Fennel darted through the sea of webs toward the cocoon Kael had pointed out. His movements were fluid, his agility truly something to behold.

Even as he moved, there was no sign of disturbance among the webs. The silence of the chamber remained unbroken—no movement from the eggs, no skittering of spider legs.

I watched as Fennel reached the first cocoon. “Great,” Grizmar muttered under his breath, his massive frame tense as he scanned the area, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble. “So far, so good.”

Fennel wasted no time. With a single swipe of his claw, he tore through the webbing of the cocoon, the sticky fibers snapping with faint, wet sounds.

The opening revealed what lay inside—a lifeless body, pale and unmoving.

Fennel froze, his claws trembling slightly as he processed what he was seeing.

The person inside had clearly suffocated, their face contorted in a expression of fear and despair.

Thankfully, the individual inside wasn't Tasha, but another adventurer who had perished from the lack of air in the tightly sealed, claustrophobic cocoon.

“Damn it,” Fennel hissed in frustration. He didn’t linger long, turning his attention in urgency towards the next cocoon nearby. His claws made short work of the webbing once again, slicing through it as he called out, “Tasha!”

The fibers fell away, revealing a figure inside. Fennel leaned in, his ears twitching as he pressed his head close to hers, listening intently. A few seconds passed before his shoulders relaxed slightly. He straightened up, cradling the unconscious figure in his arms with care.

“It’s her,” he called out softly, relief evident in his voice. “She’s breathing. She’s alive.”

Grizmar exhaled audibly, a sound that carried relief. “Good. Now get back here.”

Fennel adjusted his hold, shifting Tasha’s limp form into a more secure princess carry.

My eyes locked onto her, and I took in her appearance for the first time. Even in her unconscious state, there was something striking about her. Her face was delicate, her features soft with a slight roundness to her cheeks that gave her a youthful look. Long, silvery-white hair spilled out.

But what stood out the most were her ears—long, velvety rabbit-like ears that drooped slightly, a telltale trait of her species. She was a member of the Moonstrider Tribe, a group of beastkin that were quite hard to put a label to.

Her ears twitched faintly, as if reacting to the subtle vibrations in the air.

Unlike other tribes that specialized in specific roles—like tanks, scouts, or damage dealers—the Moonstriders were incredibly versatile.

Their abilities varied greatly from one individual to another, making it nearly impossible to categorize them into a single role. But what set them apart was specifically their unique inherited ability, Hare’s Luck.

Hare’s Luck wasn’t flashy or offensive ability, but it was immensely powerful. This passive ability guaranteed positive outcomes in both skill acquisition and skill upgrades.

In this world, where improving abilities depended on countless unpredictable factors, that kind of reliability was an enormous advantage.

To upgrade a skill, an adventurer needed an awakened crystallized heart from a monster. Each one carrying a unique property based on its origin that could influence the result of the upgrade or skill acquired from it, and the outcome was affected by that countless variable. For pretty much everyone, upgrading or acquiring a skill was a gamble. It could result in all sorts of outcome, be it positive or negative.

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For Moonstriders, however, Hare’s Luck removed all the guesswork. Their upgrades were guaranteed to enhance their skills in a beneficial way. No bad outcomes, no drawbacks—only positive growth.

Skill acquisition was another area where the Moonstriders excelled. Typically, when an adventurer gained a new skill, there was a chance it might not suit their existing abilities or playstyle. Some might even gain skills that clashed with their current setup, leaving them at a disadvantage. Moonstriders, on the other hand, were guaranteed to acquire skills that complemented their existing abilities. It was as if the world itself conspired to ensure their success.

This made them incredibly versatile. Their future potential wasn’t locked into a single role or archetype—it depended entirely on their first acquired skill and how they chose to develop it.

I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. For someone like me, every choice and upgrade was a calculated risk. But for them, it was as if the universe itself was paving their path forward, ensuring they would only grow stronger with each step.

Her potential was vast, and her future was undoubtedly bright... if she actually had one.

Like everything else, balance had its cost. The Moonstrider Tribe, for all their amazing potential, paid a steep price: their lives were heartbreakingly short, averaging just 20 years.

While humans and other species could live into their eighties or even over a century, Moonstriders lived fast and burned out even faster. They matured quickly, but that also meant their time in the world was painfully brief.

No matter how strong they became or how much they accomplished, they never lived long enough to make a lasting mark on the bigger picture of Dungeon End.

Their brilliance was like a flame—bright and beautiful, but gone far too soon.

Fennel began his sprint back toward us, Tasha cradled protectively in his arms. Even with the added weight of another person, his movement was as smooth as before.

So far, there had been no sign of danger—no movement from the eggs, no spiders appearing from the shadows.

But the sense of relief was short-lived.

The faint glow of the crystals in the cave walls and floor that had been our only source of light in the pitch-black darkness—started to fade.

It wasn’t gone completely but was being drowned out. It felt like the air itself was getting sucked into a creeping shadow that began in the middle of the cavern and quickly spread out.

I blinked, trying to make sense of it. The crystals still emitted their faint glow, yet the darkness seemed to consume their light, overwhelming it.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Kael’s nose twitched, his ears flattening against his head. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured, his usually calm voice edged with tension. “The air’s changed. the smell of the spider's... their getting stronger.”

Grizmar’s stiffening as he scanned the area. “Stay alert,” he growled. “Whatever it is, it’s not good.”

Fennel, still running, turned his head slightly to glance back at us. “What are you guys talking about? Everything’s fine—”

“Look up!” Lila screamed out, her voice trembling as she peeked out from my pouch.

We all did.

And there it was.

A shape, impossibly massive, blotted out the faint light above us. At first, it was hard to make out—it moved so smoothly, so silently, that it seemed like a trick of the shadows. But as it descended, the details became horrifyingly clear.

A spider.

Not like the ones we’d encountered before, though. This one dwarfed them all. Its massive body, nearly the size of the cavern itself, hung from the ceiling by thick, silken threads. Each of its eight legs was as long as a tree trunk, covered in spiny black hairs. The legs moved with deliberate precision, gripping the webbing as it lowered itself toward the cavern floor.

Its body was grotesquely swollen. it's crimson, dozens of them, stared down at us from its head. But it was its grotesquely swollen body that froze me.

“Is… is that the queen?” Kael asked, his voice barely stable.

Grizmar didn’t answer. His grip on his shield tightened, his knuckles turning white as he stepped forward slightly, positioning himself between us and the creature.

Fennel skidded to a stop, his ears flattening as he stared up at the descending monstrosity. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “That thing is massive!”

Kael swallowed hard, his voice shaky but steady enough to get his words out. “That’s… not just massive. That’s unnatural. Nothing should get that big.”

Lila whimpered, shrinking deeper into my pouch. “What do we do now?” she whispered, her small voice barely audible over the faint clicking of the spider’s legs against the webbing.

The queen climbed down with a grace that didn’t match her massive size, each leg landing perfectly on her silk threads with creepy accuracy.

The air grew colder as her massive form filled more and more of our view.

Grizmar finally spoke, his voice filled with urgency. “Fennel, get Tasha to safety. Now!”