A thin, almost delicate Laranya looms over me. Its carapace is a deep grey with faint azure lines crossing in a pattern wholly different from Zara’s. It balances easily on the straining webbing, rocking gently like a ship at anchor. Its limbs look frail enough that I could snap them between two fingers. Something in my stupid lizard brain wants to relax, just like I did with the Otachai that almost murdered me.

  But I didn’t detect anything from this thing. Nothing. Not a whisper. Its ability to move silently transcends even a Mythic perception ability.

  Identification: Trmclugtgouplpak, Laranya Gloomweaver

  Level: 67

  Strengths: Will

  Weaknesses: Strength, Agility, Charisma, Toughness

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

  Trmclugtgouplpak served as the Choirmaster of the Gloomweavers, a sect of the Laranya dedicated to sifting through the myriad possible futures to predict the most likely outcome. His song led him to knowledge of the Tournament years before the spirits would come to select Competitors. He attempted to warn his people, but none would listen to his apocalyptic visions. Outcast for his doomsaying ways, he dedicated himself to finding the future with the best chance to save his species.

  I can’t take my eyes off the level next to his name. How many souls has he devoured? How many sentients has he killed?

  Why does he sound like a polite butler apologizing for his intrusion?

  “Release the power, now. We take our chances with the web.”

  He isn’t attacking, though. What’s his name… fuck, let’s just call him Clug. Kora, I had no idea he was there. He could have taken us out before we ever knew what hit us, but he didn’t.

  “He is beyond us, Competitor. Even you must acknowledge that truth.”

  Oh, sure. But I’ve always got the web slingshot in my back pocket.

  She doesn’t say anything, but she feels vaguely depressed floating in the confines of my mind.

  “Uh,” I say, unable to crane my neck for a better look at him. “Is this part of the deal? Are you supposed to be the one to kill me?”

  “Yes,” he says simply. “It is to be me, though it will bring me sorrow. Zaratiumynya has sung songs of your exploits. To have brought a Weaver to song in so short a time is remarkable.”

  “What kind of songs?” I ask, striving again to feel threatened by this unassuming spider man. And marginally succeeding.

  “Songs of bravery and sacrifice.” Oh, that’s nice. “Stupidity and ignorance.” Nevermind. “Naivete and impossibility.” Sigh. “You are a mystery, but a beloved one, when it comes to the soul and song of Zaratiumynya.” His eyes stare deeply into mine, a sparkling cluster of sapphires. “When I save my people, I will make sure that your song is incorporated into the Weave. It would be a shame for your voice to never be heard.”

  He shifts, his legs gripping the silken strands and one long limb rising into the air.

  Oh fuck. Fuck. A bit of my power slips, and the web ripples, its harmonious song thrilling through the glade. Like an echo, familiar… The song. My voice. The song!

  “Uh, about that,” I say quickly, feeling a sudden spark of hope. He pauses. “I actually heard your song. Her song. The Mother’s. When Zara was making me this shroud. My soul went to your world, and I may have… joined in.”

  He goes rigid, his body practically disappearing against the sky. All I can see of him is the glitter of the growing purple light on his eyes.

  “You… sang? What… how did She react?”

  “Yes, I sang. Or my soul did. I wasn’t super good at it, and it sure fucked everything up for a second, but the Mother listened, and she and I both had… kind of a… revelation? And then everyone started singing again, and it was nice.”

  “What revelation?” His voice is sharp, fierce, but it sounds hungry, not angry.

  “That our voices, while very different, made harmony, not discord.” When he doesn’t answer, I push on. “When I sang, at first it felt wrong, like I was the only bass in a chorus of altos. Uh. Probably not easily translated. Like I was the only low voice among a chorus of high. But, for humans, we know that two notes played in harmony are more beautiful than one. I think… I think it means something more. I think it means that we, our species, maybe even all of the species, can sing together, not apart. Maybe we don’t have to kill each other. Maybe we can learn to be more.”

  He hums, low enough that it is a tickle in my ear, a breath across my neck. We sway in the still glade for a moment.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  There is no breeze. We sway because he is swaying, the motion playing a quiet note on the taut spiderweb to match the thrum coming from his thorax. The strands seem to ignore my power for a moment, lifting and vibrating to the sound of the Gloomweaver whose song once resonated so deeply with the Weave.

  A minute passes, maybe two. Eventually, he falls silent. The web resumes its groaning tension.

  “I cannot hear the song you describe,” he says softly. “We are too far from Her, even in this place stolen from our world. Yet I believe that you believe the words you speak.”

  “So… we could try? You know? To sing or something?”

  “No.” There are a series of clicks as his body shivers. “I cannot risk everything on the promise of dreams. I’ve seen the best path to victory, and I walk it.”

  “Into a river of blood?” He flinches. That seemed to land, at least. “I know your people are not violent. I wish my people could evolve to be the same. I’ve made Zara my friend, and other species as well. I’ve seen your homeworld, sung your songs. I earned the approval of the Mother herself. We can be more than they want us to be. I know it.”

  The pause this time extends into silence. I let the emptiness between us rest, because it isn’t really empty. I don’t know if it’s my Soul Sight or some instinct crafted in the trials of this hell, but I can see something of myself reaching out to him, and his own soul responding in return.

  Come on, Clug. Take the olive branch. Do the right thing.

  He reaches… reaches…

  And retracts.

  Almost.

  “I believe your words, but I will not accept them,” he says, bending to tower over me. “And I do honor your friendship to the Laranya. As such, I will offer you a chance. As the Weave wills.”

  “A chance?”

  “Release your power. Slowly.”

  Uh.

  “I’d rather release it quickly and pray.”

  I’m not big on prayer. And something in me trusts this guy.

  “He’s going to kill you.”

  Probably. But also probably not until we’re on our feet again. Releasing the power slowly, the web thrums a note of contentment as the vast construct settles into its normal tension. He steps close finally, his clustered eyes glittering. He doesn’t bear a weapon, but the edges of his narrow limbs glow a lethal white as he bends close.

  Maybe… maybe this wasn’t such a—

  “Do not move.”

  “Wait—”

  I flinch, but the webbing holds me helpless. His limbs dart about my body with the precision of a surgeon. The webbing soon sags. He disappears below in a flurry of limbs, holding my body as the Soul Loom releases its grip. The thin spider settles me on my feet, waiting until I take my weight to step away.

  I know I’m supposed to be worried about the intently staring Laranya, but I can’t stop myself from gaping down at the dress Zara wove for me. It falls to just above my knees, loose and weightless, tight around my chest and sleeveless. The cloth, a shimmering silver-white that looks faintly purple in the everpresent lilac sky, floats like the stuff of clouds. Its every surface is covered in lace so fine and intricate it makes mockery of human art, minute symbols woven into every molecule of available space.

  I can’t hold in a sigh. I’m a sweats and tank or sweater and jeans girl. The last time I wore a fancy dress was to Katie’s funeral. Now, between this gorgeous thing and the delicate winged slippers on my feet, I look like a dainty fairy princess.

  All I need is a fucking tiara.

  “Are you recovered, Samantha Foreman?” Clug asks politely after I take a few deep breaths.

  “Almost,” I say, scanning through his Identification information again. God, weak in everything but Will? And level 67? I idly wonder what his Will score is. Probably 30 or some shit.

  “Doubtful. The numbers become exponentially more difficult to raise and equally more potent the higher they go. Many Champions of past tournaments did not have any scores above twenty. If it is to be a contest of wills, perhaps we have a chance after all.”

  “We don’t have to do this, you know,” I say, making one last stab at it.

  “There is only one way I saw to save the Mother and her children.” His carapace clicks as he tilts to the side, an echo of a Laranya I know all too well. The sight sends a pang through my heart. “I am the only one who can will our species to continued existence.”

  “How can you be so sure? Isn’t the future always changing?”

  “I have seen the path. I will walk it.”

  “Well, okay then. Just give me… one more minute.”

  “Very well.”

  “We could run. Gravity Shift yourself into the sky. Surely, he can’t fly—”

  Kora. No. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you see what I’m seeing?

  “I do not… oh.”

  Yeah.

  On the surface, the glade looks the same, empty but for the taut Soul Loom whispering echoes of universal truths into the air, empty but for Clug and me. But only on the surface.

  The Laranya, invisible, have gathered. In their hundreds. This is the environment they evolved to survive in, a violet twilight they naturally disappear into. They aren’t apparent even to my absurd Perception, but my Soul Sight sees deeper. The sightless auras of their souls burn like a bonfire in my sight. They are watching, and there is intent enough in the air for me to know that they will not allow me to run. Strands of silk would fill the air, ensnaring me, pulling me back to the earth. There would be nothing I could do against all of them together. No, the only way out is through Clug.

  It makes me sad, though. He’s just doing what he thinks is right, following the only path he can see to save his people. And from the collected Laranya, there isn’t hostility, but rather…

  Anxiety. Curiosity. Fear. Hope.

  I don’t have to Identify them to know that these people are not fighters. The description the gods gave me of their people is spot on. They are like Zara, creators and healers and weavers. They were not made for the conflict that came to find them.

  They are like… me.

  Not anymore. They are who I was, not who I am.

  Because even if the thought breaks my heart, even if I’m supposed to be outmatched and outclassed, I’m going to break this obstinate spider if I can.

  “Alright, Clug. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Very well.”