The sound of the mother's movement was not one sound—it was every sound made wrong.Stone groaned. The web shrieked. Even the air tried to pull away from her as she climbed into view.
Eight legs, each thicker than a tree trunk, dug into the cliff, and a tide of smaller Gorrachs scattered before her weight. Her eyes—dozens, black and moon-bright—fixed on the ledge where we crouched. The cliff itself seemed to breathe.
Skra'ith stepped forward, veil trembling. "She does not come for you," she hissed to her kin. "She comes for me!"
The Rask'Vul bowed, murmuring in their clicking tongue. The queen's fingers twitched, tugging invisible threads. "Mother, no," she whispered. "The offering is not—"
The mother Gorrach lunged.
The web screamed as it tore, strands snapping like thunder. Elya's cry vanished under the roar of shattering stone. Auralia yanked her against the wall, her rapier sheathed before instinct could even argue. "Move!" she shouted. "Now!"
I didn't think. My runes ignited.
Power leapt from my arm in wild arcs, searing the silk and sending bright rivers of molten web cascading into the abyss. The air stank of burning resin. The mother shrieked, a sound that turned the world sideways.
Auralia grabbed my collar. "You'll bring the whole cliff down!"
"Working on it!" I roared back.
We ran. The web collapsed in sheets around us, raining embers and ash. The Rask'Vul scattered up the walls like frightened crabs, their songs turning to panicked wails. Skra'ith stood amid the chaos, veil snapping like a banner, fury boiling through her calm façade.
"This is not your place, Warden!" she screamed.
"Then stop chasing me out of it!"
The mother lunged again, leg spearing the stone where we'd stood. The impact threw Auralia and Elya forward; I caught them both before they hit the edge. The runes along my arm blazed brighter—too bright. The pain came after, sharp and electric.
The cliff gave way.
We fell.
For a heartbeat there was nothing but air and light and the scream of breaking web. I reached for them both, power screaming through me, and the runes answered without permission. A pulse of raw force cracked from my palm, slamming into the cliff wall. The blast hurled us sideways into a narrow crevice, just wide enough to break our fall.
I didn't remember landing. Only the silence that followed—the silence after the world ends and hasn't quite started again.
Auralia's voice found me through the dark. "Eiran?"
"Still breathing," I rasped. "You?"
"Barely. Elya?"
A soft whimper answered.
We lay there a moment, the earth trembling as the mother Gorrach's shadow passed overhead. Then, slowly, the sounds faded—the skittering, the chanting, the distant clicks swallowed by the wind.
When I looked down at my arm, the runes were still glowing, faint and alive, like veins of molten iron under my skin.
Auralia's gaze followed them. "It's changing," she whispered.
I didn't answer. I was afraid she was right.