It is a long time before Safir gets enough air through his gag to mumble the simplest fire spell he knows.

“Kasera.”

A glowing firefly flickers to life in the darkness, dancing in front of his nose. Safir guides it with his mind, tracing a steady path over the giant spiderweb he is hanging from.

It was already dark when he woke up, but Safir is sure that even if it’s daytime, no light will get through the boarded-up windows. With what illumination he managed to squeeze out from his magic pool, he has worked out that he is being kept in an abandoned shack of some kind. There is only basic wooden furniture in the cramped living space, and in the far corner is a bed that has long ago collapsed from its own weight. Straw is scattered all across the moldy floorboards and everything is caked in the same white webbing that has Safir bound to the ceiling.

With a sticky pop, one of the web snaps. Safir feels his cocoon dipping slightly. He aims the firefly at the next string but it putters out before it can get there.

Once more with enthusiasm…

Safir draws in another slow breath. Only a quarter of one nostril is open through the webbing on his face, so to say the whole ordeal is an exercise in patience is the same as saying Censa Thornrose is a woman with varied tastes.

Safir doesn’t know why the Lady of Thorns has chosen this time to pop into his mind. He’s never been one to cast judgments on humans. After all, does a radish have the right to look sideways at a carrot?

We are not even of the same kin.

Yet, for the last few hours - or days, he really has no way of knowing - Safir keeps reliving the last time he had seen Elevena. They were both riding back from the Acting Lord Commander’s camp, in the same cart with Censa.

Safir can still see clearly the look that was on the lassie’s face when given a choice of looking for Yue’ling or staying in the city to fulfill some prior promise.

Safir huffs under his gag, knowing he’s wasting precious air but unable to control himself.

It was ridiculous.

Elevena had looked so torn that Safir could feel her genuine frustration. He even felt sympathy for her. But wasn’t she the one who was looking for Yue’li in the first place? Since when did her deal with Censa, however important it may be, come into play?

I suppose it was harsh of me to leave so suddenly, Safir reflects. I was so upset I didn’t even think to ask her to explain.

Finally, his lungs are full again. His chest hurts. He’s still wounded, he knows, but there’s nothing to be done about it until he can get free. Using all the air he has accumulated, he breathes through the webbing.

“Kasera.”

And another firefly bursts into life. It flutters in front of him for a moment before perching on his nose.

Come on, little one. I'm not getting any younger.

Safir guides the fire towards another string of webbing. He cannot see all of the contact points of the spiderweb, but he’s decided to burn through all the ones he can see. As the firefly works its way through another section of the web, the room fills with the smell of burning hair, which lingers inside Safir’s nose long after darkness has reclaimed his vision.

It feels like days before Safir senses his cocoon starting to drop. It’s a gradual change at first, so subtly he doesn’t even realize it’s happening at first. And when he catches on, he is suddenly falling, too quick to even scream. He hits the floor, his rolled-up body bouncing across the ground and crashing to a stop against a set of tables and chairs. The furniture shatters from impact, showering him with splinters. Safir shuts his stinging eyes from the dust floating everywhere, and fights to contain the sneezes working their way out of him.

Keep quiet. Keep quiet. He doesn’t know if there’s anyone else in the shack with him, or anyone outside its doors meant to guard him, but he doesn’t want to make any more noise than he already has.

Something sharp is poking into his chest, probably a nail from a chair. It doesn’t matter. Safir starts to squirm, rubbing against it. He feels the pressure mount and the threads of his cocoon tugging free. Gradually and grunting from the effort, he manages to push an arm free.

The joy he feels at that moment almost makes him weep. Reaching up, he hurriedly claws off the webbing across his mouth and sucks in a great big breath.

The air is stale and sticks of mildew, but oh is it sweet.

Safir works to free the rest of his body. Soon, he is standing up, his joints cracking loudly as his muscles ache.

It is raining. The flimsy tin roof pounds with the sound of a million little hammers. Safir stretches, listening to that sound. It reminds him of home.

The Silver Ridges, as they are known to man, harbors many dwarfs inside its wide domain. But it was always the Silverbeards who truly knew how to harness the power of the mountains. When he was little, Safir would often sit and watch as his father hammered the liquid which flowed from the mountain into weapons of godly quality.

Safir reaches a hand into his beard. His fingers brush up against the tiny metal vial concealed inside.

Good. He lets out a sigh. It’s still there.

The spider-yaojin took all of his possessions when she spun him into the ceiling, but she didn’t know about this, the piece of home Safir has kept on him throughout the decades.

The liquid, which flows in the deepest tunnels below the Ridge, isn’t silver exactly, but it looks every bit as glossy and is a hundred times stronger when forged by fire.

It is also capable of bringing back the dead, though that is more of a rumor among the dwarven community than an actual fact.

Safir makes his way to the window and pushes against one of the boards, hoping to get lucky. His hands are sore from being pressed against his sides for so long. He doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been in that cocoon. Time goes by differently when there are no cues to go by.

The board snaps free. Cold rain gushes through, punching Safir in the face. The pain is heavenly. He thrusts his arms through the gap, cupping his hands together to collect as much water as he can before bringing it back in and up over his mouth. The water is icy cold and hits his stomach rumbling, warning Safir to slow down or he’ll end up with more problems than he already has.

The sky is dark outside, but Safir doesn’t know if that is due to the storm or the sun going down. He tries pulling more of the boards free but his shoulder is becoming mighty sore now. The pain is enough to make him wonder if something’s wrong.

Sure enough, feeling along the limb his fingers come across raised and broken skin. A small amount of pressure and it’s enough for him to groan. Experience tells him he has suffered a puncture wound. With that information, comes memory. Hot flashes of being surrounded, of the spiders, of being skewered by the yaojin, drums inside Safir’s mind. He inches closer to the window, hoping to get a better look at the wound through the dim light.

The spider-yaojin had been thoughtful enough to wrap Safir up in the same clothes he wore during the ambush. Now, the fabric around the wound is dark and sticks like another layer of skin. Safir tries to pick through it to see just how big the puncture is, but touching anywhere near it is enough to send shocks up his arm and neck.

It’s festering.

The thought is sobering, and the previous joy Safir had from escaping is gone now. Hesitantly, he cups a hand over the wound and whispers a healing spell.

“Helhala.”

Fire ignites inside the wound, tightening all the muscles inside Safir’s body. His jaw locks up, pain exploding inside his mouth as his tongue is caught between his teeth. He staggers from the window, his back hitting against the wall. His vision starts to fade. He’s going to pass out.

With a grunt, Safir rips his hand away. The pain lessens into a throb. His vision returns.

Panting, he slides down the wall to sit.

I’m too old for this.

Safir spits out the blood oozing from his tongue. The wound in his shoulder will not heal with magic alone. But he doesn’t have the luxury of staying put. He needs to save the other two lads, even though he isn’t sure either is alive right now. But before that, he needs to hide and recuperate and get his bearings.

Or at least get out of this particular hellhole.

The main door is unlocked, which is a surprise. Then again, no point in locking an abandoned shack when you have spiders guarding your home.

But where are they?

As Safir peers through a crack in the door, he sees that he’s in a village but it is completely deserted. The streets are empty of any movement, save for the rain splattering against the dirt. Safir wonders which of the boarded-up houses hold Timothy and Danny, but all the buildings are in similar disarray from each other and it’s impossible to tell which ones have captives inside.

He slips out into the rain.

Wind shakes against the thin walls of the abandoned houses. Water flows from overflowing gutters, flooding the street so it feels to Safir like he’s wading through a river. He sticks close to the wall of the house he escaped from, wrapping around it to find a spacious backyard that opens into a field. Beyond that, a forest stretches across the land, with its treeline only a few hundred feet away.

Safir starts for that treeline. He’ll feel much safer under natural cover, where he can look for herbs to heal his shoulder and maybe even a berry bush or two.

His stomach grumbles at the thought of food. But when he thinks about the unknown fate of his party members, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to eat even if he does find anything.

By the time Safir has reached the trees, the sky is pitch black. He has to navigate by touch. He doesn’t want to risk a Light Ball giving away his position, and if he is being brutally honest with himself, he isn’t sure he has enough magic left for another spell.

The ground is a muddy swamp and Safir is forced to limit his footsteps to the roots of trees that have emerged from the ground. The smell of fresh pine is sorely welcomed. Twice now, Safir has stopped to press his face against the rough tree trunks, lapping up the scented water rushing down it.

When he is deep into the forest, Safir can go no further. The dark makes traversal dangerous, and he wants to be in sight of the village so he can make plans to storm it tomorrow. He can’t risk building a fire, not that he even has strength left to gather the necessary supplies. But he won’t last long in the cold either. As he turns the problem around in his mind, he stumbles across a naturally formed nook created by two overarching roots that have found each other despite the bumpy terrain. He decides to settle down here.

His trek into the woods has completely drenched him, and the northern wind pierces through the wet clothing. Safir knows that he really doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have to take the risk of getting found. Else, it’s going to be frostbite.

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Sighing in resignation and exhaustion, he climbs out from the embrace of the roots to look for sticks.

Rain falls through the night. At dawn, Safir is forced from his shelter by wetness running down his back. Clambering out quickly, he sees that the ground has oversaturated itself and water is flowing steadily into the nook.

Any longer and I’d be taking a bath.

The wound on his shoulder has not gotten any worse, Safir notes with gratefulness, but he isn’t going to recover in this damp environment.

The sooner we leave, the better.

Safir starts back the way he has come, back towards the village.

The pines around him are tall with wide bare branches, which isn’t ideal for covert spying. It’s the only way he has, though. He climbs one, preferring to know what he’s going into rather than stealthy walk into a trap.

The village is as dead as a graveyard and shrouded by rainfall. The streets have turned into rivers and any traces of blood will have long been washed away. Feeling better from sleep, Safir’s thoughts are clearer. He knows what to look for.

The doors. The doors are key.

Safir keeps his gaze focused on the faces of the houses. Soon enough, he spots five houses with their doors unbarred. Unlike the rest of the shacks around them, these five shacks look the least bit weathered. Their roofs are almost completely intact and their walls are sturdy.

Perfect for storing food.

Safir climbs down the tree, thinking of a plan of attack. He doesn’t have his axes anymore, so he’ll need to be careful how and where to start searching.

If the beast knows I’m gone, she won’t go hunting for me. She knows I’ll bring myself to her. She just has to wait.

The thought of the yaojin springing another ambush on him angers Safir as much as it infuriates him, but he shifts that anger into productivity. He tries to remember every situation he’s ever been in that involved walking into a monster’s lair. He's come out of most of them more or less in one piece. So why should this time be any different?

Because there’s no one to take the fall for you this time, a cold voice inside him says. There are no more lives to fill that hole but yours.

Back in the village, Safir’s first task is to look for a weapon. He doesn’t think the spider-yaojin will keep his weapons in one of the good buildings, as there’s no sense in being so obvious. He tries hard to make peace with the reality that his axes are as good as gone, and approaches the first of the good buildings with the focus of saving lives over material gain.

The door is not barred but Safir isn’t stupid enough to go through the front. He tries the windows, as he did with his own prison.

No luck. The boards here are too tough. There’s a slit between two planks and through it, Safir can see nothing but vague outlines of furniture.

He’ll need to go through the door or break the window down with force. Both are dangerous options and Safir decides it's not worth it right now. He crosses the street, trying to keep his balance in the flowing river.

For a grown man, the water will be no more than a hindrance. To a dwarf, though, it is a risk unreflective of its optic. One slip and Safir will be plunged into the water. The current is fast enough that it’ll be a struggle for him to get back up, and he’ll drown.

Just before he reaches the other side, Safir spots a wooden pole sticking out of the mud. He wades over to get it, pulling it up to reveal the handle of a broom.

It’ll do.

Safir climbs ashore on the footsteps of the next house, holding his stick above his head like a trophy.

He turns to survey this house.

The building is a dark silhouette with two windows at the back. Both are covered, as expected, but the boards on the right window look thinner and more worn. He will be able to break these.

Safir considers his options. Go through or keep looking? He’s suddenly feeling anxious. Terrified, actually. He isn't nearly as spry as he was during his adventuring days, and he feels that truth deep in his sore bones.

He’s still being indecisive when a flash brightens the surroundings, illuminating his reflection in the water.

He looks ghastly, even for a tired old dwarf. This adventure has taken its toll. His beard is a dusty gray color. His eyes are lost within wrinkled frames.

He's getting too old to waste any more time thinking.

Safir grips his broom handle tightly. He wades over to the window. Holding the stick up high he announces in a clear voice,

“Kinle Soen.”

A coat of light wraps around the stick, transforming it into an ethereal sword. Safir swings down. The boards crumble from the window, carried away by the water.

Safir immediately smells it. The dark stench of death. He knows it all too well. Raising his sword to the darkness, he lets its light cast truth on the shadows.

The room is small and sparsely decorated. All along its walls are webs, glistening wetly from the light like layers of fine powdered snow.

Safir’s breath catches. In the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling is a cocoon.

He scrambles through the window. His footing slips on the frame and he crashes onto the floor. He gets up and races over to the cocoon, rounding to the front of it to see…

A skeleton.

Loosely wrapped in webbing, the bones of the human look too thin, too fragile. There is not a scrap of flesh hanging off it, so Safir has no way to tell who it is. Judging from the size of the femur, he estimates the victim to be a child, not yet reaching adulthood.

Small.

Tiny.

Safir turns away to spew what few berries he had for breakfast. “No,” he groans, “no.”

It’s not Tim, his rational brain tries to tell his panic-stricken heart. It’s too old to have been fresh prey.

But the cold and ominous voice inside him cuts through any common sense.

How long have you been unconscious, really? It could have been weeks. You don’t know for sure.

Safir stumbles out of the house, using the front door now. He doesn’t care. He just needs to get out, to let the rain wash over him with its freezing mercy.

It takes him a while to get his senses back. When he does, Safir goes straight back to searching. After seeing the village from the tree, he has a map of it inside his mind - a skill he has decades of adventuring to thank. He finds the next house easily enough, and this time he skips caution and goes directly to the front door.

The only way to quell the terror of losing Timothy is to find him alive.

Safir doesn’t need to kick the door down, because it's already ajar when he gets there. A push is enough to snap it off its hinges. Looking inside, Safir has no glowing sword to use. His magic has almost run out entirely. He holds the now ordinary stick out like a walking cane, using the pale light coming through the empty doorframe behind him to see.

The room looks ransacked. Everything is broken. And on the floor is what seem to be pieces of a cocoon.

Safir feels his spirits rise. Could one of the lads have escaped?

He goes in. There are signs of a struggle elsewhere. One of the inner walls have been demolished, like something heavy had been thrown through it. Over in one corner is a pile of torn clothing. Moving the rags aside, Safir finds a smear the size of a small creature.

Or a spider monster.

It doesn’t take much effort to find more of these smudges. They are everywhere. Whoever it was that escaped really put up a fight.

Safir crouches down to inspect one of the blood smears closely. To his distress, he notes that it looks to be at least a week old. Going back to the cocoon, he shifts through the pieces until he finds a thread of dark hair, much too long to belong to either the lads.

Disappointed, he moves on. As he stands, dizziness hits him. He totters over to the wall, his world spinning, and leans against it.

Not yet, he thinks, closing his eyes against the self-deprecating infuriation of losing one’s edge. I can't be all done yet.

He gets up slowly like an old man. Wind and rain lash from the opened door, pelting needles across his face.

And then he feels something shift along the floor, a tiny vibration that lets him know he isn’t alone.

Safir opens his eyes and turns, broomstick thrusting into the dark. The shadows seem to move. Or is that a trick of his eyes? He controls his fear, standing with his knees bent in case something comes screaming out at him.

Nothing does.

Emerging into the glow of light, Timothy pulls himself out on bloody hands. His eyes are glued shut with yellow puss and there is a spider latched to his back.

Writhing like a worm trying to get free, Timothy lets out a long, rattling gasp,

“He…lp.”

“Dear goddesses!” Safir dashes towards Tim just as the spider leaps off of him. Bounding across the room, it lunges at Safir.

“Back, fiend!” Safir swings his stick, clubbing the spider to the ground. “Back!”

The spider gives a nasty screech and springs up on its hind legs.

Summoning the last sliver of magic he has left, Safir commands the stick in his hands to take shape once more.

“Kinle SOEN!”

The blade emerges from the broomstick as if it’s always been there. Safir swings, purple fire gliding through the room.

The spider bursts like a dandelion made of ash.

Safir drops the stick and leans his hands over his knees. His lungs don't seem to be able to draw in enough air. But the spider is dead. He needs to hurry. If there's another one...

Swaying on his feet, Safir staggers over to Tim.

The boy cringes away at his touch.

“It’s me, lad.”

The boy answers with a terrified sob.

“Safir?” He reaches blindly for the dwarf. “Is that... really you?”

“Yes,” Safir answers, “Yes, it’s me. You’re safe now. Is Danny here too?”

“D-danny?” Tim shakes his head. “N-no. I found this place yesterday and…” A sob escapes him and he’s suddenly pushing Safir away. “You must find him! You have to go before-”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Safir cuts him off, taking one of the boy's arms and draping it over his shoulder. “We need to get out of here.”

The boy is still trying to fight but he’s moving too feebly to be of any proper resistance. Still, Safir finds himself straining to drag Tim through the house.

I can't be this weak.

It’s only when he looks back that Safir understands why.

Attached to the lower half of Timothy’s body are hundreds of tiny white spiders, crawling within the rotting flesh.

“SHIT!”

Safir drops Timothy and clambers for his broomstick. His fingers have just found it when pain shoots through his left leg. One of the spiders has latched on, its venomous fangs sinking through the fabric of his clothing. Safir collapses to the floor, trying to shake the spider off. He kicks at it with his other foot but the spider stays on.

The monster yowls in triumph. More start to follow. Safri sees them spring-boarding from Tim's body onto his.

The world starts to take on a red tinge. Safir feels many pairs of tiny fangs digging into him. In desperation, he snaps the stick against the ground and shoves its jagged end into the monsters' heads, stabbing them against his own leg.

It works. The spiders let go and scurry away.

Safir wastes no time crawling back up. He makes madly for the door, hearing more cries sound from behind him. He can feel tiny legs scuttling on the floorboards, catching up to him.

Rain pours through the doorway. The floor is wet. Safir’s feet slide out under him. He’s going to slip. And die. With a mighty yell, Safir throws his weight towards the empty space outside, feeling the rain on his face, the wind in his beard, the mud on his face as he crashes into the flooded street.

Panting, screaming, Safir gets up, turns around to see the spiders pause on the threshold, an army of tiny white dandelion heads.

Lightning flashes, illuminating their albino bodies, their wicked mandibles dripping blood.

Safir watches, frozen, as one by one, the creatures crawl back into the house.

Then he is alone. Alone in the cold and the rain.

You did it again.

“Damn it, no!” Safir pounds a fist into the mud. He stares after the spiders, almost wishing they will come out and take him. “No!”

Another soul lost because of you.

Safir rips a handful of mud and hurls it at the house. It splats against the doorframe. He cries at the darkness behind it, “You weren’t supposed to die here! What happened to being redeemed, Tim! What happened to your future!”

Grief wracks from his chest, more painful than any spider’s bite. He tears at his robe, tattering it even more. He pounds against the ground, curses the goddesses for their cruelty.

He doesn’t hear the sound of Ae’ru approaching, doesn’t even know she’s on him until he feels her talons grasping his arms.

“Where does this little piggy think he’s going?”

The spider-yaojin licks her lips, a twisted grin shattering the illusion of her pretty face. With the two spider legs on her back, she lifts Safir high into the sky.

“To think I almost lost another prey.”

The grin on her face changes into a snarl. She shakes her head as if clearing a bad dream, sprinkling the rain from her light-grey hair. “No, no, no. The woman had Ancient blood inside her. I couldn’t have known. I couldn’t have been prepared for it.”

Safir realizes she's talking about whoever escaped the room before him.

Ae'ru glares at Safir like it’s all his fault. “Once I finish with you three, I’ll grow powerful again. Then, I’ll go after that woman and make an ornament out of her head!”

Safir feels warm blood running down his shoulder. The wound has reopened. He doesn’t really care anymore.

“Kill me,” he says, barely hearing his own voice over winds howling through the street. “But let the lads live.”

The yaojin’s laughter echoes in the thunder.

Listening to the sound, Safir’s heart sinks.

“You should’ve left them, dwarf! Then they wouldn’t have died for nothing!”

Safir doesn’t say anything. Rain pours down his face. He closes his eyes, feeling the coldness against his eyelids, then opens them again.

“That’s something you’ll never understand, fiend.”

He reaches around and grabs one of the yaojin’s spider legs.

“Comrades never abandon.”

With the yaojin still watching him, Safir takes in a sharp breath and draws upon the deepest, more sacred pool of magic he has.

His lifeforce.

“Kinl-”

Rain parts way for lightning. Ae’ru jerks sideways as something clips into her. Through her.

Safir falls to the ground, the spell lost in an ‘Oophm!”

Looking up, he catches Ae’ru staring back at him, a mixture of confusion and alarm on her face. He gazes back with his own brand of similar shock.

“What…” Ae’ru lowers her spider legs to eye level. The cuts are clean, still steaming from the heat. “What have you done to-”

Safir hears it this time, the sound of raindrops being cut.

Ae’ru jerks again to the other side. This time she staggers, a hand darting down to feel her belly.

For a second, nothing happens as she stands there, the rain turning red as it runs down her body.

Then, a crimson ribbon forms across the tanned skin, the blood washing off as quickly as it seeps.

And then it no longer seeps but sprays, and Ae’ru’s top and bottom halves fall away from each other.

As her head bobs up and down in the water, Safir can still see the expression of confusion still frozen on it. He looks away, horrified and disgusted.

That's how he sees the figure catching the blade as it flies back to her.

His mind goes blank. He stares, not believing. Not seeing.

It’s the rain. It’s creating illusions.

Except it isn’t. Standing down the street, holding a blade of lightning, is Elevena Windborne.

Light flashes bright, framing the golden-haired girl as she comes down the street.

Safir stands, joy and hope overwhelming his sense. “Lassie?” he asks as Elevena approaches. “Thank the goddesses, lassie. You are a sight for sore-”

He frowns. Something is wrong. His voice is gone. He looks down, thinking he’ll see one of the spiders wrapped around his throat or something.

Only, no. It isn’t a monster, but a sword.

A sword plunged into his gut.

Safir’s eyes trace the length of the blade. It is a beautiful blade, curved blue steel, so thin yet so sharp. It’s held by a dainty hand sheathed in black gloves, belonging to the same blue-eyed girl who asked him for directions the first day she came to the city, the same girl who went with him underground to look for the Mistress of Mischief, the same girl who promised to go north with him only to be pulled away by someone else’s promise.

“You aren’t her,” Safir says, but what comes out of his mouth instead is blood, rivering over his lips into his silver beard. His vision tilts. He falls.

No. You are not her.