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Amir stops and frowns at her. “Anora and Solomon are at a parent meetup at the spa. You know that Anora being queen means she has to be very social with the women of Wintermoon. She must acknowledge them all. She creates events to balance things out.” His frown deepens.

“Meanwhile, none of the male shifters want to be within a few feet of me because I’m set apart from them, and I can’t go into the spa because ‘no male mates allowed.’” He glares at Kade, who helped set the rule.

“That is unfair,” he says pointedly.

Kade chuckles. “What about the academy? The children love when you visit.”

“Class is in session,” Amir responds, then stops walking. “This is ridiculous, all of you chaperoning me. I’m older than the first civilizations. I don’t need?—”

Kade closes her eyes as screams erupt around us. Humans break into panicked runs, terror clear on their faces. Damon and I share an irritated look.

I lean toward Amir. “Get off the island. Go to Anora now.”

“Absolutely not,” Amir says firmly. “I will stay and fight this creature. What could go wrong?”

That’s when I see it—the giant spider comes into view, massive and terrifying.

It’s easily triple the size of Anora’s children, its abdomen—technically called an opisthosoma—glowing with that same pink light we saw in the photo.

It clings to the top of one of the buildings, crawling down the side with unnatural speed, hissing at the humans who scramble to get away.

The creature’s body is a deep, dark brown, almost black, with legs that stretch out like gnarled tree branches, each segment covered in coarse bristles.

Its chelicerae—the fang-bearing mouthparts—glisten with some kind of fluid that drips onto the ground, sizzling where it lands.

The most disturbing feature is the pink glow emanating from its abdomen, pulsing like a heartbeat, with what appears to be DNA strands etched into its exoskeleton.

The pattern reminds me of Carla’s magic signature, but twisted, corrupted somehow.

Each pulse sends ripples of pink light across the creature’s body, giving it the eerie impression of breathing—alive with stolen power.

Eight eyes, arranged in two rows of four, all focus directly on Amir. It’s as if the creature knows exactly who he is. The eyes appear almost like polished obsidian, deep and knowing. I can sense intelligence behind them—not animal instinct, but something more calculating.

All around us, chaos erupts. Humans scatter in every direction, some tripping over each other as they try to escape.

A mother pulls her screaming child behind her, the child’s ice cream cone abandoned on the ground.

An elderly couple huddles behind a bench, too frightened to run.

Store managers scramble to lock their doors, trapping some desperate people outside.

A transport cart screeches to a halt as the driver spots the monstrous creature, then reverses at full speed, crashing a bunch of electric scooters parked.

From somewhere in the distance, I hear glass breaking, followed by alarm bells.

Panicked voices call out names, searching for separated loved ones.

The air itself seems charged with fear—I can taste it, metallic and sharp on my tongue. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes my fangs itch beneath my gums. I push the sensation aside, focusing on the immediate threat.

Street below, and I can see the web it’s spinning as it descends—threads of silk glowing with the same eerie pink light as its abdomen.

The silk appears both solid and liquid, stretching and flowing in a way I’ve never seen.

Where it touches the building’s surface, it seems to melt slightly into the material, anchoring itself with unnatural strength.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Kade hisses at Amir, but he seems mesmerized by the creature.

The spider suddenly releases a high-pitched clicking sound that makes my skin crawl.

It bounces off the buildings, creating a disorienting effect that seems to confuse the few humans still trying to escape.

I notice some of them stumbling, their movements becoming sluggish as if the sound is affecting their nervous systems.

I scan the rooftops and alleyways, spotting more of our children watching from the shadows, their eyes glowing. They’re not running or helping—they’re observing. Did they know this was coming? My instincts scream danger, but I’m torn between protecting Amir and finding Carla.

The spider shifts its weight, causing chunks of the building facade to crumble and fall to the street below.

The debris crashes onto an abandoned hot dog cart, sending condiments spraying across the pavement in a grotesque parody of blood spatter.

The sound seems to excite the creature; its movements grow quicker, more erratic.

“No,” Amir says, his voice unnaturally calm. “I want to talk to it.” He starts walking forward, his hands clasped behind his back, as if approaching an old friend rather than a monstrous creation.

I reach out to grab him, but Damon catches my arm, shaking his head slightly. His expression says everything: if we force Amir away, we might trigger something worse. The spider’s eyes follow Amir’s every move, its front legs lifting slightly as if in greeting—or preparation to strike.

Kade looks at Damon and me, her face a mask of horror and frustration.

“Fuck!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “We all know that if anything happens to him, so much as a scratch, Anora will lose her shit.”

She pauses; her eyes locked on Amir’s back as he approaches the creature.

“Literally.”