how boring the work turned out. It paid above minimum wage, was quiet, had little human interaction, lead to opportunities to actually do research, and the work was a cinch. It consisted of only three steps: look at the monitors, write down any findings, and report any anomalies. In practice, she only needed two steps in her entire time at the position. The feed showed the same thing it did every night. One thousand four hundred eighty nine remote probes spread throughout the greater London area. All transmitting real-time data, displayed in sparkline form, like a grid of heart rate monitors. If the heart rate monitors were flatlined, that is. Each probe¡¯s value varied less than a fraction of a percent. And that was only due to the so-called egressions. Those nodes, of which scientists had discovered thousands over the last years, acted as wells of the Asvesta-Bartosik Field, named after the two discovering CERN scientists. How much did the data visibly change minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour? Nada. Zilch. Squat. The levels literally looked flat unless if you used a time span in the months range. Doing so would give the insight of the values always increasing. Slowly, constantly, up. To a layman, that might not seem like such a terrible realization. Plenty of things are constantly going up: the prices of goods due to inflation, the concentration of CO2 in the atmosphere, the number of cat pictures on the Internet. But to a physicist? That¡¯s like the gravitational constant constantly increasing every day. Or, in even plainer terms, like gravity was increasing without mass or distance changing. Because that¡¯s what the AB Field was, a new fundamental property of the increasingly complex universe. And it was growing stronger without discernible source or consequence. It took one look at thermodynamics and laughed. Something from nothing? It didn¡¯t mind that at all. Sure, some theorized that the extra energy was coming in from elsewhere through a method people just lacked the ability to detect. Some kind of leak in the membrane of the universe allowing exotic non-matter to diffuse in. That way perpetual free energy didn¡¯t actually exist. The universe would make a modicum of sense again. Jaq hoped that was the case. Pushing the existential threats aside, Jaq¡¯s mind wandered back to her job. She wasn¡¯t entirely convinced her position couldn¡¯t be easily automated. She had asked a programmer friend, Jamie, at uni because surely a computer could look for outliers. Jaime went into a long spiel about unknown unknowns and process control. Jaq wanted to ask a question for clarification, but ended up just asking ¡®so, is that a no¡¯. Jamie wasn¡¯t particularly happy about her jibe, but that was her fault for introducing so much jargon. That was certainly one of Jaq¡¯s pet peeves: jargon. Jargon ruined so much of education for her. From an objective standpoint it made sense. Language became specialized as the depth of knowledge increased. Jargon allowed efficient communication between parties versed in it. But from a practical sense it acted as a gatekeeper, excluding those not ¡®in the know¡¯ from participating. The sheer snobbishness people could exude when asked to speak plainly really ticked her off. Jamie didn¡¯t come off as snobbish, though. She just didn¡¯t even seem to realize she had slipped into using jargon at all, just completely oblivious to all the specialized computing terminology she spouted. In truth, it wasn¡¯t just the jargon. Even in current year the chances of being denigrated for lack of knowledge seemed at least doubly likely as a woman in science. Women were just expected to know more than their male counterparts. Any slight misstep, lack of insight, or missing knowledge was instantly pointed out as proof they didn¡¯t belong in the ¡°boy¡¯s club¡± of STEM. Jaq vehemently rejected this injustice. She ignored the sneers when she asked questions in class. She gained immunity to eyerolls. She reveled in the exasperated sighs. Such pettiness wouldn¡¯t stop her from learning. And what she really wanted to know more about was the AB Field. The scientific community was, and continues to be, focused on studying the AB Field that appeared out of seemingly nowhere seven years ago. Well, nowhere if you believed the current scientific consensus of bafflement mixed with unsubstantiated theories. The Internet had its fair share of nut jobs proposing their own more, let¡¯s say, flavorful interpretations. The thousands that had vanished on that fateful day? Obviously, they were a sacrifice to the Eldritch Lords in exchange for a climate change solution. The Doomsday criers got one more piece of ammunition towards their ¡°we¡¯re all done for, time to prep¡± nonsense. Conspiracy theorists latched onto alien technology. Jaq had her own personal hunches, but nothing to back them up. Mug-in-hand, Jaq rose out of the squeaky office swivel chair. Her lower back complained of her perpetually poor posture. It wasn¡¯t her fault it felt natural to sit with her feet on the chair, hunched over like some kind of goblin. With a groaning stretch she gave the bank of monitors one last once-over. Technically, leadership discouraged the data from ever not being monitored, but seeing as she was the only one on this shift and preventing her from going on breaks would be illegal they couldn¡¯t exactly stop her. They wanted it monitored 24/7? They could hire more people. Goodness knows grant money materialized in huge piles when it came to the AB Field. After all, if there¡¯s just free energy everywhere, then why not use it to power something. Most wanted to replace the need for batteries. Americans wanted to shoot it from their guns, of course. The amount present paled in comparison to the typical solar radiation. But if it kept going up at the current pace? And the new field proved to be able to actually perform work? With materials that weren¡¯t too exotic? Then say goodbye to needing the electric grid anymore. Space itself would be teeming with enough energy to power most small tech. Not enough for something huge like a car, but an AB bike? That could be the future. Energized with a fresh hope for a future that she sought to help craft into reality, Jaq turned to the cold, uncaring lens of the security camera recording the lab. She gave it a cheeky smile before going to the door. A high-pitched whine accompanied the door to the lab opening. Only after shutting it did the shrill trill abruptly stop. Only authorized people could get into the lab. The noise acted as a deterrent to leaving the door open for convenience¡¯s sake. Simple, annoying, but effective. The hall outside of the lab was empty, a typical sight. Not many went into this wing and floor of the university on a weekend. The linoleum flooring reflected the harsh florescent bulbs above. Upon the off-white plaster walls hung dozen upon dozens of news article headlines containing discoveries made by alumni working at this very university. Jaq wondered if one day she, too, would join them. A normal metal key unlocked the door into the faculty break room. She put down her mug, filled the empty kettle, and started it. While she waited for it to come to a boil she took her phone out of the storage nook. Phones weren¡¯t allowed within the lab. Something about potential contamination and dangerous distraction. No notifications greeted her, but that wasn¡¯t surprising. Jaq wasn¡¯t exactly the most popular of people. Between work and school she didn¡¯t make much time to socialize. And most people had lazy Saturdays anyways. __ The magnetic lock buzzed when Jaq put her keycard on the scanner. Once again the security system¡¯s whine made her hurry to get through the threshold. She closed the door, expecting the gentle whir of computer fans to greet her. Instead, the landline phone mounted on her desk rang. Jaq nearly dropped her tea. Any semblance of sleepiness evaporated in an instant from a jolt of adrenaline. Oh, fuck. She remembered the landline was something special. They told her about it during job orientation, but it had never come up again. She had forgotten its actual purpose. The phone had always been completely silent, just an antiquated dust-collecting decoration upon her assigned desk. Up until this point she didn¡¯t even know if it was plugged in properly. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. She sat and stared at the constantly ringing phone, warring with her nature not to pick up calls from unknown numbers. That might work for her personal cell, but work was different, right? For all she knew she had already been fired for not picking up immediately. Jaq took a deep breath and held the receiver to her ear. ¡°AB Field Lab, who¡¯s calling?¡± ¡°London lab?¡± a masculine voice on the line asked. A furious amount of keystrokes from a mechanical keyboard came through as background noise. ¡°Yes?¡± Jaq hedged. ¡°We need ground probe confirmation on satellite readings.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s asking?¡± ¡°Ken McKayle, MI5 agent.¡± ¡°You¡¯re shittin¡¯ me,¡± the words came out of Jaq¡¯s mouth before she even thought. Her anxiety ratcheted up a bit higher. They can¡¯t arrest me for that, right? ¡°No, miss.¡± Is this actually legitimate? Jaq scanned the bank of monitors but nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first glance. ¡°Could you be more specific?¡± ¡°Is it not obvious? We got a brief pulse reading off the charts. North west London suburb about seven minutes ago.¡± Jaq fiddled with the timescale parameter applying to all the graphs. History replaced the real-time stream. The abrupt flash of a redraw brought her attention to the probe that changed. A previously gray box once again contained a sparkline. The sight made Jaq¡¯s skin frission with goosebumps. Anomaly. But what the hell do I say? ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t give information out without my boss¡¯s permission.¡± Jaq¡¯s heartbeat sped up. Why did I say that? ¡°Miss, this is important for national security.¡± She hoped the consequences of her current actions wouldn¡¯t land her in hot water. Her mind raced, trying to keep up with the proper half-truths. ¡°And me following my workplace rules is important for me to keep my job. It¡¯s not like I can confirm your identity.¡± ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± A weary sigh came through the receiver. ¡°What¡¯s the number of your superior?¡± ¡°I have no idea. Should be on the university website though. Doctor Thalm. That¡¯s T-H-A-L-M.¡± ¡°Right. I¡¯ll be in touch soon, miss¡­¡± By his tone Jaq knew he was fishing for her name. Nope. ¡°Bye.¡± Temptation to use his name before hanging up just to rub it in lured Jaq. But she felt she could spend her capital of luck on something else. She clacked the receiver down. ¡°Fuck me. Why did I do that?¡± Jaq said to herself. With a jolt she remembered where she was, giving a not-very-subtle backwards glance to the camera currently trained on her. Maybe talking to myself isn¡¯t a good idea. But Jaq already knew the answer to her rhetorical question. She stared at the data in front of her. A probe had stopped transmitting, but before it burnt out it detected a spike of at least a hundred times background level. There could be a perfectly mundane explanation for that, like a software glitch or an electric short. But two more still-operational probes jumped to fifty times for a small moment but abruptly reduced back to near normal. She selected the three anomalies, then switched to geographic mode. The view went from a grid of sparklines to a map of greater London. It looked like a weather map, green highlighting and all, except instead of rain levels it displayed AB Field readings. Eleven stars marked the known egress points around London. The egress points were actually the main argument towards a more insidious nature to the AB Field. They weren¡¯t randomly distributed like expected from a natural phenomena. No, they clustered, mirroring the human population distribution. Some argued that high electromagnetic fields in dense cities may have attracted the egress points somehow. But simply noting the lack of points bunched around power plants and substations debunked that notion. Three small circles had joined the stars, indicating the probes Jaq chose. One overlapped an egression. The two others were nearby, all of them together lying on nearly the same line. The probes as a whole didn¡¯t have a uniform distribution either. That simply wasn¡¯t possible with the sheer amount of private land. When feasible, egress points were prioritized for probing. Coincidentally this particular egress point lay in an undeveloped section of forest near the suburbs. So not only did a probe sit relatively nearby, but many other probes also scattered the area. It was one of the highest fidelity areas on the map. An animation looped over her time range. A sea of dark green coated the London landscape. A sudden splotch of dark red marred the scene. Moments later, one after the other, a goopy olive green midtone flickered through the remaining highlighted points. Jaq tightened the time range and zoomed in on the affected area. Chills went down her back. The video showed it clearly. A powerful spike in the field that traveled in a line. It didn¡¯t slowly dissipate and diffuse in the area. No, it was concentrated and targeted, unlike every other observation she knew about. Higher levels than she had ever heard. There¡¯s no telling what a reading that high would do to a person. There¡¯s nothing like a hazmat suit for the AB Field. It mostly ignores any barriers and permeates everything. Even solid lead barely slows its propagation. Would it rip my cells apart? Would the pain be worse than radiation poisoning? Jaq¡¯s harrowing thoughts danced around the scariest one of them all. The one that made her tempted to sprint out of the lab immediately. She wanted to pioneer a breakthrough on the AB Field, but not like this. Why does the line point directly to my parent¡¯s house? 4 - Homeless I am spider. It is calm. My web is dark, a shrouded tangle of threads. It is flawed. Messy. What was once perfect now pales in comparison to the truth. I had not known. Foolish. The other web. It shines, even now when clouds cover the sky, blanketing the world in gloom. Its lines are crisp, straight, unmoving. Perfection. Since the thought-light first appeared I feel hollow, empty, missing something I didn¡¯t know I had. Whatever left me refuses to come back. This is no ordinary hunger. The thought-light told me. ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have been afflicted by Mana Starvation (minor): Nullified health and mana regeneration, Evolution paused¡¯ Hunger gnaws at me. I want prey. To catch them in my web. To wrap them up. To bite them. To feed on their inner juices. So I do as I¡¯ve always done: wait. The torpor takes me. It smooths the burrs of time. My attention to the world and my body wanes. The hunger is still present. But it seems less urgent. I am calm. It is peaceful. I wait. `ding¡¯ ¡®You have learned the General skill Torpor. Torpor replaces the need to sleep. While in the state of torpor you cannot move, your mana and stamina regeneration are increased, and sustenance requirements are reduced.¡¯ The thought-light startles me. Rude thought-light. So often wrong. I learned nothing. The torpor has always been. Outside has grown dimmer. Night approaches beyond the clouds. I sense through my web. No movement. No prey. I must wait. I try to sink back into thoughtlessness. But something bothers me. A thought. I ignore it. But it persists in its wrongness. Always crawling back. Preventing the torpor. My frustration is interrupted. A light shines. The clouds have not parted. No, a new sun has been born. Not in the sky, but below me. So close. I gaze upon its brilliance with all my eyes. [Lamp] ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have learned the General skill Identify.¡¯ The new sun¡¯s name is Lamp. It is small. Weak. Too weak to shine upon my web. Yet supplicants come. They dance around the sun. Wild. Free. Looping, always looping back towards the sun. My eyes follow. [Moth] It¡¯s okay, thought-light. I know prey. There are so many. Many juicy prey. Dancing around the sun. The sun of prey. The invasive thought returns. What if I seek the prey? It is so wrong. My web traps the prey. I do not seek. I wait. I wait for my web to get the prey. I have always waited. My web has always provided. It is not the best web. But it is my web. It will provide again. I believe in my web. But I see them. I see the prey. So enticing. Teasing my hunger. But my web is not there. It is here. Where there are no prey. So I must wait. Wait in my web. Wait for the prey. The prey¡¯s movements are hypnotic. Soothing. They lull me back into torpor. The ache of emptiness dulls again. Time flows. __ New movement rouses me. Not of the prey. No. They continue their dance. It is the other web. It rips. The perfection is ruined. I want to mourn the loss, but the hole left behind pulls me in against my will. My surroundings change in a moment. Just as quickly as it formed, the rip in the other web is mended. Perfection restored. It is a small relief. My web is gone. A leaf supports my weight. Wind tickles my hair. No large spiders greet me. I am alone. Alone with the wind. With the leaf. With the clouds. With the night. With no web. Thoughts enter my mind. Thoughts that aren¡¯t my own. Other thoughts. No light accompanies them. They express sorrow over loss of web. Loss of shelter. Loss of safety. Loss of belonging. Not their losses, but mine. It stuns me. The sheer weight of their compassion holds me down. I cannot move. I can only experience. Another feels the same as I. Knows of my sadness. Shares in my loss. The communication stops. Their presence lingers. Their power looms in the back of my head. They anticipate. For what? The pressure builds. Their scrutiny prods at me. I wait. I simply can not. It hurts. Whatever they want I can not give. Their attention fades. Mercy. I can think again. I can move again. But my legs tremble. I saw nothing. I do not know what that was. Who that was? So powerful. Yet caring. Confusing. Much time has passed since another has cared for me. Not since the protection of webmother. And I am a hatchling no longer. I am like the large ones now. Without web. A tragedy. But I can make a new one. I have done so before. I will do it again. I need a new lair. One of balance. Enough prey. Sufficient protection. Good vantages. Nearby. Hunger still taints my thoughts. It breeds impatience. The urgency drives me. Idling now courts death. Starvation. I must not wait. An exposed leaf holds no safety. I scuttle to its underbelly. A thread anchors me. My traversal across the bush is not silent. Curious. The single dragline bends the stems with ease. Leaves come with them, tangling noisily. Annoying. I am no better than the gray furs. I hope I don¡¯t start chittering. If any hunters notice my obvious passing, then they do not strike. I reach the corner of the bush. A few strands of silk create a temporary enclave of safety. I peer beyond the cover. A small sun illuminates the area. It is Lamp. The sun of prey. The previous temptation rears up again. To go to the prey. To seek. To snatch. To feast. The hunger pushes on my limbs. Urges me onward. I¡¯ve dropped via my dragline halfway down the bush before I even think. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. If Lamp is here, then my web is near. My web. I thought it lost. Gone forever when the rip swallowed me. The other thoughts reinforced the conclusion. I swivel, dangling on my line of silk. I look for my web. The stone of red and grey looks familiar. A burst of sudden wind whips me violently. With the wind comes dust. I grip for dear life, flailing and spinning through the air in the abrupt chaos. My line holds and tangles in some leaves. Through the cloudy blur I see more lights. Faint. Tiny. Floating. The dust clogging the air thins, revealing that the stone has fallen. In its wake, flames roar. They throw embers and ash skyward, seeking to birth more children with the wind. I am not calm. Fire means death for spiders. And the flames are too close for comfort. My web, if it was in the stone of red and gray, is lost. Soon all I see will be reduced to ash. There is no time for thought. Only action. I lower myself the rest of the way to the ground. Only one direction matters: away from the fire. Loose leaves and stems clog the ground along with the grass, making the terrain difficult to traverse. My hunger complains again, sapping away the energy to keep going. My limbs feel stiff. Every pump is an effort. They just want to curl in and rest. I press on. I know the grass is not endless. I have seen the end. But down in its density it looms forever. Step by exhausting step. Away from the fire that burns. That consumes. My coordination wanes. Legs trip over nothing. It sends my body pitching and rolling as the rest desperately make up for the other¡¯s failure. My dragline catches me more often than not. One of many stumbles cascades into more limbs missing their step. I fall. My pedipalps taste the dirt. Taste my failure. It is too far. I am too weak. My insides burn with heat. Not from fire, but panicked exertion. I stay still, legs curled until I am nothing but a fuzzy ball. I wait, inviting my demise. The fire will be upon me soon. To crisp me. To blacken me until nothing but char remains. To end me where I lie. I¡¯m happy I saw the other web. That beautiful web. Even here the web spans. Its perfect lines give comfort, unhindered in the slightest by all the grass. It simply passes right through. Onwards. Outwards. Upwards. Downwards. All directions. It is everywhere around me always. Only distance fades it from sight. Again questions creep forth. Who spun such magnificence? A pity I will not have the chance to know. But I got the chance to see. To experience its simple majesty. I am calm. Time and the cool dirt has sapped the excess heat. And the flames have yet to spread this far. Their dancing may not match the beauty of the other web, but I can appreciate their dance nonetheless. I shall meet my end eye to eye. I uncurl. Each joint resists my push. Stiffness aches every twitch. The single blade of grass may as well be an ascent to the sky. Each step takes effort. But it feels like a small victory. Slowly my vantage grows higher. I reach the peak. A conqueror over my fatigue. A macabre audience of flickering shadows praise the flames. An ominous red glow illuminates my surroundings, promising destruction to come. Yet for all the bluster and spitting no embers leave the source. Even the bush has been spared. I don¡¯t even feel the heat. Curious. This is the least destructive fire I have known. It is stunted somehow. Prevented from realizing its true potential for mayhem. Tamed? Whatever placed those thoughts in my head certainly had the power to subvert the nature of the flame. Are they still here? Did they rip the web? The tear was clean. The mending flawless. As perfect as the web. Did they make the web? Another opportunity lost. Yet I still live. A life to find them again. To learn the strength and courage to send questions back. But that can not happen if I don¡¯t find food. Prey. I need it. I am nothing but a webless savage now. A slave to hunger. I see large ones in the distance looking at the fire. But my eyes focus elsewhere. Lamp calls to me. I can only hope my body does not give out. Just one step. That¡¯s all it takes for progress. It may not be much. But it¡¯s something. I can do a step. If I¡¯ve done a step, then I can do another. I just need to keep stepping. I part the blades of grass. Always more beyond. Progress is nowhere to be seen. But I know. Each step is a little bit closer. On and on. Just keep going. I enter a single-minded trance while pushing forward, ignoring my aches and pains. In the daze and darkness I almost pass by salvation. Prey. It blends in with the leaves and dead grass upon which it feasts. I do not know what I¡¯m doing, without a web and charging towards it. My hunger cares not for being proper. It only wishes to slake itself by any means possible. I ready a thread of silk upon a foreleg. I have eaten this prey before. Their armored carapace renders my fangs useless. Only their soft underbelly may be pierced. Without a web the initial snare will be sloppy and dangerous. My webbed foreleg jabs out to begin wrapping it up. Yet rather than stick the thread to it, the tip pierces with ease. Like their hide is frailer than the thinnest of dry leaves. It reacts in pain, curling upon itself into a ball. But my leg continues onward. I can feel the prey¡¯s juicy insides bursting. I forsake any grace at all. More legs stab with reckless abandon. Its defensive posture is worthless against my assault. It wriggles weakly, but it is too late. It succumbs to its wounds. ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have killed a [Woodlouse]¡¯ One of my legs scrapes out of the corpse. The others hold my kill. A bite is unnecessary. Its insides have already been shredded. My mouth is upon it immediately. The inner goo is wonderful. The viscera has just enough chunky texture. Delicious. I want to eat every morsel. Before I can even appreciate it, the meal it is gone. Just a hollow shell. I pry it open to scrape out every last bit. The ease at which its carapace cracks with the lightest of pushes does not go unnoticed. There are just more important things. Like scouring my legs clean of the slimy slick remnants with my pedipalps and teeth. The flavor. Quite satisfying. Still I hunger. Its hold is no longer overwhelming, preparing to send me into another frenzy. But the hollow nothingness still gnaws at me. Usually prey of such size would sate me for days. While my body aches no longer, something is still missing. Clean of my prey¡¯s juices and stamina restored, I orient myself back towards my goal. Lamp. With its oh so many tasty morsels. The distance does not seem so daunting anymore now that my limbs are responsive. The grass is merely a prelude to the feast to come. A hindrance of time but not effort. Soon. The grass passes by while I ponder and traverse the ground. The ease of stabbing the prey seems wrong. It has been some time since the last woodlouse I fed upon. Was it just a frail hatchling? The size indicated otherwise. Its armor offered no resistance. No more than my web puts up against the wind. My legs look no different from my last molting. A mystery. A red light brightens my surroundings. Just as quickly it disappears. I turn back to the fire in a panic. It is still contained. Another flash. I turn away from the fire to see the source: a giant red monster with shining sleek carapace. Upon its back a sun flashes. Over and over. Endlessly. The abrupt changes between brightness and darkness disorients me. Its carapace splits apart. A molting? Creatures spill out of its body. A hatching? They are as big as the large ones. Strips of their body luminescence a silvery brilliance like the moon. Their black heads reflect the red sun. The swarm moves swiftly with united purpose. But what purpose? The red sun fades. One large one immediately scrambles on top of its mother. In the red sun¡¯s place a blinding white sun banishes the night. The large one actually touches the sun. I can not believe my eyes. Somehow they direct the sun. Now its light shines upon the source of the fire. A pair breaks off from the others and approaches the fire. They both wield strange sticks. One has a flat edge that glints in the light of the white sun. The other is simply pointy and silver. The one in the lead bashes against the wood repeatedly. It then wedges the glinting edge into a corner. It backs away to allow the other to bash its silver stick into the wedged stick. The blows look powerful with all the large one¡¯s weight behind them. The wood starts to crack. The pointy silver stick is wedged in now. The wood opens up, revealing the fire within. The large ones actually see the fire and go into its domain. For what purpose? Do these strange large ones capture suns? Fire does look a lot like an untamed sun. In any case, I have seen enough of this insanity. If they want to anger the tame fire, then I shall be elsewhere. Lamp awaits. Lamp and its tasty prey. 5 - Mission Start Cless gasped for air as she took in her bearings. No longer did brisk fresh mountain air fill her lungs. Instead the smell gasoline and car exhaust tainted her senses. Her spell had succeeded in catapulting her across realms back to London. It took nearly her entire mana pool. The strain of holding that much mana into a single construct left her breathless. Concrete parking garage lit with sparse electrical lights surrounded her. The painting she left behind lay in the same position as she left it, tucked away in a dark corner. Through the open sides in the structure she saw a cloudy night sky tainted by light pollution. She expected to arrive to the barking of search dogs and the yells of a coordinated party performing a manhunt, or at the very least some spotlights. She stood on the top floor of parking garage that served a jail. A jail from which her dad had been teleported out of by Ilea just earlier today. Surely they noticed him missing by now? Already the clothing she wore in the mountains to protect her from the elements felt stifling. The fur-lined leather cloak trapped her body heat. Heavy pants, boots, and gloves didn¡¯t help either. By contrast to the mountains near Ilea¡¯s home, London came across as temperate. Her Vitality and resistances helped to increase the range of temperatures where she felt comfortable, but this proved to be a bit much. Perhaps she could have weathered the frigid air without the extra protection, but Cless almost always erred on the side of caution. In her mind it was better to over-prepare in anticipation of hardship rather than suffer. Sentinels, the moniker given to members of Ilea¡¯s organization of healers, would scoff at the notion of not becoming frostbite-ridden given the chance. Her Sentinel friends would always encourage her to undergo resistance training with them. Cless didn¡¯t understand their masochistic nature. Most people on Elos didn¡¯t have the ability to heal, Cless included. Without a healer around she definitely wanted to avoid any injury. Doubly so when she was the only one capable of magic on Earth, as far as she knew. Other than the emergency lifeline to Ilea, she was on her own. Noting no one watching her, Cless leaned against the concrete wall and did her best to ignore the growing ick of sweat building up on her skin. Slowly she slipped into meditation. Turning her mind¡¯s eye inward and focusing helped calm her and surprisingly also increased her mana regeneration rate. She never knew where mana came from. It just seemed to appear within her and suffuse her body. She hoped she remembered to ask Claire about it later. After recovering enough mana, a simple twitch of magic activated her portable spacial storage necklace. The majority of her heavy clothing and the painting vanished in an instant. This left her in a yellow long-sleeved shirt, blue pants, and bare feet. Now came one of the most difficult parts of her mission. What do I wear? Tonight was Cless¡¯s debut as a super heroine on the streets of London. She promised her parents she would be safe, so that meant some amount of protection. Magical girls, from what she could remember through her fragmented early childhood memories, leaned towards a certain aesthetic, a look that wasn¡¯t conducive to staying alive. They showed entirely too much bare skin for the battlefields they found themselves in. It simply didn¡¯t come off as practical to Cless. But skirts? She could get behind skirts. Out from her storage came a leather skirt nearly going to her knees, a short sleeve leather top, and a pair of leather vambraces. The top had a thick stiff nonadjustable collar, permanently shielding her neck from attacks. A quick hop in the air and blip of magic had her feet covered in matching boots that came up to mid-calf. All the leather had been dyed dark, as close to black as possible, and of course they were tailored to Cless¡¯s exact dimensions. The top couldn¡¯t even be put on without a dimensional storage device because of the collar. A head simply wouldn¡¯t fit through the gap. Altogether, the ensemble guarded her from most attacks she expected Londoners to be capable of making. Only her knees, elbows, hands, and head were left exposed. The latter of which gave her pause. Magical girls definitely didn¡¯t wear helmets, only tiaras at most. A few moments of internal debate lead her to choosing living over looks. The leather helmet would do double duty to both protect her identity and her squishy facial bits. The stiff leather fit snugly, like all her armor, smoothly following the contours of her face. Only the lower back of the head was loose, to allow her blonde hair to flow out and to increase neck mobility. Oval cutouts perfectly outlined her eye sockets. Only from her nostrils downward on her face were exposed. Cless frowned. Even without a mirror she knew her outfit lacked the typical pizzazz expected from a super heroine costume. For an artist like herself it simply wouldn¡¯t do. In a blink her helmet relocated to her right hand. She conjured her ethereal paintbrush in the other. Inspecting the curved leather surface, Cless couldn¡¯t help but wonder if this was the kind of shake-up she sought before Ilea contacted her about going back to Earth. The northern mountains of the human plains on Elos failed to give proper inspiration. Perhaps a change of medium was in order. Ever since being forcibly relocated to Elos almost all of her art lay upon canvases like the one she used as a realm anchor for her spell. She never dabbled in sculpture or sewing or even painting earthenware. That made the non-flat surface a novelty. The question became what to put on the helmet. Cless grew up in Ravenhall most of her life. Their emblem of a raven atop a palisade tempted her. But she didn¡¯t feel comfortable with it on her person. Having such a thing made her worried she would come across as some kind of diplomatic liaison or official representative, which she definitely wasn¡¯t. The same logic held true for the Accords¡¯ symbol. The Accords were a co-operative multi-nation defensive and trade pact of which Ravenhall was a member. Championing that felt even less appropriate. That would be like Superman not having his iconic S but rather the United Nations flag on his chest. No, she decided she only represented herself. She needed a symbol to call her own. What captured her essence in as few strokes as possible? A special hue of yellow that matched her natural magic coated the ethereal bristles. She started with her realmwalker nature and painted two conjoined circles but didn¡¯t finish the overlapped parts. They were Earth and Elos, side-by-side. Together they rested horizontally on a minimalist paintbrush, her art bridging the two realms. Within those circles she filled in a smaller concentric portion. A smooth wide arc ended on the brush¡¯s head and surrounded the circles, stopping short of connecting to the haft¡¯s tip. Combined together it looked like an otherworldly two-iris eye, meant to capture her divination specialty. The paintbrush and arc acting as the eyelids formed a stylized C. Cless smiled at her handiwork. The smile faded when she remembered super heroines didn¡¯t go by their personal names. They came up with aliases, cool code names to protect their identity. Ilea went by Lilith, though it wasn¡¯t as if the woman tried to hide. The populous at large who hadn¡¯t met her personally still used it. Names. Names were hard. Sometimes Cless struggled the most with simply coming up with a name for her artworks. Freezing a moment in time for all eternity for anyone to gaze upon at their leisure? Simple. Naming that moment in time? Oof. Aren¡¯t my paintings supposed to speak for themselves? A half-forgotten idiom about a thousand words accompanied her grumbles. She stood there, wracking her mind for ideas, growing increasingly frustrated by the banality of what she conjured. She took the time spent pondering to refresh the beacon on the spider painting. Screw it. She cribbed a word right off her divination class. Thankfully incorporating it into her icon required only a single extra stroke. ¡°Glimpse,¡± she tasted the word. Simple, hinted at her power set, not too ostentatious. Perfect. She quickly copied the updated symbol onto her chest piece. Satisfied as she could be without a custom commission for fancier armor, Cless focused on the Art. She gave that name to the ever-present whispers of fate. The Art started its communication as soon as she set foot on Elos all those years ago. At the time she didn¡¯t understand most of what they tried to convey. The many pulls of emotions jumbled together into a chaotic mess. Even now, despite years of experience translating their capricious and flighty messages, Cless struggled to truly comprehend. Every time she picked up on a new facet more would reveal themselves in the noise. One of the strings in fate¡¯s tapestry projected eager excitement like a puppy about to go out on a walk. It tugged on her leash of attention, trying to pull her towards what it found so fascinating. Tiny pin pricks of danger and desperation tainted the sensation. It came across as familiar. She recognized it as the one who championed the spider¡¯s significance. She needed only to let it guide her if she wanted, but Cless had other plans. Saving the spider could come later. Until recently she passively observed their calls. But now she learned to ask. Cless mentally crystallized a scene of her acting heroic before infusing the thought with mana. Its influence cascaded around her, quieting those uninterested, while others resonated into a frenzy. The puppy-like thread practically dragged her off her feet in its insistence. But a cavalcade of other stimulated threads vied for her attention, far more than Cless expected. The sheer amount of crime present in London surprised her. It seemed safe enough in her earliest years. Did it fall apart after she left? Or was she simply ignorant to the problems? The newest and only magical girl on Earth vowed to make a difference, however small, and have fun when doing so. With the sheer density of trouble Cless didn¡¯t even need her magic to find the entertainment she craved. Simply walking towards the spider would find something along the way. With an amused snort, she gave into the whim of the puppy-like thread. It vibrated into overdrive. The others dropped off her senses, used to tuning out the noise. She clambered over the railing and jumped off the side of the building. A small application of flight arrested her falling speed and her superhuman body absorbed the rest of the impact. The thread tugged in the most direct route to her destination, but flight was completely out of the question. Far too many eyes, both human and artificial, would catch that anomaly. Lacking Ilea¡¯s space mage expertise to teleport long distances, Cless began her trek on foot. While she loved the free-spirited feeling of her hair whipping in the wind while she flew using her own magic, she didn¡¯t mind a more pedestrian approach to travel. It often came to that when she teamed up with her Sentinel friends on adventures to caves and dungeons to eliminate their monstrous denizens. Tight corridors didn¡¯t exactly make for easy flight. Joy spread across Cless¡¯s face. She couldn¡¯t help grinning at the fact that she had made it back to Earth. At that moment she didn¡¯t care about the propriety a super heroine should embody, so she skipped everywhere she went. Cless couldn¡¯t help but compare everything she saw here to her life on Elos. Electricity stood in for the passive presence of mana and its constructs. Lightbulbs instead of enchantments, lanterns, and torches lit up the night, allowing for easy navigation. She had yet to pass anyone walking the same path as her. Apparently the area near this prison wasn¡¯t the most popular part of London at this hour. Concrete and asphalt replaced the stone and dirt paths. It surprised her to see just how much land had been surrendered to the constant stream of automobiles traveling down the roads. Here standing on a road courted death. Cless was certain some Sentinel friends would wish to test that assertion, much like they did against the dwarven mecha suits of the Pit. She could envision them squaring up to grapple an oncoming car, only to be disappointed when the car swerved to avoid them. Elos lacked the concept of a wagon-only path. In fact, on Elos wagons were on the decline with the new establishment of the teleportation network. Why spend numerous days on the road to bring people and goods elsewhere when a small fee could zip you across the plains or further in an instant? The decision was an easy one to make. Only those seeking adventure or traveling to places not in the network still bothered with wagons. And Aki worked with a legion of enchanters to expand that network every day. Plastics were the main source of material difference between the worlds. Sure, fancy magical Taleen dwarven metal alloys weren¡¯t being shown off via mechanical marvels, but Cless didn¡¯t know much of anything about forging. So only colors differentiated between the steel and aluminum of Earth and the more exotic fare on Elos. But plastic? Elos didn¡¯t use plastics at all. Yet they covered Earth, replacing a wide variety of materials. Cless took note of clothing the most. People wore a lot of plastic instead of monster materials. Where was the hide? The scales? The feathers? The bone? Even plant fibers had been largely usurped. This fact made Cless stand out in her clothing more than she thought. But she shrugged any worry away, certain that super heroines were meant to be distinct. When Cless came across a small shopping plaza with a chippy shop her eyes widened. Any thoughts of heroing went out the window. At least seven years had passed since her last true fish and chips. A busy intersection blocked her path. Temptation to just leap over the road dug away at her. She danced from foot to foot occasionally mashing the button. She cursed the traffic and the red light at the crosswalk where she waited impatiently. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The light turned and Cless bounded off. It took only three strides to clear the four-lane intersection. Her boots clacked on the pavement, small bits of loose asphalt getting kicked away in her hasty wake. She wove around the parked cars and made a beeline for the entrance to the chippy. A group of men were leaned against the wall outside the shop, Styrofoam containers packed to the brim with fish and chips, as they forked the greasy food into their mouths. Even in the brief moment as she darted past them, Cless smelled the nostalgic vinegar soaking it all. ¡°Oi, gurlie, whars the Con at?¡± one of them called out, ¡°Yeh auditionin¡¯ fer Wunder Wummun?¡± Drunken laughter followed. Untamed excitement unleashed itself upon the shop door when Cless straight-armed it open. It crashed into the wall, glass vibrating dangerously from the blow, barely staying intact. The laughter stopped. A drunk couple slurring through an order nearly startled off their wobbly feet. The two men behind the counter flinched at the ruckus, but otherwise weren¡¯t phased ¨C just another Saturday night to them. Weirdos of all kinds came during the late night shift. Cless took in the sights, enduring the stares. Dust and detritus crowded the corners of the checker-patterned linoleum flooring. Dingy grease-stained wallpaper bubbled off the wall. No room for seating existed inside. Instead a long glass-enclosed counter showed off their wares under a line of heat lamps to keep it warm. Backlit plastic, faded from age to a dull brownish yellow, with black lettering spelled out the menu and prices. All things signaled the presence of a truly good chippy. If it could stay open while looking so poorly maintained, then surely its food made up for its appearance. The flickering florescent bulbs annoyed Cless¡¯s eyes, but she had witnessed eldritch abominations. Some flashing light wouldn¡¯t deter her from her goal. She pressed her face into the glass, ignoring all the fingerprints built up over the day, while taking in the offerings. ¡°Order?¡± Cless looked at the worker¡¯s warped visage through the glass. After years of Elos Standard, hearing English again threw her for a loop. Despite not using the language for years the General skill made her just as proficient as when she left. Which meant she was as adept as a seven-year-old. ¡°Fish and chips and curry,¡± she said, breath fogging up the glass. He packed the container full before her eyes, actually having to break the long portion of fried fish in half to fit it all inside. ¡°That all?¡± ¡°Salt and vinegar.¡± He doused the whole pile using a squeeze bottle. A quick dusting of salt finished it off. He closed the lid and put it in a white paper bag. A fork, napkin, and her cup of curry sauce joined it. A few electronic beeps later, her order had been logged into their transaction ledger. ¡°Eleven quid.¡± Cless thought back to how much she paid for Kayla¡¯s cooking. Spacial storage put a gold coin in her closed palm. She straightened up and clinked the coin on the counter. Rather than the smile she expected for dues paid, the slightly overweight bearded man frowned as he picked up the coin. He turned it over in his fingers, studying it. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°Money. Food please,¡± Cless held open her hand. ¡°We don¡¯t take this,¡± he said while handing back the coin, ¡°Eleven quid.¡± Cless dumped a handful of silver in front of him, ¡°Food please.¡± ¡°The hell¡¯re these coins? We aren¡¯t a bank. British pounds. Quid. Eleven,¡± his voice raised while sweeping the pile towards her. Cless huffed in frustration. She eyed the food, contemplating whether she should just take it. The coins were good enough to pay for anything in the human plains of Elos. Heroes don¡¯t steal, she reminded herself. Unless they¡¯re Robin Hood, she corrected. She narrowed her eyes at the worker. Is he rich? She had no idea how to tell. Finished serving the drunk couple who stumbled out of the store, the older male worker with graying hair came over. ¡°There a problem here?¡± ¡°Won¡¯t give me proper money. She¡¯s got weird coins. Never seen ¡®em before.¡± The old man adjusted his glasses to look at them. ¡°Lass, you got any pounds?¡± He held up an example for Cless to see. Cless came out of planning her heist. ¡°No. Everyone else takes these coins. They¡¯re silver.¡± The older shopkeep¡¯s eyebrows rose, ¡°Well, I¡¯ll make an exception.¡± He quickly pocketed the foreign currency and handed the food over. ¡°T¡¯was a pleasure.¡± Finally. ¡°Thanks.¡± Cless stopped herself just before she stored the food away. The urge was reflexive. She couldn¡¯t recall the last time she actually carried something around other than her magical brush. The door didn¡¯t see a repeat performance, Cless handling it gingerly now that she held her food. While Cless left the store she overheard a whispered conversation between the vendors. ¡°You can¡¯t just take weird coins instead of actual money, George. Owners aren¡¯t going to like that. I don¡¯t want to get fired for a mismatch.¡± ¡°Relax, I¡¯ll put my own money in the till.¡± ¡°You think they¡¯re real?¡± ¡°I have ¨C.¡± The door clacked closed, cutting off the conversation from her eavesdropping. The drunken men outside the shop had left sometime during her struggle to pay, leaving the space open for Cless to use. She placed the bag down and took the food out. Fork in hand, she stabbed through the crispy golden-brown exterior to reveal the flaky white fish inside. Anticipation swelled in Cless as she gazed upon the chunk of food suspended upon her utensil. She popped it in her mouth. What? One-note greasy crust added only oily crunch. The sour vinegar played the strongest role, stomping over anything that might¡¯ve been misconstrued as flavor coming from the forgettable piece of fish. Maybe I just had a bad bite. The second proved to be no better. The chips? The starch sticks¡¯ soggy exterior gave way to a dry grainy interior that made Cless regret not buying a beverage. The curry sauce! In her despair she had forgotten the secret weapon to flavor. A liberal coating soaked her next bite. The rich spices livened up the taste but it still paled in comparison to her normal meals. Did my taste buds break? Cless didn¡¯t understand. She loved this dish when she was younger, often begging her parents to stop by the chippy when she saw one. Now, even with the curry sauce, it ranked as below average if she felt generous. A sudden urge to slap herself in the forehead came over Cless when she realized the problem. She grew up in Elos eating Kayla¡¯s cooking. Cooking literally infused with magic to be more delicious. Cooking from a chef that might be the most renowned in an entire realm. Cooking that used ingredients literally impossibly fresh compared to the possibility on Earth. Refrigeration didn¡¯t hold a candle to the time suspension items underwent while in dimensional storage. When it got to Kayla¡¯s chopping block it could be seconds old. The truth was this fish and chips weren¡¯t bad. She had just become spoiled, her palate accustomed to otherworldly flavors of a quality unmatched on Earth. A pair of rose-tinted glasses fell away, leaving her disappointment and a single harrowing question: how many am I wearing. She shut down the train of thought leading towards figuring out what other experiences on Earth had been ruined by Elos. Cless shoveled down the rest of her meal, doing her best not to sulk. She felt she wasted enough time reliving a piece of her earlier years and lost sight of why she had come back to Earth in the first place ¨C being a hero and saving the spider. She binned the leftover refuse. A small bit of concentration brought a vague pulse of desire leading towards her quarry. She set off, leaving the bright light of the parking lot behind. From a dark alley a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. She reflexively jerked her arm back, bringing whoever held her stumbling. They shrieked, collapsing into Cless like a boneless heap. Another person came along, adding to the pile up. Cless stood her ground under the weight of two grown adults. Even as one who primarily relied upon spell casting, her strength proved to be more than enough to handle the load without strain. She didn¡¯t see a reason to retaliate. ¡°Whadder yeh doin¡¯, Gayle? Yeh cannae grab ¡®er lie ¡®dat,¡± the woman furthest from Cless slurred, dragging the other woman off, ¡°Sorrae ¡®bou ¡®dat, sheila. Gayle¡¯s a lil¡¯ handsy when she¡¯s sloshed.¡± Cless recognized the couple from the chippy. The one who spoke was a head taller than her with short purple-dyed hair buzzed on the sides. A veritable jewelry store¡¯s worth of rings and studs decorated the woman¡¯s face and ears. A sleeveless black denim top covered in patches and safety pins showed off her strong arms as she wrestled Gayle into a standing position. Gayle, on the other hand, stood just a smidge taller than Cless¡¯s still-growing height. The mousy bespectacled woman sported a riot of untamed red curls. She practically lost herself in an oversized hooded sweatshirt covered in cute animal pictures. Gayle cradled and slowly rotated the wrist of the hand she used to grab. A strong smell of alcohol tainted them both. ¡°Sorry,¡± her soft voice barely carried over the constant din of traffic. ¡°It¡¯s fine. No harm done.¡± ¡°Go¡¯un,¡± the purple-haired woman encouraged her partner by giving her shoulders a loving squeeze. ¡°Do you want help getting home? I saw those blokes eyeing you like a winnin¡¯ lotto ticket when you dumped those coins. It¡¯s dangerous to be alone this late.¡± Cless smiled at the proposal, heartened to hear that complete strangers would be willing to go out of their way. The problem stemmed from the fact that heroes didn¡¯t hang out with unpowered individuals while they were on duty. At any other time she might enjoy getting to know this couple, perhaps even becoming friends, but their presence deterred the action Cless craved. ¡°No thanks. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Cless answered. ¡°Ya sure?¡± ¡°Yea, have a good night you two.¡± She walked away, down the dark alley in the direction the last ping of desire signaled. Behind her, footsteps crunched loose bits of gravel. Cless picked up her pace. The footsteps matched her. She slowed and turned, ¡°Really, I¡¯ll be okay.¡± ¡°Wer¡¯in same direction. Pay us no mind.¡± Cless could barely make out the taller woman¡¯s smirk in the dim. The pair hadn¡¯t stopped walking. Their gait seemed steady, a far cry from the drunken stumbling earlier, not even leaning on one another for support. Cless turned and ran. A brief, shrill whistle came from behind. In front, three silhouetted figures blocked off the end of the alleyway and started closing in. Cless put her back to a wall to keep an eye on both directions. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Seems the danger arrived,¡± the punk girl flicked open a switch blade. ¡°Really? All of you? Here?¡± Cless¡¯s heart beat faster in excitement. She had to remind herself to not become overconfident. William would scold her otherwise. Her head swiveled back and forth, watching both sides approach. ¡°Yes, now drop the money.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t how it was supposed to go. I wanted to help other people.¡± ¡°Help us by paying up.¡± ¡°C¡¯mon, girlie, we dun wanna hurtcha.¡± ¡°I think I¡¯ll go now.¡± Cless casually walked towards the three men blocking her path. One of the sobered thugs reached out to grab her, ¡°No coins, no passage.¡± Cless turned the meaty hand aside with an open palm of her own. She scoffed. The man clearly didn¡¯t know how to grapple properly. He didn¡¯t use his size and weight advantage, instead just stretching his limb out carelessly and leaving himself in a less mechanically advantageous position. A quick hop and she was already out of range, past the blockade. The man looked flustered and confused at how easily he had been rebuffed. ¡°Grab ¡®er.¡± The open alley stretched out before Cless. She could easily run at this point, assuming none of them had a gun or other ranged weapon to strike her down. But she turned back. While her quick footwork dodged lunging tackles, she took the time to think more critically about the situation. She supposed if they focused on her, then these people they couldn¡¯t prey upon someone more vulnerable. They also provided a unique opportunity to spar against level zeroes. The spar here would be a far cry from what happened in the depths below Ravenhall where William taught. Everything short of lethal blows were permitted, even expected, from the participants. Each round left the fighters mangled and bleeding. Wounds seen in only the ghastliest of emergency departments stained the ground red with blood. On Earth recovery time from such gruesome battles would measure in months. Healing magic cheated. It unlocked the ability to not need to hold back. Mere minutes mended even the gnarliest of flesh wounds and broken bones. Cless couldn¡¯t afford to be so cruel here. She held back her magic and never struck them. Instead her quick hands redirected their own momentum. Her legs and opponents¡¯ own clumsiness provided the only obstacles needed to send them tumbling. Each time they fell they were a little slower to rise. A little more tired. A little more scraped and bruised. Gayle pulled out a cell phone. Cless identified the true threat. Weaving around the uncoordinated attacks she snatched the device right out of the mousy woman¡¯s hands. ¡°No proof.¡± ¡°Oi!¡± the theft riled up the punk. Up until that point the two women of the group seemed content to let the men handle the dirty work of subjugation. Now the purple-haired woman rushed into the fray yelling out, ¡°Take ¡®er out!¡± She swept her blade in wide deadly arcs, forcing Cless to dodge back. Back into the range of the three she had bypassed to get the phone. A chaos of limbs attacked Cless from all sides. No longer did they simply try to grab her. Fists curled into deadly bludgeoning weapons. Cless twisted below the first blow aimed at her left shoulder. Her left arm followed through with the motion, deflecting the fist previously going for the back of her skull. The final man¡¯s attack impacted the displaced fist with a solid crack causing both to groan as their knuckles impacted one another. Cless raised her right arm into a cross guard while sinking even deeper down. The woman¡¯s knife edge dulled itself on the hardened magical leather of Cless¡¯s bracer leaving not a single mark. She kicked off backwards, shoulder checking the unbalanced man¡¯s hip. He spun out of the way allowing Cless to break free of the deadly encirclement. She sprang to full height, squaring up for the continuation. ¡°What are you?¡± the punk asked. Exhilaration flooded Cless. Blood roared in her ears. She understood Ilea more now. This up close and personal fighting, a far cry from her typical style, lent itself towards heart-pounding action. Just fractions of a second to predict the best course. The high of adrenaline had her giggling. ¡°Just a girl from London.¡± ¡°Right. And I¡¯m the template for prim and proper.¡± A sudden tug of despair brought Cless out of the moment. She followed the pull with her senses, glancing backward. Pretending to check the time on the phone, Cless opened the camera app. ¡°Cheers!¡± A bright flash blinded the gang. Cless put the phone on the ground for them to recover. A jumping start to her flight brought her out of the alleyway onto a roof. Fate¡¯s bridge to the spider oozed frenetic desperation. No more time for fun. 6 - Starvation I am spider. The sea of grass lies behind me. The path to sanctuary leads up. Like the great red beetle that birthed large ones obsessed with fire, the trunk supporting the Lamp consists of unnaturally smooth carapace. Speaking of fire, negotiations between the large ones and the fire seem to have broken down for reasons unknown to me. Perhaps the tame fire did not wish to become a tame sun under their command? Great billowing clouds of steam join the smoke as the large ones douse the fire with a stream of water. The deluge jets out of a snake they hold in tandem. It truly impresses me how much water that snake has gorged itself upon. And to regurgitate it so quickly and consistently! That¡¯s not even mentioning the size of the thing. It spans the entire grass sea and more. The battle seems already lost. The tame fire puts up no great fight. It merely sputters and sizzles in contempt for its doomed fate. There is no lashing, no final bid to survive on through offspring. Just a sad withering in the end. I pity it. Birthed just this day yet cut down so quickly. It may have burned my web, but that is the nature of fire. I cannot hold animosity towards it. That would be akin to cursing the sun for being bright. Absurd. I pause at the carapace trunk that holds up the sun called Lamp. I traveled far in my quest for prey. At first, mindless. Entirely desire. Now, sanity returned. With it, questions. The sun, which looked so small and weak from afar, now hurts my eyes from this distance. Will the light and heat of Lamp burn me into a desiccated husk? I still see the prey despite the glare. They continue to dance in their enticing airborne arcs, taunting me with their flittering deliciousness. Not too many wandered off to behold the other newer brighter sun presented by the large ones. If prey survives proximity to Lamp, then surely I shall. No, that is not the true conundrum. Nor is how will I get to the prey. My legs have no trouble finding purchase on the path to the sun. Those aren¡¯t the problems. The spot is simply wrong. It irks my sensibilities. Too bright. Far too bright. And where would my web fit? It¡¯s just straight up to the sun. Not a single nook awaits to be improved by my web¡¯s aesthetics. The sheer exposure also brings dread. Those flying chirping nuisances might snatch me right up. I do see the trees beyond. The tricky wind plays with their leaves. With the help of my rival, perhaps a grand construction could link the trees and the sun¡¯s path. The trees¡¯ boughs would lend their shade. I salivate at the prospect of so much area dedicated to catching prey. Practicality shatters the dream. My hunger may not be heralding my imminent demise but it still nags me. Not enough time exists to bring such an extravagant vision to fruition. That thought brings a shiver of horrible realization. My feral slaying of the louse comes to fore. Yet without a web and no place to spin one I will have to resort to the same barbarism. A slight breeze tickles my hairs. The elusive wind taunts me. Mocks my situation. Hmm. Maybe there is another way. My legs make quick work of the distance, scuttling up. More and more Lamp eclipses my vision. Its brightness sears my eyes. I adjust my gait. My forelegs come up permanently to protect my vision rather than lead my movement. None of the prey notice or care about my approach. It seems they, too, have been similarly handicapped by the sun¡¯s presence. My plans begins with a few quick wraps around the circumference. The dragline becomes a permanent anchor, enough for all my limbs to be secure. The next step makes me nervous. I test and retest the bonds. My legs hold with ease and my threads shows no sign of breaking under stress. I cut the line. My instincts scream at me. The dragline is gone. It¡¯s gone. Make another. Make another. Quick. Quick. Quick. I stamp down the urge. I know the height, the impending plummet to end me if I lose my grip. Trust the scaffold. I spin a new thread. Being down to just four legs supporting my weight makes me feel even more uneasy. The piece of webbing is slow to weave. Even my typical dragline pales in comparison to its thickness. I suppose it is a different kind of dragging it will be doing. The thread doesn¡¯t connect to anything. It just grows ever longer in my grasp. I keep going until it spans many leg lengths down. On and on until I¡¯m satisfied that it can reach its target. The most nerve-wracking portion of my plan swings into motion. I rock my abdomen to the side. The thread comes with it, drifting lazily through the air. I pivot the other way, trying to build up momentum. I repeat the motion. Back and forth. Yet no progress is made. The webbing limply floats along, nowhere near the prey. They still fly above me, circling the sun, completely unaware of my efforts to consume them. I gnash my teeth. I want to violently thrash. To fully express frustration at my plan¡¯s failure. But I see my height. My precarious position. No. Calm. I am calm. A gentle breeze tickles my hairs. The wind taunts me. Its token effort does more to move my thread than all my work. It revels in my failure. Soon, I promise it. Another idea comes to mind. One that makes me think I¡¯ve lost any semblance of sanity. A webless frenzied prey stabber I once was. A webless frenzied prey stabber I shall be. But I will be a fed one. I carefully spool the thread up, making sure it doesn¡¯t stick to itself. I use it to reinforce the scaffolding. Now anchored, I travel up. Closer to the blinding sun. Its heat grows with every step. The light devours all sight, even from behind my guarding forelegs. I press on. The intense light wraps around my forelimbs, shrinking their silhouettes. I step and the surface comes far too early. And it¡¯s hot. Really hot. I can¡¯t see anything, but I keep going. Through the heat. Through the pain. My legs have to dance quickly, only coming down for a blip of time so they have enough time to cool in the air. I¡¯d burn otherwise. My underside feels like it¡¯s beginning to crisp. Perhaps this plan is ill-conceived. My pitch has changed. My back now leans down towards the ground. I can see again, somewhat. The sun is below me. Am I standing on the sun? I admit I thought it would be hotter. It¡¯s certainly hot. I can¡¯t stay here for long. As luck would have it, a viable target arrives in what I hope is within range. My eyes track its lackadaisical fluttering. Its black and gray speckled coloration makes it hard to track against the backdrop of the night sky. I shift subtly to position myself properly. I tense. Trust the thread. My legs push off as hard as I can manage. I careen through the air far faster than I guessed. My crisped leg tips scrabble through the air in an effort to grab the prey, but I already know I¡¯ve missed. A lucky twitch clips the prey¡¯s wing. The wing turns to dust at my touch. Chaos reins over its flight path. Elegant drifting swoops give way to a panicked flapping that constantly loses height. I want to track its progress towards the ground more, but the thread keeping this jump from being my last pulls taut. The sudden jerk turns my movement into a disorienting jumbling spin. The world blurs by. Now the carapace trunk of Lamp, once my path to salvation, poses my greatest threat. I know not the exact consequences of hitting it at these speeds, but I doubt the outcome will be good. While I rotate wildly its long dark bulk blurs across my vision over and over. I want to brace myself. To catch my fall. To do something other than ineffectively flail. But I¡¯ve no idea how I¡¯ll collide. The blur of the trunk takes up more and more of my vision as I swing down. My legs stiffen in anticipation. But I find myself speeding up when the thread wraps around the trunk and whips me in a new direction. The world becomes agony. Many of my limbs have broken on impact. Fluid drips out of numerous cracks in my carapace. It seems I, too, am as juicy as my prey on the inside. And if I¡¯m like my prey, then I¡¯ll simply stop moving when the juice is gone. I hang waiting for the pain to stop. Deep down I know it will not. My foolishness has lead to my demise. I am not meant to hunt like some webless vagabond. Blatant disregard for nature has reaped the consequences. It is only a matter of time until I¡¯ve succumbed to my wounds. The slow unstoppable curl of my shattered limbs acts as my only motion. Any resistance is met with even more leaking from the fissures. But to give up in the face of adversity is cowardice. The large ones, those poor pitiable four-limbed monstrosities, still manage to continue on in spite of their handicaps. Now I am no better with how many limbs remain useless. ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have been afflicted by Mana Starvation (moderate): Nullified health and mana regeneration, halved stamina regeneration, Evolution paused, -1% maximum health per minute¡¯ The need for sustenance burns. The dead weight of my broken legs will only hinder my quest for food. But I resist the urge to amputate them, holding out for the possibility of them becoming whole once more. I am not yet ready to accept anything less than eight legged glory. Regeneration. The concept holds hope. I need only rid myself of this nagging hunger. While I may have caused my own problems, I am not without fortune. The prey whose wing I clipped has yet to be consumed. It still twitches upon the sea of grass. Perhaps the proximity to the tame fire and the large ones who fight it has prevented scavengers from taking my hard-earned meal. To my great relief my spinnerets function. The silk thread makes descent easy, even with so much dead weight. Well, as easy as it can be to ignore the constant pain. The lightest of touches upon the vertical trunk keeps me safely aligned while the spooling thread does most of the work. The pace I set is steady and controlled. I¡¯m not keen on repeating my recklessness anytime soon. Before lowering myself below the grass line I focus on the prey¡¯s location, committing it to memory. Having to climb up a blade to survey would waste what precious little time I have left. Now standing on dirt I can use all my functioning legs to attempt to mend myself. I wrap every one of my carapace¡¯s cracks in silk to stem the leaks. It¡¯s not perfect. The wider gaps still weep through the bindings, but I¡¯m not dripping nearly as much. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Each step is a chore. I really don¡¯t know how the large ones walk with only two legs like that. I¡¯ve got four mostly working and my progress is arduous to put it lightly. Each tires me more than the last. I find the prey. It hadn¡¯t landed far from Lamp and its fluttering wings command my attention even through the forest of grass obscuring most of its body from sight. Fluid continues to seep through my carapace¡¯s cracks. My juices left a spotty trail in the dirt behind me. How much do I have left? Health: 19/167 Enough. Subduing prey will prove to be dangerous. My broken legs hold on by the most tenuous of connections. An errant blow might just snap one clean off. I rather enjoy all my legs, so I need a plan. I watch the prey attempt to take off only to fail and grip onto the drooping blade of grass. The bending grass reminds me of something. An idea forms. My final loop on the ground around the prey finishes. I slowly close the distance. I try my best to minimize the foliage¡¯s jostling with my passage. My injured limbs certainly make the task more difficult, but not impossible. I¡¯m nearly underneath the prey now and it appears to not have noticed me. Perhaps its eyes are still strained from too much time near Lamp. Or it doesn¡¯t see me as a threat. It¡¯s certainly larger than me, a fact I hadn¡¯t noticed while I hurled myself through the air towards it. In any case it doesn¡¯t matter. This is my last chance. Already I feel the call of torpor. I won¡¯t have enough energy to track down a different piece of prey. I position myself directly below the prey. Two legs provide an anchor by wedging under a grass stem each. My other limbs hold onto the dragline I¡¯ve produced this entire time. Slowly I pull in the loose thread. All around in a circle the grass bends towards me when the silk pulls taut. Slowly everything folds over except for the few pieces of grass I¡¯m perched under, one of which the prey stands upon. I wrap the thread around the stems and cut it. Using my freed legs I shake the leaves the prey stands upon as vigorously as I can manage. It valiantly clings for a few moments, but the movement is too jumbled to hold out. The prey tumbles down the cone of grass leaves until it sticks at an awkward angle to my silk. It panics at being ensnared on its back. Its six legs twitch wildly for something to grab onto, but nothing is in range. I creep under the canopy of grass until once again I¡¯m below the prey. I reach a single leg above. With exacting precision I push the tip between their wings. I exert pressure until their carapace gives way. Just like the louse before it, its carapace is no match for mine. Its thrashing grows more violent, but my silk is not so easily broken. My leg punctures deeper into its thorax, unrelenting in its progress. An extra bit of force and my leg stabs through to the other side, completely skewering my prey. I withdraw my leg and with it comes an outpouring of fluid. The prey continues to twitch and writhe, but its movements becomes sluggish until ultimately stopping. ¡®ding¡¯ ¡®You have killed a [Peppered Moth]¡¯ I feast upon its juices. The warm gooeyness is delicious. But relief from the hunger never comes. The ache of starvation persists even after I¡¯ve drained the prey dry. After all that effort, nothing. Just exhaustion. I know the thought-light explained the abnormality of the starvation, but I held out hope that I simply needed larger prey. It seems my time is truly coming to its end. I¡¯m completely drained from the latest hunt, and I do not know if I will ever wake from torpor. I settle to a comfortable position in my grass dome. It certainly is a strange home compared to a web, but I lack the capability to spin something better in my current state. I gaze upon the perfect lines of the True Web and let the torpor take me. Beautiful. ~~ In a flash the sight before Cless¡¯s eyes changed dramatically. No longer was she kneeling down to pick up a tiny spider from a garden in the suburbs of London. Instead she stood before a sizable canvas with her arm sweeping through a long brush stroke. A soft veil obscured all details as if seen through a thin sheet of frosted glass. Darkness loomed above, only broken by the tiny pinpricks of countless stars. At zenith a haloed pitch black circle blocked out all light. Desolation surrounded her. Snow, ice, and frozen gray sand comprised the landscape. Far away in all directions great chaotic masses of sand and snow whirled, obscuring the horizon. Her breath came out in a cloud, yet the extreme cold didn¡¯t bother her at all. The canvas seemed even more shrouded than the rest of her surroundings like it depicted a secret she was unworthy of knowing. She peeked past it, spotting movement separate from the massive storms. A figure flew out of the tempest, both far too small and distant for her to see clearly. A heartbeat later a massive maw emerged in pursuit, threatening to gobble the unknown tiny figure whole. More and more serpentine predator swam through the air in undulating waves towards the fleeing prey. It shot out huge deadly beams of purplish arcane energy. The tiny speck in the distance simply weaved around them, deftly dodging the harrowing attacks. Cless wanted to continue to witness the spectacle before her, but pain lanced through her chest. She clutched a hand over her heart and fell to her knees. An immense tension built. It tore not at her physical body but something much deeper, more fundamental. Her eyes scrunched shut in pain and her breath came in shallow pants. A final tug forcibly ripped out a part of her, the agony more intense than a body full of raw nerves. The discomfort lasted only a blip of time before Cless found herself breathing again. She opened her eyes to see the spider cradled in her hands back in London. Very little to no time had passed. Like all Dreams, the Sandman took Their toll. Memories of what she just witnessed fell through the cracks of her mind like fine grains of sand through outstretched fingers until only one concrete smidgen remained: Erendar. She didn¡¯t know why that moon came to mind when she picked up the tiny broken spider. A vague sense of foreboding shivered down her spine. She decided to figure it out later. The spider needed a healer and quickly. ¡°Miss, you can¡¯t be here.¡± Cless turned to the member of the fire brigade speaking to her. He had cordoned off her family¡¯s former home. Now it was little more than a smoldering pit of ashes. A few other members of the brigade continued to hose down the hot spots left in the wreckage. In seven years the memories of living here had faded, so the sight didn¡¯t ache with longing. At least I got to see it one last time. But my home is Elos now. ¡°Sorry.¡± She cupped the spider in her palms and left the supposed danger zone to join the gossiping onlookers. Meanwhile her mind raced and her magic subtly activated. One member of the audience stared at her intensely, despite Cless no longer wearing her heroine outfit. She had changed out of it on the rush over to her former residence to help blend in. The starer, a brown frizzy-haired mousy-looking woman of college age wearing a thick pair of glasses, looked at her with a vague sense of familiarity. Cless, guided by her magic, strode straight towards the gawker. She smiled to the college-aged woman. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± Cless suggested. The woman pointed to herself in confusion. Her other hand continued to hold some strange device of metal and plastic that definitely wasn¡¯t a cell phone. The beige plastic brick reminded Cless of some kind of walkie-talkie from the 80s. The woman gave a couple shifty side-eyes to the people around her. ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s go home.¡± Cless shouldered her way through the crowd. A few people yelped from the forceful shoves her body just passively made. It seemed that the whole neighborhood had come out to watch her home burn to the ground. She picked up tidbits of conversation. ¡°¡­horrible. Did anyone get caught?¡± ¡°¡­ it¡¯s the Michaelson house. Creepy woman that. Always alone.¡± ¡°¡­ husband¡¯s in prison, right? You think he burned it down? Or did she snap?¡± ¡°¡­ an eye sore. I thought her overgrown neglected garden was bad. Now it¡¯s a giant soot mark. This better not bring my home¡¯s value down.¡± When Cless left earshot by crossing the street she turned back to look over her shoulder. The woman had followed without another word, but now she pursed her lips like she had a question burning the tip of her tongue and she was trying her best to smother it. ¡°Well?¡± Cless helped her along. ¡°You¡¯re Cless, aren¡¯t you? The Michaelson¡¯s kid.¡± Cless rocked back on her heels and wore a mischievous smile. ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°I swear it¡¯s like seeing a ghost. I used to baby sit you, you know? Back when you were this big.¡± She gestured a squat height belonging to a toddler. ¡°I¡¯m Jaq.¡± Cless shook her head. ¡°Sorry, but I don¡¯t remember.¡± ¡°It¡¯s been seven years. Where did you go? Your parents never stopped looking for you. They took your disappearance really hard. Now you¡¯re back and your home¨C¡± Jaq glanced back to the smoking remains of Cless¡¯s house, ¡°¨Cis gone.¡± Cless adopted a more apologetic smile. ¡°Can¡¯t say. But I could use your help. I don¡¯t have much time.¡± ¡°Did you burn your house down? Where¡¯s your mom?¡± ¡°What? No. And she¡¯s fine. In fact, she¡¯s waiting for me and probably a little angry I¡¯m not with her right now. I really don¡¯t have time for this. Will you help or not?¡± ¡°Uhm, sure, I guess?¡± She dropped her voice to a whisper. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m going to give you something. You need to keep it secret and safe. Can you do that?¡± ¡°What? Like a dead body?¡± Cless made a few sputtering noises before whisper-yelling, ¡°What do you think I did? No! It¡¯s a painting. Can you hold on to one of my paintings?¡± ¡°Aw, you still paint? You used to love finger paints. But, seriously, what else should I think? You leave mysteriously for seven years. You can¡¯t talk about it. Then when you show up your mom is missing and your house burns down. Just a little suspicious.¡± ¡°Fair. Will you hold it or not? It has to be a secret. No showing it off. No selling it. Keep it safe.¡± ¡°Sell it?¡± Jaq seemed a little incredulous. The tone wounded Cless¡¯s pride. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯ve become a famous artist. My paintings sell for a tonne.¡± ¡°Err, sorry. Sure, Cless, I¡¯ll take the painting. But, uh¨C¡± She looked at Cless¡¯s outfit. Just a blouse, pants, and some leather shoes. No backpack, package, or portfolio carrying case in sight. ¡°Where¡¯s the painting? In your hands?¡± Cless gave one last look around to make sure no one else was looking her way. Some hedges blocked most of them from roadside view and the fire¡¯s spectacle drew most of the attention. Her hands, still cupped together, came apart to reveal a spider holding onto life by a thread. Panic wormed through her, unsure if she was too late to save the little arachnid. Jaq shrieked ¡°spider!¡± in alarm and reflexively tried to slap it out of Cless¡¯s hand. Her attempted smushing was blocked easily. ¡°No!¡± Cless snapped, ¡°She¡¯s a friend.¡± Once she was certain Jaq wasn¡¯t going to squish the defenseless spider, she willed the painting out of spatial storage into her empty hand. Jaq physically leapt backwards. Her eyes looked like they struggled between wide-open surprise and squinting in pain. She clutched the side of her head and massaged an ear. ¡°The fuck?¡± ¡°Keep it down. Take it.¡± She thrust the painting of the spider out to Jaq. Jaq dodged away. ¡°No. Where the fuck did that come from?¡± ¡°Somewhere. Just take it.¡± Jaq looked incredibly uncomfortable. Despite the cool night air, sweat had beaded upon her forehead. At Cless¡¯s insistence, she gingerly touched the edge of the canvas like it was a snake about to lash out. Seeing as her hand didn¡¯t spontaneously melt off, she carefully held the wooden frame and slowly tilted the front towards herself. ¡°Freaky appearance-out-of-nowhere aside, this canvas is blank, Cless.¡± ¡°No it¡¯s ¨C¡± Cless had forgotten she painted this piece entirely with magic. Those without the ability to see magic saw nothing at all. Just a blank, white, untouched canvas. After spending so long in Ravenhall in the company of accomplished adventurers it slipped her mind that everyone wasn¡¯t born with the ability. ¡°It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s what I meant to give you.¡± ¡°Oh, uh, avant-garde stuff.¡± Jaq looked at it skeptically. She clipped the strange device to hang off her waist and took the painting in both hands. ¡°Thanks, Jaq. I owe ya one. But I gotta go. Keep it safe and I can come back.¡± Cless decided to have one last bit of fun at Jaq¡¯s expense. She focused on a secluded far-off point and used her short-range teleportation to blink away. The resulting ¡°the fuck¡± she heard across the neighborhood had Cless giggling. Precious time ticking away, she pulled out her ethereal brush and started working on her spell to return to Elos. Straight to her room¡¯s anchor, she decided, and then to the Sentinel headquarters to find a healer. ~~ ¡°Cless?¡± Jaq looked around for the young woman she swore she was just talking to. She held the only proof of their conversation ¨C a sizable blank canvas. But she already knew better. The singular wireless earbud connected to the portable AB Field detector gave one last screech into her ear before it stopped transmitting right when the object appeared. Even before the canvas, it chirped wildly in Cless¡¯s presence. What happened to you, Cless? You answered one question, but gave me dozens more. Jaq focused on the canvas again and realized the problem she just inherited. ¡°Shit. How am I going to hide this thing?¡± 7 - To Ravenhall Cless stumbled out of the canvas acting as a bridge between worlds, barely keeping her feet underneath herself. She clenched her gut to resist the sudden wave of lightheadedness. Her spell really didn¡¯t like the extra arachnid passenger. Her mana pool had drained dry, the relocation squeezing her for every last mote. Unconsciousness knocked on her mental door, demanding to be let in. Hisses of forced breath through grit teeth got her through the worst of it. She held her precious spider cargo between two cupped palms while giving herself a moment to recover through a bit of meditation. Her room, despite its generous size, would give a claustrophobe a panic attack. Dozens of easel-mounted canvases packed the floor space. Art depicting myriad landscapes and action scenes tessellated her walls. Some even appeared to move on their own. Tarps stained with every color imaginable and several unimaginable until first perceived littered the floor. They slipped and slid upon the wood flooring as Cless scrambled to get out of the room. In this moment Cless didn¡¯t care for the extensive warding throughout the home she and Claire shared. Outside would normally just be a simple blink away, but the anti-teleportation enchantments prevented that. Only her anchor painting allowed her to bypass them with her magic to get back home. Though to be fair ¡®shared¡¯ implied Claire spent time at home, which was provably false in Cless¡¯s experience. The workaholic never left her office except to head to council meetings. Claire acted more like owner-in-name. If anyone could be called an abuser of the lowered need for sleep all humans experienced past level two hundred, then it would be Claire. But as a leader of Ravenhall, controller of Ilea¡¯s finances, and a councilor of the Accords she didn¡¯t get much time for herself. That level of fame dictated the necessary protection of her home. Cless hooked an elbow into the door handle and awkwardly leaned down to undo the latch. The second a tiny gap cracked open between the door and the frame, living lightning with dozens of eyes squeezed through the impossibly tight space. It weaved through Cless¡¯s legs once before coalescing into a white, soft-furred feline form that came up halfway to her shin. Tiny sparks of lightning continued to zip through its fur. ¡°Squiggly, no!¡± Cless called to her childhood pet silintis, ¡°You can¡¯t be in here.¡± The creature emitted a mental touch the urging her to feed it. Cless had learned the hard way that the herbivorous monster loved to eat her paintings. If given the choice, her most recently completed work seemed to be the preferred meal. She lost more than a few paintings until wards were installed on her door to prevent its entry. But there wasn¡¯t any time to corral the beast into compliance right now. Cless forwent the stairs by hopping over the banister down to the foyer, cushioning her fall with a touch of flight. Using the tiny blip of mana she had recovered through meditation swept another wave of nausea from overextension through her. Her shoulder checked into the front door while her vision dimmed. Sliding down the frame allowed another elbow-rangling with the handle. She nearly tripped down the single-step stoop before taking a deep breath and belting out ¡°medic!¡± at the top of her lungs. The burst of energy dropped her to a knee to recover. In the nicer residential area of Ravenhall, foot traffic was low. But those few on the cobblestone street paused to crane their heads at her outburst. They pointed her way and repeated the call of ¡°medic,¡± hoping to draw extra attention to the unfolding crisis. As protocol, no more yells repeated beyond those who directly saw the one in need, lest it sow confusion. None dared approach without knowing the kind of affliction Cless suffered. Without visible wounds it could be a number of things from curse, to poison, to disease, to blood magic. Any of them could prove fatal to an unlucky helper. In most other cities in Elos, shouting for a healer would amount to little more than disturbing the peace. But Ravenhall held the headquarters of the Medic Sentinel Corps, the healing organization Ilea founded with the intention of lowering adventurer mortality. As the seconds ticked by Cless worried she lived in a too-remote part of the city to receive help. She kept her head down and closed her eyes, trying to get back into a meditative state to recover. Doing such a thing wasn¡¯t a good idea. Any city, even one with such high level guards as Ravenhall, had its dangers. She wasn¡¯t even wearing armor. Claire was sure to scold her if she ever found out. But her magic told her of the spider¡¯s importance. And while the shrill warning had dampened since she returned to Elos, it still continued to nag her. So she prepared to run across town to the Sentinels¡¯ headquarters. A piercing whistle drew Cless¡¯s attention to the sky. Above her a Shadowguard, dressed in dark leathers with a prominent raven emblem on dispay, floated in the air. They unleashed a burst of magic straight above themselves that roughly resembled the letter M. It wasn¡¯t quite the drake symbol the Sentinels used. The caster likely didn¡¯t have the skill to emulate such a complex design, but it certainly caught the eye. In any case, Cless celebrated her luck. Among the Shadowguard population, mages weren¡¯t exactly the most numerous. Martial classes far outstripped every other class category. To have both a Shadowguard within shouting distance and them being a mage proved her fortune. With the Shadowguard¡¯s added signal flare, a healer was surely on their way. She didn¡¯t bet on it though and continued to lull herself into a meditative state. If worse came to worse, she could warp over to her destination once her mana pool was full enough for the jaunt. ¡°Cless!¡± She opened her eyes to the familiar voice of Raphia only to be held on the shoulder. By quirk of teleportation magic, the sound from Raphia¡¯s far-off call met her ears at the same time the medic arrived. The soothing effect of healing magic flowed through Cless¡¯s body, taking away any remaining vestiges of her headache. The deep ache in her soul from overtaxing herself remained. ¡°You seem fine,¡± Raphia said with a perplexed tone. ¡°Not me. Her.¡± Cless uncupped her hands to present the mangled spider barely clinging to life. Several of its legs were crippled, the carapace cracked and leaking. The tiny creature, smaller in length than one of Cless¡¯s finger joints, had barely moved since being picked up. [Spider] Very helpful, inspect. ¡°Cless, that¡¯s a monster.¡± ¡°Raphia, please heal her. You¡¯ll see. I promise.¡± The ash-clad Sentinel extended a single finger to delicately place upon the spider. Broken limbs snapped back into place and the carapace sealed together once more. The spider briefly looked good-as-new, save for her lying on her back with legs curled inward. Then the brown carapace started to flake off like old chipped paint. In alarm, Raphia took her finger away, cutting off her healing. ¡°Sorry, Cless, I¨C¡° ¡°It¡¯s fine. Watch.¡± The sight was horrifying. It looked like the spider was decaying before their eyes, falling apart at the seams. The deterioration revealed blackened pulsing flesh beneath. It would have panicked Cless as well if the nagging of her magic hadn¡¯t quieted to a melodic murmur after Raphia started healing. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Everything alright here?¡± the Shadowguard asked. Cless peeled her eyes away from the gruesome metamorphosis to address him, ¡°Yes, thank you for your help. We saved her.¡± ¡°Saved who?¡± He lowered himself slowly to the ground. ¡°This spider, of course.¡± He frowned at the revelation. ¡°Guard and Sentinel resources shouldn¡¯t be squandered for a mere bug. What if I missed someone who actually needed help?¡± ¡°Come look. You¡¯ve never witnessed what¡¯s going to happen next.¡± ¡°If this is some kind of prank...¡± the guard warned. Some curious onlookers who helped spread the call for help came over along with the guard. Over the next minute the spider shed the rest of her carapace. Then a torrent of atmospheric mana funneled towards her. Before the crowd of humans the spider steadily increased in size until it barely fit in the palm of Cless¡¯s hand even with curled legs. Then, starting at the thorax, a purple and black carapace began to form. When her exoskeleton finished encasing her, tiny speckles of white appeared in a random smattering, giving the appearance of a nebula. The changes ceased. The spider, who had been completely still throughout the process, now occasionally twitched a leg as if testing them out for the first time. In a blink she reoriented herself to stand upon Cless¡¯s palm. Six eyes, arranged in three pairs, looked at the audience who bore witness to her transformation. Cless Inspected the spider again and smiled at the result. [Rogue - lvl 1] ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Cless.¡± The spider flinched, then tilted its head like a confused puppy. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be demon chow. An Awakened. Always wondered what it looked like when one formed,¡± The Shadowguard said, ¡°Sorry about the accusation, miss. Never had my words so thoroughly shoved back in my gob.¡± Raphia¡¯s sparkling blue eyes kept darting between Cless and the spider in her palm. Her brown hair, tied up in a bun, bounced with every sudden jerk of her head. ¡°What¨C How¨C Cless, explain.¡± The young blonde woman¡¯s smile turned into a grin. ¡°Meet my new friend.¡± Cless turned to the spider. ¡°You can understand us, right? Uh, wave a leg like this if you can.¡± She put up her index finger and wiggled it back and forth. The spider copied her movement. Cless devolved into happy little giggles. ¡°We are going to have so much fun. Wait, are you hungry? That transformation looked intense. Wave a different leg if you want some food.¡± The spider flailed four of her arms at once causing Cless to cackle at the enthusiasm. Briefly she thought about her parents left behind at Ilea¡¯s house. One more stop wouldn¡¯t hurt, right? It would be downright rude not to share a meal with her new friend. Or at least she hoped the spider would be her friend. Her magic certainly seemed pleased with the idea, scintillating with faint notes of approval. Just as Cless was about to rise off the ground, a curious white paw playfully batted at the spider in her hand. The sudden attack startled the newly-awakened spider. ¡°Squig¨C eek¡± Cless couldn¡¯t help but yelp from squeamishness when the spider darted up her arm and hid from view under her blonde hair, touching her neck in the process. Having a spider on her was one thing, but all those tiny hairs on her many legs were ticklish. Hands freed from holding a fragile spider, Cless grabbed her pet before it could jump on her. It wiggled a little in her grip but a few strokes of its fur calmed it down. The silintis¡¯s sparks tingled her fingers pleasantly with every pet. Cless rose off the ground, cradling her pet and wincing a bit when the spider tensed against her skin. ¡°Thanks again for the help everyone. I¡¯m sure the spider appreciates it.¡± ¡°Wait, you¡¯re not going to explain?¡± the guard asked. ¡°Yeah, Cless, what¡¯s going on?¡± Raphia added. Others in the crowd grumbled or otherwise expressed their curiosity. ¡°Uhm,¡± Cless began eloquently. Her mind spun for a valid answer to give to the people around her. Maybe even the spider herself was confused at the situation. Cless wouldn¡¯t know until she found someone with telepathy to bridge the communication barrier or her taking the time to make a series of questions to pump enough information out of the new sapient being. In any case, Cless didn¡¯t think Ilea really wanted the existence of Earth to spread widely. ¡°Top secret.¡± Cless said. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean, young lady?¡± By her tone Raphia was trying to pull long-time friend privileges to get answers out of Cless. ¡°It means it is a secret that I¡¯m not at liberty to discuss at this time. I cannot answer.¡± ¡°Is someone holding you up to this? Are you in trouble or something?¡± An image of Ilea finding out she snuck back to Earth flashed through her mind¡¯s eye. She imagined her considerable power as a goddess bearing down upon her. Ilea¡¯s a friend, right? She¡¯d understand me saving someone. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be,¡± Cless hedged. If her hands weren¡¯t full of fluffy silintis she would have waved away the concern. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have let other people witness it. Now she was sure Aki would know before end of day that she did something. And once Aki knew that meant Ilea knew. And once Ilea knew¡­ well, Cless would worry about that later. ¡°Anyways, I seem to recall I have a spider to feed.¡± Cless slunk out of the rough circle of people back up the stoop to her home. She realized she left the front door open. Taking a moment to listen to the Art, nothing called to her indicating an invader to her home. So she simply closed the door and turned around only to see Raphia right in front of her. She wore a complicated expression on her face. With the added height of the stoop, Cless had a few inches of height on Raphia. Isn¡¯t that a change? She grew up watching Raphia and the rest of her party train to be more competent adventurers with William as their guide. Cless even trained with them when William allowed it. The woman was like a big sister to her. And now¡­ [Battle Healer ¨C lvl 183] Raphia still had twenty-six levels on her, but that was a far cry from the original gap between them. In Cless¡¯s opinion the woman played it too safe. Two healers in her party and they stuck to safer missions on top of that. The approach worked, obviously. None of her teammates had suffered any permanent injuries or died. It was just too slow for Cless¡¯s tastes. Growing up seeing Ilea¡¯s legendary exploits through her Art sparked a need to experience that for herself. But Ilea found beauty in fighting. Cless didn¡¯t share the same craving for a challenge, but having the strength to explore and capture all the beauty of the universe on canvas without fear of death. That was what Cless wanted. And to do that she needed to push herself. Now that Cless was fifteen-years-old, Claire had lifted a lot of her restrictions. She was her own woman now, capable of making decisions about her safety and progression. Her parents had relocated to Elos now. Surely they could be convinced of Elos standards for adulthood, right? A sudden shiver went through Cless¡¯s spine just imagining the blowback from her mother. ¡°Hey, Raphia, need anything?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not leaving until you explain, young lady.¡± Cless¡¯s eyes scanned the street. The crowd had begun to disperse but with superhuman capabilities they were surely within earshot of many individuals. ¡°I already told you. It¡¯s a secret.¡± Cless did her best at a non-verbal tic to indicate a need for privacy. Just a smidge of eyebrow waggling. Oh no. I got that from my parents. She coughed away her embarrassing thoughts. ¡°I need to make good on my promise of food to the spider anyways. Want to join me for¡­¡± Cless paid attention to the environment for the first time since arriving back on Elos. It was daytime here in Ravenhall, unlike the night she had just jaunted from in London. The twin suns had drifted just past their zenith. ¡°...lunch?¡± Raphia narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Cless supposed that was fair. Not knowing the time of day didn¡¯t bode well for keeping her story straight. Though she had been known to slip into a trance while painting. If pressed, that made a convenient excuse. ¡°Sure. Where to?¡± ¡°How about The Golden Drake? The spider should surely experience the wonders of Keyla¡¯s cooking.¡± Raphia paled a bit at the restaurant¡¯s name. The Golden Drake was by far the most fancy and expensive eating establishment in all of Ravenhall. Cless only got in on the regular because of her connections with Claire and Ilea. ¡°I think that¡¯s a little out of my price range, Cless. Besides, I think the spider is probably a carnivore, so all the additional accompaniment is probably lost on her. How about some street food instead? What do you think, spider, lots of very tasty food or a little extremely tasty food?¡± Cless could feel the spider shifting around her neck in a little dance. She pressed her lips together to stifle her ticklish giggles. ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t understand. How about two legs up for street food and one for The Golden Drake?¡± Raphia sputtered a bit. ¡°Three legs? Who are you? Ilea? Here to clean out all of Ravenhall¡¯s food vendors in one fel swoop? We better stick to the street food then.¡± The battle healer formed her ashen wings and leapt into the sky. Her large wingspan beat a steady pace, keeping her aloft. From afar, it was mostly her brown hair that differentiated her from looking like Ilea. All the Sentinels took after their Headmistress when using their ashen magic. Cless called up to her, ¡°I¡¯d rather walk, if that¡¯s okay?¡± Her big sister seemed confused before dropping back down. Ever since Cless had unlocked flight with her latest class evolution she hardly ever wanted to keep her feet on the ground. Flying was synonymous with freedom. What sane person wouldn¡¯t want to fly? ¡°Something the matter?¡± ¡°I''m fine. I''m not a child who needs to be coddled anymore. Just a little strain. I need to avoid using magic for a bit. Besides, she probably wants to see the sights anyways.¡±