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úri’s many eyes lock on me. “And how is one little elf supposed to stop what’s already in motion? If this is the way of things, neither spiders nor elves can change it.”

“I can sound the drums! I can warn everyone!”

“What drums?” Kra asks.

“Parae will be warned, and the defense will mobilize. There are so many of us who live here, an overwhelming number. And we’ll fight back. We’ll defend both our homes and yours. But only if everyone is warned, and the drums are sounded.”

The spiders whisper among themselves, their voices a soft, chittering hum. Yet their many eyes never leave me, watching warily, as if expecting me to attack the moment they turn their backs. As if they’re?—

A roar erupts from outside, the sound pulled straight from the depths of the darkest nightmares. High-pitched, piercing, and ragged, it vibrates like thunder rolling toward a storm or a tornado closing in.

Heat surges over me, followed by flames erupting beyond the bars. They cascade like molten lava, rushing toward some unseen target. The air is searing, and the acrid smell of burning fills my nostrils, making them sting.

Is it the monster breathing fire?

“Hurry!” I shout, my voice cracking with desperation.

“Very well, elf,” úri finally says. “Spiders have decided to help, as an elf intends to assist them in protecting their home.”

“Good. So how are you going to get me out?”

“Doesn’t an elf know what kind of species spiders are?” úri asks.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the flames. Sun elves might be immune to fire, but thick, choking smoke is an entirely different story. “Hyllus spiders. A type of jumping spider,” I say.

úri lets out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a hiss. “Spiders are steelspiders. Once hyllus, yes. Long ago, hyllus. But no longer. A variant, perhaps, but vastly different. Ancestors of ancestors that?—”

“How are you going to get me out?” I snap, cutting through his rambling.

“Threads as strong as steel,” úri replies. “Threads that can’t break, that?—”

“Thanks, I get it!” I glance at the approaching fire. It roars and crackles, devouring everything in its path. “Drop the thread, and I’ll climb up!”

“An elf is so impatient,” Kra mutters, rolling all four of his front eyes as he secures a strand to the ceiling.

He works quickly, weaving a web-like structure with deft movements, zigzagging strands into the shape of a ladder. úri joins him, and their coordination is seamless and swift. In just a few sparks, a sturdy thread ladder hangs from the ceiling, swaying gently in the smoky air.

I press one hand against the surface and shudder. It’s slimy, pliable, and sticky against my fingers, like warm snot, with a faint scent of saliva and oatmeal.

When I give the thread a cautious tug, it feels surprisingly solid, much sturdier than expected. Taking a deep breath, I place my bare foot on the first rung, grip the sides tightly, and push off from the ground.

It holds. Stable. Secure.

I climb quickly, moving rung by rung without hesitation until I reach the top.

I stop beside the towering forms of the spiders, their massive bodies coated—no, drenched—in thick hair.

White and yellow-brown strands cover them completely, with patches of root-brown skin peeking through in sparse areas.

“Well met, elf,” Kra says, nodding toward me, his voice low and rasping.

They’re larger than I expected, both just under an elf length. Large enough that I could ride on their backs if they let me.

“Yes,” úri chimes in. “Welcome to the spiders’ tunnels. An elf should stay close to the spiders, and úri will lead the way. It’s not far to where an elf must go.”

That’s when I see it.

The hole.

It’s almost invisible, blending into the shadows around it. úri moves forward, squeezing into the opening with a scraping rustle. His body vanishes into the darkness, the end of his abdomen tapering like a wasp’s stinger, marked with dark, intricate patterns.

I press my knee against the edge of the opening, pulling myself inside and leaving the webbing behind.

What greets me isn’t just darkness—it’s something far more consuming.

I’ve never encountered anything like it. It’s the depth of a night sky, stripped of moon and stars. The kind of blackness found in the heart of an ancient forest, far beyond the reach of any torchlight. A darkness that swallows everything whole.

Even with my keen night vision, I see nothing. Nothing at all.

It sends a tremor through me. My heart pounds, my arms prickle with unease, and my teeth clench so tightly it feels like they might crack.

I hunch low, crawling forward with my head bowed, my knees scraping against the gritty ground.

The ceiling presses against my head, the walls brushing against my shoulders, hemming me in on all sides.

I can’t tell how close úri is. I can’t see him.

The thought of bumping into him makes my skin crawl.

All I can hear is the sound of my ragged breathing and the faint scratch of dirt beneath my fingers. The air is thick with an unbearable stench, a rancid blend of old filth, blood, and decaying flesh. It’s so overpowering that it invades my mouth, coating my tongue with its foulness.

It tastes of rot. Of death.

I want nothing more than to escape, but the air seems to conspire against me, rough and heavy, as though filled with soil and bark. This is a place untouched by sunlight for thousands of sun cycles, claimed entirely by spiders.

“Where are you, úri?”

Silence.

I twist my neck, straining to look over my shoulder. Is Kra there? The space is too tight. I can’t see a thing. The walls press in on every side, leaving me only two choices: forward or back. My shoulders, head, elbows, and thighs scrape against the rough tunnel with every movement.

What if this is a trap?

They’ve lured me here into their domain.

It’d be so easy for them to strike, to impale me with their barbs. No one would hear me scream. No one would see me bleed.

I’m at their mercy.