The sight of the wagon brought Jack back to the night his adventure with Kleo had started. His memory of being that person was faint. He found it hard to comprehend how much had changed over the last month.

  When their pace slowed, Jack sensed something was wrong. At Rugr's command to halt, he spotted a body near the wagon's rear—a pair of legs jutting into the road, twisted at unnatural angles, completely motionless. Rugr motioned to Will and Maya to move forward. “Jack, stay with Kleo. Guard the box.” Jack nodded, drawing his sacred Woog blade and scanning the woods around them.

  Rugr approached the wagon, Will flanking him on the right. Weapons drawn and ready. On the left, Maya scanned the trees for any sign of movement. When Rugr reached the body, his stomach twisted at the gruesome sight. He recognized the man—Junas Folds, a second-generation Astirian and the son of a longtime friend. His connection to the man’s family only sharpened the blow of the brutal reality before him.

  Junas lay face down in the dirt, his limbs contorted like a grotesque marionette. The deep puncture wound in his back had blossomed into a nightmarish bloom of blackened, splitting flesh, veins radiating outward in a horrific map of venom’s devastation. The swollen, pulsing discoloration stretched across his body, a grotesque swirl of sickly greens and bruised purples. His face was twisted to one side, frozen in a death mask of agony. The eyes bulged from their sockets, the whites stained yellow and spider-webbed with ruptured blood vessels. His waxy, corpse-like skin was stretched tight, and his fingers curled inward like claws--rigid in a final, futile grasp for life.

  Rugr crouched, noting the streaks of dried mud and smeared blood around the body. The tracks told a tale of desperate, hopeless struggle. The acrid tang of venom lingered in the air, mixing with the sickly sweet stench of early decay. Rugr released a low growl, struggling to contain his grief and fury.

  Will and Maya grimaced but didn't linger on Junas. Their eyes swept the woods, every sense on high alert. They'd seen deaths like this before—venom injected to kill with swift and brutal effect. Though the wound resembled those from desert scorpions, here in the forests, a spider was the likely culprit. Rugr's instincts, honed over centuries, told him the same.

  Will's gaze fixed on a slope leading to the woods above the wagon. A lone boot twisted near the edge—a grim sign of another victim. He pointed without a word, and Rugr's expression darkened. They climbed the embankment, alert to danger, swords ready, each step placed for silence. At the top of the slope lay an even more horrifying scene. Another man's remains were strewn across the ground, his torso partially consumed and still dissolving. The digestive acid melted the skin, revealing ribs slick with the viscous fluid. The remaining tissue was bloated and discolored from the venom's corruption. Blood and bile pooled beneath him in the dirt, mixing into sickly hues of black and green.

  In the middle of the abandoned camp sat something that froze them in place. A spider—massive, alien, and grotesque. Its long, segmented legs folded beneath its body like the limbs of some eldritch throne. As large as a horse, the creature lay motionless, its head resting against the earth. Thin, hair-like tendrils twitched in a slow rhythm, tasting the air. Though still, the beast was unmistakably alive.

  Maya reacted from experience, forming a shimmering dome of energy around the creature—a containment spell she’d used countless times before. Will watched as the barrier flickered to life, its edges glowing a wispy blue. It was a defensive spell, and he knew it would hold as long as she maintained focus. Relaxing, he scanned the treetops for movement, but the forest remained eerily still.

  Rugr examined the demana lying at his feet, eyes narrowing as he assessed the scene. The damage made it difficult to identify the victim, but he had a grim suspicion—“Calman Visser,” he muttered under his breath. Calman was the shadow leader within Thespis’s group and one of Barto’s trusted operatives. Under most circumstances, Calman was unlikely to have gone down without a fight, but he saw no sign of a struggle. Rugr’s jaw tightened—Calman had never seen it coming.

  With Junas and Calman dead, there should be two more, including Thespis. There were no other bodies in the clearing. Where were they? Further into the woods, Rugr noticed horses tied up to a tree. They stood patient and content, unaware of the carnage nearby. He glanced toward Will, who followed his gaze.

  “The horses look fine,” Will remarked, his voice low. “If this thing were part of a larger brood, those animals wouldn’t still be standing. They’d be spider food by now.” Rugr nodded but didn’t lower his guard. “Could’ve been on its own,” he said, his tone clipped. “Or left behind.”

  Maya moved closer to the creature, her eyes locked on its massive, folded frame. Will’s hand shot out, gripping her arm.

  “Maya—don’t.”

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  “It’s okay,” she said, her gaze never leaving the creature. “Something’s wrong with it. And the spell will hold.”

  Will released her arm, his expression a mixture of frustration and concern. He knew Maya’s skill, but that didn’t make the risk easier to swallow. He kept his sword ready, close enough to intervene if the situation turned.

  Maya knelt beside the Arraku, her movements measured. “It’s still alive,” she murmured. Extending her hand, hesitating above its mottled chitin. Will tightened his grip on his weapon but said nothing, forcing himself to trust her judgment. When her fingers brushed the creature’s shell, energy coursed through her. Maya shook as an alien flood of sensations overwhelmed her: despair, loneliness, a crushing sense of isolation, and a resigned acceptance of death. The creature’s thoughts streamed, fragmented, its emotions raw and unfiltered.

  But something else rose amidst the din of thoughts—a second presence, vast and malevolent. It loomed on the edges of her consciousness, distant but aware. Maya’s breath hitched, and she pulled her hand back as if burned, severing the connection.

  The spider’s green eyes snapped open, glowing with a faint pulse.

  Will took a defensive stance, raising his sword. “It just opened its eyes.” The rise in the pitch of his voice revealed his concern. Maya staggered to her feet, her face pale. “Get Kleo.”

  Rugr turned without a word and strode back down the incline, signaling to Jack and Kleo. “Prepare yourselves,” he said before returning to the camp.

  When Jack reached the wagon and saw Junas’s mangled body, his stomach churned. “What the—”

  Kleo gripped his hand tightly and pulled him upward, her expression steeled against the carnage. When they reached the top of the incline, Jack stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat. Another, even more gruesome corpse lay at his feet, and in the middle of the clearing, something worse. A massive spider, its unblinking eyes fixed on them.

  Maya rushed to Kleo’s side. “When I touched it—”

  Jack cut in, his voice sharp with disbelief. “When you what?”

  Both women turned to glare at him, their unspoken "not now” silencing further protest. Jack held his hands in surrender, trying to process what he saw. Maya continued, her voice trembling. “When I touched it, I connected with it somehow. It’s… alone. Isolated. It feels abandoned, purposeless, like it’s waiting to die. It’s sick—or broken.”

  “Strange,” Kleo said, observing the creature over Maya’s shoulder.

  “I felt… something else. Something malevolent. A second presence lurking at the edge of the connection.” Jack’s brow furrowed. The Whispering Secret’s cryptic advice echoed in his mind: Make the connection, take the bait. His curiosity stirred, but he pushed it aside. He was fitting the situation to the riddle. That’s how the palm readers and spirit guides got you—uttering vague phrases, allowing your mind to fill in the gaps, coaxing you to find meaning in nothing.

  They stood watching the spider, and its eyes locked on them in return—unblinking and unnervingly aware. The thought resurfaced unbidden, and Jack spoke it aloud: "Make the connection. Take the bait."

  The Spider Queen hissed her displeasure. The girl the Arraku had returned was demana, yes, but she was not Arch Demana. That mattered. She could still twist the girl’s mind, bend her into a vessel for corruption, but it would be less. Less power. Less satisfaction.

  She needed an Arch Demana—her. That one had the strength to be reshaped and become her ultimate weapon. An unstoppable force that would shatter the Demana sanctuary, that would turn the smug refuge of her tormentors into dust. And then—then she would drive her weapon against the Dark Lords themselves. They would be her masters no longer. The fools who commanded the endless, mindless Sa Kamal hordes. The fools who had banished her here. They would suffer as she had.

  Her fangs clicked with bitter delight at the thought of their ruin.

  And yet…The lost Arraku had reached out to her, giving her pause. Alone and isolated, the Arraku should have been too weak to connect with her across the vast distance. It couldn’t have done this alone. Something else had boosted its pitiful signal, made it strong enough to touch her.

  The Spider Queen ran her tongue across her slick fangs, tasting the moment. Oh, this was delicious. Had her web caught the proper prey after all? Perhaps the Arraku had found the Arch Demana. Yes—yes, that would explain everything. If it were true, she would reward the creature well. Allow it the glory of living within her shadow for a short time. Its reverence would grow unbreakable; its worship would be pure.

  What should have been a death sentence for the creature—alone and failed, so far from its nest—had turned into an unexpected opportunity.

  The Spider Queen reached out, sharpening the connection, weaving her mind around the other presence like silk. She felt it then. Not weak, but not what she had imagined. The Arch Demana should exude power, a force brimming with apocalyptic desire. She clicked her mandibles in annoyance. Yet, this Arch Demana was newly developed, like a child. Untrained. Formative. Yes. This could explain the weakness. So much the better. Easier to imprint—easier to corrupt.

  And then—the connection broke.

  The Spider Queen stilled. The faint vibrations of its fear still lingered in her mind. The second presence had fled from her. Good, she thought with cruel satisfaction. Let it be afraid. But then her triumph soured, and her anger surged.

  The Arch Demana still eluded her.

  She flicked one of her long legs, sending the cocoon dangling from the ceiling into a violent swing. Her new pet smashed against the far wall with a dull, wet thud, and her rage burned hotter. Her thoughts turned cold and sharp as glass. She would send another team. If the next group failed to return with the girl, she would send another and another. She would throw her Arraku into the void one by one if necessary—they were expendable.

  She flexed her limbs, fangs clicking a haunting rhythm as her mind spun with new plans. The Arch Demana would be hers. She would be remade.

  And the world—her tormentors, enemies, and especially her masters—would learn to fear her name.