How does a [Mage] say goodbye?

No, bear with me for a moment, that is an excellent question. How does one do that? And I don’t mean ‘say goodbye’ as in ‘wave goodbye with your hand’, that wouldn’t be grand, or a real answer.

No, I mean a real, definitive, goodbye. The kind that leaves you with bitterness in your mouth and a sad, nostalgic, smile.

Now, there are many good ways to say goodbye: a [Musician] or a [Bard] or an [Actor] can just bow. But here’s the thing: bowing is their signature. It’s only special if they’re the ones who do it. I guess that’s the power of showmanship, but alas, nothing can be done about it.

So we’re left with this surprisingly complex question of how a [Mage] looks at their audience of friends and enemies and… says goodbye. Words can’t be enough, no, it must be something great, something unforgettable, something that will separate them from the riff raff of those simple showmen, something…

Well, maybe we’ll find the answer to that soon.

----------------------------------------

Nero walked into the royal palace of the kingdom of Scasce. It was a week away from the Forest of Tusca, otherwise known as ‘The Colorful Nightmare’ and ‘The Painter’s Dream’.

No one knew exactly how the forest had come to be: one day, it had been an absolutely normal place, the next it was as if a rainbow had vomited over it and every animal living inside. Some [Researchers] speculated it was the collateral damage of a powerful Spell, but [King] Carmine thought it stupid: no magic existed in the world that could cause such a thing, especially that powerful. Well, maybe with the exception of the Tower Academy, but the place was worse than a monastery when it came to keeping its knowledge sealed in, to be used only for its students.

I wonder what floor they managed to reach now, he thought to himself. Last he’d heard, they were stuck on the forty-fifth floor, fighting gods-knew-what for the right to learn the lessons hidden inside those classrooms.

Bah, it mattered not. Right now what mattered was the men who had just walked in. Nero. Such an unusual name. At least, for an Irevian. He was pretty sure that on Eva it was common.

The man had become, recently, the bearer of such bad news that he hadn’t been able to sleep for a week straight (without using Sleep Potions) after hearing them.

There were, apparently, arachne in his kingdom. Hidden in the Forest of Tusca no less! He had wondered, for a short while, if it had been their fault that the trees had changed color, only to realize that it was impossible. They would never attract so much attention to themselves. Also, the [Explorers] who’d been sent there to, for lack of a better word, explore the place, had not reported back anything too exceptional.

They’d probably settled in at a later date.

“Your Majesty,” said Nero as he bowed deeply.

He was a scarred man. Something to be expected from an ex-[General] who’d fought in many wars and, apparently, another Nest of those deathspawned. That he was still alive to tell the tale was a testament to his bravery, resilience and intelligence.

Also, his complete and utter idiocy. If he had been in the man’s place he would’ve left the College after that first Nest without looking back.

Alas, King Carmine didn’t know the policies of the College of Memoirs. He didn’t know that, once one was in, there were little to no possibilities of leaving. Well, leaving with your head attached to its body. It was traditional, in the College, to execute people by beheading them. Something about making sure no Memories could hide inside.

“[Memoir Holder General] Nero, rise.”

Nero did. His hair, as his name suggested, was black. Was being the key word: now it was more white than black. The King couldn’t tell for sure if it was because of age or stress. Probably both.

“I have come to ask if the requested suppression army has been prepared.”

That was why he had come here. The College may hold lots of power around the world, but it was still bound by the laws of the kingdoms it visited. And if it wanted an army, it had to ask.

“Yes, it is ready. I am sorry it took this long.”

Nero had come here months ago with the request for an army. Which was not a problem per se. The problem was that the kingdom had a very finite number of [Soldiers] to throw into a literal meat grinder, so it had taken quite some time to recruit and form something akin to an army. And even then, it wasn’t much of one: only ten thousand soldiers.

The [King] knew that, even with all the Skills one could think about, maybe a tenth would come back. That was how powerful arachne were. But he didn’t care about that. Armies could be rebuilt much easier than a kingdom razed to ashes, and if the arachne had attacked one village then it meant they would, sooner or later, come for the capital. And afterwards… who knew.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. This will not be forgotten.”

“Make sure it doesn’t. I’m sending those people to their deaths.”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, I am a capable [General] and have the right Memories to keep them all alive.”

“I never said otherwise, Sir. But I know my history. I know what those monsters are capable of. I have little expectations to see them come back.”

Nero could say nothing to that.

Because the man was right.

----------------------------------------

It was a Grasei when it happened.

Grasei, Fifteenth of Wondros, the eleventh month of the year.

The seventh day of the week, in the middle of the second to last month.

Nero didn’t like this date. It didn’t feel special in any way. The numbers didn’t align to form some special combination. If it had been up to him he would’ve waited up to the twelfth of Zastone, the twelfth month. Maybe he would’ve been lucky and that day would’ve fallen in a Felsei, the sixth day of the week. That would’ve been better. Or, even more so, something on the fifth day of the fifth month.

After all, every time someone killed a nest of arachne, stories were told of their bravery. And doing so during a combination of fives would’ve made everything much better.

But alas, time wasn’t on his side. The longer he waited, the longer the arachne had to acquire power. And that would, sooner or later, lead to disaster.

“Torches on!” he spoke through a Speaking Stone, a simple quartz stone enchanted and connected to other similar ones so that he could give orders.

All around him his army, which had been sitting in the dark up until then, began being lit up by countless lights, like a starry sky all of its own.

When the place they’d been hiding in, waiting for the cover of the night, was illuminated by a star of fire all of its own, he took a deep breath.

Memories of countless moments like this flashed before his eyes. The minute before the battle began, before the last and first command was given. The calm, the heart beating out of your chest no matter how many times you did this.

He hadn’t been a [General] long enough to become desensitized to this. And, really, he hoped he would never change that way. In his opinion, only monsters forgot that sensation of anxiety and expectation.

Right now, to his [Soldiers] he was a god as much as any of the ones they prayed to in their temples or before their cots. He held their lives in his hands, a puppeteer to a show where the swords weren’t made of colored wood and the blood wasn’t string or red water.

A musician who played a song in the screams of his enemies and allies, the clanging of swords and the clopping of horses’ hooves (sadly not present here) his instruments.

He took a deep breath, held it there for a few seconds, released it.

The stone was raised to his lips seemingly by a stranger’s hand.

And he spoke words that didn’t sound his own.

“Burn them to Airm.”

The Forest of Tusca was set ablaze.

----------------------------------------

Isse woke up to shouts.

That was how she began to understand that something was wrong: normally, there was a [Bubble of Silence] Spell around her and Anda's little clearing. Now, she could no longer feel it in the air.

Then came the shouts.

"RUN! They found us!"

Immediately Isse woke up fully and, with her, Anda as well. Her eyes were still half closed, but that lasted only a few seconds, before she too heard the shouting, her eyes sharpening instantly.

They fell from their hammock, touching the ground on their feet, ready for anything that might come at them. Instead they just heard someone out there shouting: "Take what you can and run!"

Again, they were ready. They turned around towards the little furniture they possessed na,d began putting their things inside little bags of holding stored inside. They'd been gifted those after they'd... passed the 'worst' part of their puberty. They weren't high quality Bags of Holding, they were, after all, mass produced by Aru and Grandmother, but they were better than most of the low quality ones she'd seen being sold in the human cities.

What's happening? she asked Siidi as she put her dress made from Shifting Silk inside and latched her bag shut.

I'm afraid, Isse, that somehow the humans have found us. And are attempting to kill us, was the answer.

Isse batted her eyes in surprise. Not because of the answer, but because of Siidi's tone. She didn't sound scared, nor angry. Just... tired. Really tired.

It always ends this way. I was hoping, against all hope, I wouldn't have to witness anything like this again. Better a life of doing nothing in this forest than having to fight like this again.

She paused a moment, then added: No matter what happens, Isse. Never stop running. Don't look back. That's... all I can do for you.

That, more than anything, made Isse understand how bad the situation was. No sarcasm, no witty sentences. Just... a true [Warrior]'s endless tiredness of battle. Which... was strange. Siidi always seemed to enjoy fighting. What was different this time?

I am not tired of the fights, sister. I'm tired of this endless war, this never ending hunt. I'm sorry, Isse. Now you are part of it.

Then she saw the flames.

----------------------------------------

"[Fire Mages]! Snuff out those flames. Form a corridor to get us out of here!" shouted one of the arachne [Warriors].

She was holding a simple steel sword she'd taken off of a [Fighter]'s body. The man had wandered too deep in the forest and found out just what it was truly hiding.

The [Mages], three twins who looked exactly the same, nodded and began chanting.

Not long afterwards, the flames began to abate.

----------------------------------------

"Sir! Report from the western front! The fire has begun to recede from the forest! We found them! They're trying to suppress the flames, probably to escape."

One of the [Strategists] in Nero's tent said, a Speaking Stone to his ear as he received this report.

Nero sighed: Here it begins.

"We can't allow this."

He walked out of the tent, slowly but surely looking at the burning forest in front of him. The flames were being fueled by both wood and magic, letting them spread faster and in a much wider area. But, even from here, on the northern side of the forest, he could see, in the distance, the flames' movements beginning to slow down as they were slowly snuffed out. No, that couldn't be allowed at all. If even one escaped then this whole operation would be for nothing.

"[Tradition: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies]!"

The words, when he said them, resonated, his tone becoming much deeper than usual. For a moment, as he did, he could see flickers of the memory's story.

A [Priest] kneeled in front of an altar, his hands held together in prayer. The statue behind the altar represented a big, muscled, man holding a hammer and raising it over an anvil, ready to strike. On the anvil, a fire burned. The priest prayed, and someone behind him broke down the doors of the temple...

Fire. Everything was on fire. But the priest didn't care. He was still praying even as the flames covered his body. But they didn't burn him, unlike the men who'd destroyed the entrance to this holy place. Those were screaming their lungs out as their eyes melted out of their sockets and their lungs were filled with ash, the meat burning and melting on and off their bones. The priest kept on praying...

The priest, much older now, was talking to a young man in front of him, showing him the temple and, especially, the statue, where the brazier holding the flames that had saved him and his city were still held, burning even now. The man bowed and fell to his knees in adoration...

The young man sat in a chair by the bed, at the priest's side. He is now a [Priest] himself and is using a Skill to soothe the old man's pains, to give him a painless death, whenever that will come. The priest is smiling, his lips moving, but Nero couldn't hear the words. He is requesting something. One last favor...

The priest's body is lowered into the holy flames he had spent his whole life guarding and praying to. The miracle of life that had saved him and the people he loved and cared for. The flames, for a moment, don’t touch the body, letting it float inside. Then they feed upon it. And the young priest, the successor, receives a message from the System: [Conditions Met - Memory: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies -> Tradition: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies].

A man stands in front of the young priest. He is young no more. He has grown into a man. He is also holding the knife in his gut, keeping it in place. He is trying to say the words, to call upon the Skill that had always helped his city. But the man is there to take the words out of his mouth, to suck them into his own, to silence him and his requests for help. Then, he walks behind the altar, towards the statue, taking the brazier with the eternal flames. He leaves behind only one thing: the insignia of the College of Memoirs.

The memories stop. For a moment, Nero felt his head spinning, but then he managed to grab onto one of the [Strategists] who'd walked out with him, stabilizing himself.

Meanwhile, the fires began burning brighter.

----------------------------------------

Grandmother looked at the fire from her clearing of silken white. She grimaced, her face a mask of disgust and hatred.

They were here again. To get her and her daughters, to try to finish what the Hunters couldn’t. They’d fail, of course. She knew as much. She was certain of it beyond doubt. But many would die tonight. And, sadly, not only her enemies.

She knew this, for she had felt the Tradition being called upon to stoke those miserable flames. The College was here. And if they had come, it meant that they’d also brought that abominable Skill. The gift from the Gods to humanity to help them fight off the ‘Silken Menace’.

The flames rose higher, uncaring of the [Mages] attempting to quench them in any way possible. For they answered only to the will of their god, and that will, pronounced centuries ago, was to burn the enemies of his people. Sadly, the arachne qualified as such.

The flames began reaching deeper into the forest. She felt them touching the strings of her great web, beginning to eat away at it.

Her grimace deepened, and she snapped her fingers.

Immediately, the flames that touched her creation began turning white, the color spreading outwards. Already, it was becoming colder, slowing down.

She may not be able to stop them completely, she was no god after all, but she served a power just as ancient, if not even older in some other places, than them. The least it could allow her was turning off some godsdamned flames. Especially at the height of her power, at the heart of Winter.

“Come, little prey. The Resting has ended. Let the Hunt begin anew.”

----------------------------------------

The [Soldiers] stared at the flames in fear as they received a very simple order:

“Advance!”

But there was a fucking fire right in front of them!

“Do not fear the flames! They will not burn you! They’ve been enhanced to burn only the arachne!”

Easy for you to say you fucker! You’re not the one who’s being asked to walk into a pyre! Usually when something is burning it will burn you back, especially if you put your fucking saintly little feet on top of it. You can’t expect us to just blindly trust that a Skill can just turn all these flames into a friendly lil’ bonfire.

“[Fearless Advance]!” shouted a voice from behind. The [General]. Nero was his name. Apparently he’d already fought arachne in the past.

But it didn’t matter. Now they felt compelled to advance into the fire. What was the worst it could do? Make you feel hot? Ha! They were [Soldiers] ready to kill arachne. A little fire wouldn’t stop them from completing this holy mission!

They began walking into the fire.

And, as promised, the flames didn’t burn them. Instead, they clung to their armor, cradling them in warmth, welcoming them in, whispering sweet nothings with the sound of falling hammers in the background.

They didn’t notice the webs. Nor did they see when the flames began turning white and the sweet whispers became pained screams.

Then the fire was no longer warm: it was cold. Freezing cold. Like walking through a blizzard, in full plate armor, with no clothes underneath.

They began screaming as the steel became so cold it burned them, sticking to their skins, locking their joints in place. They screamed as the blood in their veins began to slow down, their hearts becoming too cold to pump the life-giving liquid. They felt them try to contract with all their might and failing to do anything, and it brought them even more pain. They screamed, until their vocal chords were covered in brine and ice that cut through their throats. Yet they didn’t die, because there was little blood to be pumped out of the cuts. No gurgles filled the air. At some point, it just became silent.

Nero watched this from the back and sighed.

First blood goes to them, he thought.

Then the arrows began to rain on them.

----------------------------------------

Desina held a short sword in her left hand. It was not her preferred weapon, she was more into heavy weapons like morningstars and longswords, but she couldn’t exactly use those while missing an arm. Especially her dominant one.

Maybe, one day, she could’ve managed to do it with the right Skills, but Grandmother had also locked her out of her [Warrior] Class, so she had nothing. Nothing but the intense training she’d since gone through.

She wasn’t at her peak, not even close, but, she had told herself, if I’m bound to go down, at least I’ll bring as many of them as I can with me.

She heard Pochi give an order to the [Archers] and [Hunters] and they all fired at once towards the approaching army.

For now, they wouldn’t be coming close.

----------------------------------------

Iadara Silksoul finished freeing the last animal she held in her cage, a little colorful sparrow that had taken a liking to her a very long time ago. His cage had never been truly closed, at any moment he could’ve just booped it open with his little paws or his beak and flown away, unlike the other animals.

But he’d always stayed there, keeping her company through her highs and lows, chirping little songs to brighten her days.

He was a lovely animal, and because of that she was going to have to let him go.

“You’re free, Abraham. Fly away. You won’t have a home here for much longer. Those big bad [Soldiers] will burn this place to the ground.”

The bird chirped in worry, understanding her. Was he asking her if she was going to be ok?

“Of course, you stupid little animal. I can’t die until I’ve tasted every single type of alcohol in the world, remember?”

The bird chirped something that was probably a laugh, nuzzling her cheek.

“I’m sorry, Abraham, but you really have to go. I don’t want them to hurt you. Go. We will meet again when this is all over.”

She smiled one last time as her little friend flew away.

Then she turned back towards her clearing, skittering towards her stash of wine bottles. She took a bottle of the cheap, strong, stuff, popped open the cork, and began drinking.

If she was going to die, she wouldn’t do it sober.

----------------------------------------

Arunielle Silksoul looked up from the table in her little clearing of wonderful colors.

She saw the flames rising over the top of the trees, saw how some of them began turning white, and sighed.

She then turned back to her work. This dress wasn’t going to finish itself on its own.

She just hoped that the pigments for it wouldn’t arrive too soon.

----------------------------------------

Makira sighed, then took a deep breath. She sat on the ground, her legs relaxed, her arms flopping uselessly on her sides as she let her mind wander to much more pleasant places and memories.

Anything to stay away from those horrible desires and memories hidden in the darkest depths of her mind, normally chained down and kept at bay without so much as a thought. Now the things, the monsters, were beginning to stir, whispering about a time just like this, in a different place altogether: a set of great caves hidden in the Tiurna Mountains.

She felt the hunger deep inside her claw at the chains of mythril she’d bound it in, failing miserably in its attempt to free itself, instead just shrieking in rage. It wanted out!

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

She gave that thing as big a middle finger as she could and went back to relaxing.

Fighting while being distracted was a surefire way of getting killed, and if she died then she wouldn’t be able to keep the spiderlings and their big sisters safe.

They may be adults now, but that meant nothing if said adult had been alive for less than a year. They had lots of time left, and even more things to learn.

She would do anything to allow them to live.

Finally, she lifted her body from the ground. The blood pumped through her veins slowly and steadily, her heart beating methodically. Her feet moved on the snow-covered ground with the grace of a dancer ready to step on the stage and her eyes, with the help of her Skills, saw all around her.

She sighed one last time.

Into the breach we go, one.. more… time.

----------------------------------------

Nero watched the white flames with a deep frown. This was completely unexpected, but since he had expected to see something unexpected it didn’t count. Arachne had this bad habit of always having something new up their rancid cunts.

“What should we do [General]?” asked one of his [Strategists].

Nero turned to look at the young man and thought that he was too inexperienced for this kind of battle. ‘Still wet behind the ears’ would say his old instructor.

Still, he had some damn good Skills, and that was why he had been proposed to him by King Carmine. Nero would’ve refused if he had been in the boy’s place, but alas, he needed every hand and head he could get. One more body for the grinder was a chance for one more dead arachne.

“You tell me boy. Lesson time, come on. What do you see, and how do you think we should solve the problem?”

The [Strategist] stared at him with a wide open mouth: “Sir, with all due respect, this isn’t the time for lessons.”

“On the contrary boy, it’s the best of times. It’s a situation with a real problem that could get your [Soldiers] and you killed. There’s no better time to Level. Now answer my questions.”

The boy looked at the scene, his complexion paling ever so slightly as his eyes stopped for a moment on the soldiers who’d been frozen to death. He seemed to think about it for a moment, then he answered:

“Sir, currently we’re fighting an enemy with unknown abilities and Skills who has managed to turn a Tradition Skill against us, subverting its function. If we were to go by the book, I’d suggest we retreat and regroup. But -” he stopped Nero before he could say something very offensive “- I should probably take that book and chuck it into those flames, am I right?”

Nero nodded.

“Which means, we have to find a way to get around those flames without dying of a horrible death. Well, not like there won’t be even more horrible ones in there.”

Nero was really beginning to like this boy. He was a realist, apparently. If he managed to survive tonight he’d become a great [Strategist].

“Now, the white flames don’t seem to be expanding really fast. They’re actually quite localized. I propose we go around them and enter the forest proper.”

Nero raised his eyebrow: “Wouldn’t we be going directly into the Reveler Ant’s maw?”

“Most assuredly Sir. And I believe there’s a good chance that we’ll end up surrounded by those white flames in the long run, locked inside the forest together with the arachne. The thing is, Sir, as I see it, that’s our best shot at killing the enemy. If we dilly-dally too much the flames will all become as hostile as these and lock us out, giving the arachne more time to prepare or escape.”

Nero nodded in agreement. That was the optimal choice. Sadly. He knew all too well how much those damned monsters liked hiding and running away. The only way to be sure one had killed them all was to go face to face against them.

“You did well boy. Very well, let’s begin. [Testudo Formation], [Fast Advance], [Reinforced Shields]!”

Immediately the [Soldiers] all around the forest formed into formation, creating big boxes with their shields, spears at the front ready to skewer anyone stupid enough to charge at them. No matter what, unless the arachne had some kind of war engine like a catapult they wouldn’t be able to easily reach the people inside.

Then, as per orders he had imparted to the various [Strategists] around the army, they began to walk towards the areas of flames that weren’t touched by the white.

And they went through without a hitch.

“Well boy, time to follow them in. Are you ready?”

“Sincerely, Sir? Absolutely not.”

“Good. Had you said otherwise I would’ve thought you a liar incapable of command and told you to throw yourself into those icy flames to hasten the job.”

“...Thank you Sir?”

“You’re welcome. Now, walk with me to our deaths, would you?”

----------------------------------------

Pochi looked at the approaching army through a simple spyglass, seeing through the trees thanks to a Skill of hers: [Unhindered Sight]. This way she could see her enemies from a distance without having to worry about things like trees. The problem (if it could be called that) was that it also allowed her to see under people’s clothes. Which she’d used and abused many times during her stay among the humans back in her Academy days.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get some relief when anyone seeing what you actually look like would lead to their death in an attempt to kill you? No, you probably don’t.

Now, while cutting short the story of how, for a while, Pochi became a voyeur:

She watched as they walked through the flames and began marching inside the forest, looking for and finding some paths to make it easier for them to stay into some sort of formation.

For a moment there she’d hoped that Grandmother’s freezing flames and the arrows would’ve made the [General] commanding that arm rethink his approach and retreat. Obviously, though, they had sent someone who was crazy enough to just charge in, uncaring for the lives that would be lost. Typical Hunter-Era approach to fighting her species.

You could’ve just let us go. We would’ve disappeared, never to bother you again. But no, you had to come at us. Fucking pieces of shit.

“[Trapsetter Hunters] and [Rogues] to the Northern side of the forest. You know the protocols.”

“Which area?” asked one of her sisters.

Pochi turned towards her, unable to hold in the small smile that appeared on her lips: “It doesn’t matter. They’re everywhere.”

She turned back to observing her enemies and added, only half-jokingly: “Could probably shoot an arrow with your eyes closed and still not miss.”

They ran.

----------------------------------------

The [Soldiers] were advancing inside the forest. Behind them, the flames that should’ve only burned their enemies, now corrupted by that white miasma here and there, were following.

The men’s armors were covered in the friendly fire, which kept them warm and made them feel safe. It was a powerful flame, it would make sure that arrows coming at them wouldn’t pierce through their armor and chainmail, that swords swung at them would melt before touching their skin, that no matter what everything would be alright.

And then one of them touched a hanging thread of silk, so fine it was that someone looking exactly for it would still need minutes to actually find it.

The flames reached out towards the thread, ready to burn it and expand upwards to the trees ahead. Instead, they screamed, as something foreign entered them. A cold, furious, will, that tasted of everything that made winter one of the most hated and dangerous seasons in the world. Like a Banshee opening her mouth wide to eat a living’s head off, the foreign presence reached towards the fire and bit down.

The flames turned white and cold.

And the man died a few moments later, his screams slowly stopping as his lungs were filled with condensed water and then ice.

Reports came in, and Nero sighed: “This is becoming unsustainable. We’re yet to even make contact with the enemy and already we’ve lost hundreds just to those flames. I was hoping to use them as support, but the only support it’s giving is to our enemies.”

He snapped his fingers and the Tradition he had called upon moaned in pain as part of it was forced to obey this outsider’s will, forced to suppress part of itself. Traditions weren’t meant to be used only… partially. They were, like all Memory Skills, all or nothing. This was painful.

Yet it obeyed the command.

The flames that had covered the [Soldiers] burned away, leaving them safe from the possibility of death by freezing fires.

Nero still didn’t know what had caused the phenomenon but, at this point, it didn’t matter. There were more important matters for him to worry about.

“Keep advancing,” he said into his Speaking Stone, “Inform me at first contact.”

He looked at the escort that was following him. [Elite Warriors], or so King Carmine had said. He couldn’t know for sure, the men never spoke a single word.

“Let’s keep going. Deeper. Towards the center. That’s where the Elder is, most probably. If we kill that one, then everything will be much easier.”

As they carefully advanced, he began wondering if, maybe, this would be easier in some way. For one, this battlefield was much better than the last one. The cavern systems underneath the Tiurna Mountains had been a true nightmare: arachne appearing out of nowhere from walls that had appeared to be perfectly solid, entire tunnels collapsed over the heads of the [Soldiers], and let’s not forget about the…

In that moment an entire trunk covered in sharp objects fell from the trees ahead of them and nearly skewered one of the [Elite Warriors], Nero and the [Strategist] with him.

“[Perfect Dodge],” said the one in front of them, his body moving out of the way of the incoming trunk, his hand reaching out to grab Nero by the arm and yank him away with him.

The [Strategist], though, wasn’t so lucky. He tried to move away, one of the warriors reaching out to help him along, but they were too slow.

In slow motion, Nero watched the trunk come closer and, finally, hit the boy in the arm. He watched as the blades embedded in the wood cut straight through his light armor and the flesh underneath, shearing through bone and muscle as if it was mere butter and the blades were heated.

Then came the screams of pain.

In an instant, Nero moved, but the warrior was faster than him and reached down towards the boy, a vial already in his hands being unstoppered, the contents dumped on the bleeding wound. A healing potion, Accelerant class if Nero had to guess, probably mid grade.

He watched, expecting to see skin grow to cover the bleeding stump.

But nothing happened.

The wound kept on bleeding, and the [Strategist]’s screams became only louder as Nero saw black lines beginning to move from the wound up the arm and towards the heart.

“Poison,” he whispered as one of the warriors rummaged for a moment in his bag of holding, taking out another vial, the liquid inside green in color. An antidote.

He tipped the contents inside the [Strategist]’s mouth, but nothing happened. The dark lines kept on moving, until they reached the heart. Then the boy went limp.

The warrior checked for a pulse. There was none.

“Dead. High quality poison. We must be careful,” he said.

Nero nodded.

He shook his head sadly, thinking a short prayer for the boy before they went back to walking.

There was a reason why he hadn’t asked him his name. He had been sure there was going to be no need to remember it.

----------------------------------------

Grandmother looked at Nero through her [Web Eyes], one of her many Skills.

Once upon a time her mentor, before obtaining this same Skill, used to actually collect eyes from her victims, attaching them to her webs and using some quite obscure enchantment to allow her to see through them. A rather grizzly business, and even with all the enchantments she put on them, the things always rot away.

Still, all her hard work hadn’t been for nothing: she’d gotten the Skill together with her Elder. And now it came very in handy.

“[Advanced Appraisal],” she whispered, and read the Classes and Levels of all those present, plus some of their Skills.

She lifted her hand towards her face, saying: “[Communicate: Pocharits Silksoul]. Pochartis, concentrate your efforts on the northern side of the forest. The envoy of the College, one [Memoir Holder General] Nero, is there, surrounded by a guard of seven [Elite Warriors]. Also, good job in getting rid of the [Strategist].”

She heard her daughter agree, and went back to observing the unfolding battlefield.

Looking west, she sighed as the enemies made first contact with them. The Silken Orchestra was about to play a song.

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[Commander] Frenix was good at his job, which was to say, he knew how to keep [Soldiers] in line and make them do what had to be done without being hated. He liked to spend time in the barracks with his men, eating their food and playing their games. When they broke some of the more… ‘stupid’ rules, like the ones against gambling, he liked to close an eye, or even join in.

In short, he was well liked, and on the battlefield he knew how to keep his people alive while reducing the numbers of their enemies. That was why he and his unit had been chosen for this mission. As for why they had chosen to join what amounted, in the very King’s words, to a suicide mission, well, it was the purpose of all living things to kill the arachne. The gods themselves had said as much.

And so they were here.

The [Commander of Survivors] walked in the center of the testudo formation enhanced by the [General]’s Skill, their movements perfectly synchronized the gaps between the shields seemingly inexistent while also allowing them to see ahead.

They reached a clearing.

“Halt!” said someone ahead of them. No, all around. A resounding tone that seemed to be everywhere at once. As if someone had spoken behind him.

The [Commander] turned around, his heart leaping up to his brain, expecting to see his death staring right at him.

Instead he only saw the [Soldier] standing behind him.

“Who said that?” he asked. Or rather, tried to ask. The moment he opened his mouth no sound came out, as if someone had put a [Silence] Spell on him.

“Everyone, retreat now! We’ve received orders to regroup back outside of the forest!” said his voice.

All the [Soldiers] at the front immediately began moving backwards as those in the back turned around, making sure they couldn’t be ambushed from any direction.

Frenix tried to say something, but no sounds left his mouth, so he did the next logical thing: he touched the shoulder of one of his [Soldiers], making him turn towards him. The man did, and when he saw the mildly panicked expression on his [Commander]’s face as he motioned with his fingers that he couldn’t talk anymore, he opened his mouth to shout.

Only for no sound whatsoever to come out.

Instead, his voice said, from a mouth that wasn’t his own: “Careful there guys! Don’t want to fuk up our reputation now, do we?”

Chuckles escaped the mouths of the people all around them.

That was when the [Commander] understood they had fucked up. He motioned for another [Soldier], who had turned to look his way, to call in and tell [General] Nero that they’d made contact with the arachne. He even threw the Speaking Stone the man’s way. But when he tried to speak, no sound came out.

Panic began to spread as the [Commander] and [Soldiers] tried to tell each other that something was wrong, to call for help, but they couldn’t speak! Every time one of them tried to say something other than banter or chuckle they lost their voices.

Then, as everyone began to panic, they heard it: a little song.

It came from all around them, just like the voices that were being copied. The sound of a harp, the strings being gently plucked by masterful hands.

Then a violin joined in, followed by a cello accompanied by a viola.

Soon, an entire orchestra of string instruments was playing all around them.

Then they heard it, a voice made up of all their voices put together into a dissonant yet perfectly harmonic melody.

No, not a melody. Not yet. Just words:

“[We Stole Their Voices as Ours].”

The song reached a crescendo.

Frenix heard a scream behind him. One of his men had fallen to the ground, clutching at his chest. His eyes were wide open and rolled back into his skull, his face pale as a ghost.

He was no longer breathing.

“[Our Song was Sung],

[And Those Who Came Paid its Price],

[With All of Themselves Instead of Us].”

More people began falling to the ground screaming for but a moment before they fell silently to the ground, clutching at their hearts. No, not their hearts. Clutching at something that had been taken out. Trying to keep something in.

Frenix remembered the stories his ma’ used to tell about the arachne. One of the parts that he’d always found impossible was this:

They came bringing destruction and beauty, for where they walked their music followed.

With instruments crafted out of bone and wood, they created wonderful songs that attracted anyone who dared to listen. And from those that tried to look away, to leave, they claimed that which desired to stay. For mind and soul are not always the same.

He began praying.

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[Commander] Lyzark was not human. He was a boar beastkin, born and raised in the capital of the kingdom of Scasce by his parents. When he had been a kid other boys and girls liked to bully him, calling him pig and other nonsense. But he’d never been one for fighting back, so he let them speak. Words were just that, words.

It had been when words had turned into fists that the bullies had discovered how much of a bad idea it was to anger a beastkin, especially boars, who were notorious for being very quick tempered and having explosive anger.

Lyzark was one of the two things. No points for guessing which one?

Anyways, the bullies had stopped being a nuisance, and he’d managed to enter the Academy and become a high ranking officer in the army.

And now here he was, leading a one hundred men battalion inside a forest that was, supposedly, filled with arachne. So far the only things they’d found here on the eastern side of the forest was Rainbow Imitators and other small, colorful animals who’d been running away from the approaching fire.

He had been very careful with that one: he had seen what those white flames could do, and had used some of his Skills to make sure he and his men didn’t end up frozen on the spot.. More than once his [Sharp Eyes] and [Hastened Thinking] had allowed him to notice a hanging thread that could’ve activated a trap or, as he had theorized, cause white flames to spread.

Really, if the King hadn’t been so single-mindedly thinking exclusively about getting rid of the arachne ‘threat’ and had actually looked at the people serving in his army he would’ve noticed the raw talent in this beastkin. He could’ve become a great [General].

But alas, while not speciesist, King Carmine leaned very much towards the human part of his kingdom. Equal opportunities for all went only so far.

Lyzark and his men walked into a small clearing. The place was filled with cages that, probably, had once been filled with animals, but were now completely empty. Near the center of the clearing sat a large table filled with vials and bottles and… were those wine bottles.

“Aaaahhhh, theere you areee!” said a voice from behind the table, the sound slurred as if spoken by a drunk. But who in their right mind would come to this battlefield drunk?

The answer, obviously, is ‘someone who’s never been in their right mind to begin with’. And as much as Iadara liked to act as if she was superior to many of her sisters, she had never really been right in the head. There had always been a screw there that Death had forgotten to put in place when it had allowed her to be born.

After all, who in their right mind would drink poison as a way to pass time?

A figure rose from behind the table where she had been slumped on the ground.

The first thing they saw was the human part of her body. She looked no different from any other woman they’d seen in their lives. She had a lean figure with relatively well defined abdominal muscles and was full in the place that mattered. She was also wearing only what the men thought was her bra, seeing how a shirt lay abandoned on the ground nearby.

She swayed back and forth a few times, before a hand gripped the table, helping her stop.

“Hmmmmmmmm…” she squinted, “You look like you’re a lot of people. Not suuuurrre. Could you please stop moviiiing arouunddd sooo much?”

Lyzark was tempted to say something like ‘We ain’t moving at all milady’, but then he remembered that this was most certainly an arachne and there was no need to fraternize with her.

“Skewer her!” he ordered as he brought the Speaking Stone to his lips.

“Command, this is Unit 3, we’ve made contact with an arachne. We are going to begin the extermination.”

“Received. Show no mercy,” answered the [General]’s voice from the other side.

The [Soldiers] began to advance towards the arachne, who squinted her eyes for a moment before she moved back a bit, exposing the spider half of her body.

“Now now boys, can’t we be friendlyy? I have looootsa wine!”

The [Soldiers], naturally, ignored her and continued to advance, their steps now faster as they began running towards the arachne.

“I’ll take that as a no. Saaaadd. I wanted drinkin’ - hic - buddiess.”

Then her eyes seemed to sharpen for a moment, and too late Lyzark realized that something was wrong.

“[Aura of Drunkenness],” she said.

Immediately the [Soldiers] coming close to her stumbled and fell to the ground, some of them mumbling strange things as if half asleep, while others began laughing or crying for no reason, feeling compelled to tell jokes.

Even Lyzark felt slightly off kilter, as if he had just drunk two tankards of ale and was beginning on the third. He had never been one for alcohol.

“[Rapid Retreat]!” he shouted, and his men moved back, their speed superior to what should’ve been possible with them walking half drunk. Once they were far enough away from the arachne they began to come to their senses while still feeling a little light headed.

“Oh, come oooooon! You lightweights!” shouted the arachne at them, before she walked back towards her table, grabbed a bottle, unstoppering it with surprising ease, before she took a few deep gulps.

“I ain’t even started yet!”

She reached back to the table but, this time, she took a vial instead of a bottle and, after she unstoppered it, drank it down while whispering something.

A moment later she burped loudly and a cloud of gas moved towards the guarded [Soldiers].

“Don’t breath it in!” shouted Lyzark.

Most of his men did as he’d ordered, but others were still a bit too slow because of the arachne’s aura and gulped down a few breaths of the purple cloud.

Immediately they began to wheeze and fell to the ground, struggling to breath. Their faces went through a surprising rainbow of tonalities, before stopping at a mild blue. It didn’t take even a minute before they died.

“Awwwww, only a dozen? Gotta use contact poison next!”

Lyzark began to sweat.

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His name didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was a [Commander] in this sacrificial army and that he was walking through the forest looking for monsters to kill.

Neither he nor his men truly mattered.

He came from the southern side of the forest. Even reaching it had been a pain in his ass, because they had to walk more than anyone else since they’d come from the north.

He was tired, and was already regretting ever joining this extermination mission, but there was no going back now.

Everything was calm and eerily silent as they walked in formation, safe with their and the [General]’s Skills.

Then the path in front of them opened up into a small clearing. Small enough, in fact, that his men could’ve easily surrounded it three times and still have some spares.

He immediately noticed two things upon entering: one, the place was covered in colorful silk depicting the forest at the height of spring, filled with what looked like stuffed animals. Was this the place where a child slept?

The second thing he noticed, which dispelled his doubts, was the arachne standing at one side of the clearing, staring right at him from a table covered in silk, a white dress on top of everything else. She was clearly an adult.

“Ah, my pigments have finally arrived!” she said with a small smile on her face, “And not a minute too late!”

She snapped her fingers with a flourish and, immediately, little white threads appeared seemingly out of nowhere, touching each and every man who’d surrounded her clearing.

“[Razorsharp Strings]!” she chirped enthusiastically.

“And let’s not forget this other one: [Puppeteer’s Strings]!”

The strings suddenly cut into the men’s skins, drawing blood, but not from everyone: some of them were saved by their armors which were only slightly signed by the strings. That, however, changed a moment later, when they all felt the strings attach themselves to their bodies.

The arachne pulled on a single string that seemed to be sprouting from her finger.

She smiled as every single [Soldier] was dragged towards her, most of them resisting in some way and, because of that, falling to the ground. Hard. Hard enough for the strings to draw blood from each of them.

When she was sure everyone was bleeding in some way, still smiling, she condemned them to death: “[My Strings Ran Red With Blood]!”

Immediately every single bit of white spider silk touching the bodies of the [Soldiers] began to draw blood, sucking it out of their bodies. The blood ran up and down the strings, coloring them a deep, dark, red. But there were oh so many meters of strings. Aru feared there wouldn’t be enough blood in all of these people to paint it all red.

The [Soldiers] screamed in fear and pain as they felt the blood being drawn from them. They tried to resist, tried to detach the thread, but it was no use: every time they reached for the strings, their hands remained attached to them. And if they pulled too hard, then the gloves of their armors would be cut apart, letting the strings draw blood from another place, just accelerating the process.

The screams grew less and less until, finally, there was silence again.

Aru kept on smiling throughout the whole ordeal. She looked at her workshop table, where the once white dress, now red with the [Soldiers]’ blood, sat beautifully. She examined her creation and nodded. The color wasn’t even enough, the flap at the end having received less blood than the rest, but it didn’t matter. She rather liked the effect.

She undressed slowly, taking off her own dress, standing nude as the day she was born under the moonless sky. Then, nearly reverentially, she put on the bloody dress. It hugged her figure perfectly, adapting to her flesh as if she weren’t wearing silk but skin. She smiled, and let the mana flow from her body through the dress and the strings still attached to it.

Right towards the bodies of the dead soldiers.

As the mana reached them, more strings sprouted from the ones already touching them, connecting to their joints. They tensed.

And the bodies rose from the ground. Not as zombies, no, she wasn’t a [Necromancer]. Just… puppets. Flesh puppets.

Silently, they began moving, together with the now bloodies retinue of Aru’s little Silk Golems.

Before she left her clearing to join the fighting, she activated one last Skill just for them: “Rise, my beloved [Bloodsilk Golems]. [Follow the Puppeteer].”

This was how a [Stringmistress of Colors] fought.

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Nero was receiving reports from many teams. All of them had met a group of arachne or, apparently, only a single one.

The first group to come was, apparently, unable to come close to a drunk arachne who burped poison at them. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t already killed over half that [Commander]’s unit just like that.

Another group kept on attempting to open a connection with his Speaking Stone but all he heard every time was music and, sometimes, a scream.

Others were fighting off groups of [Warriors] with various degrees of success.

Still another had contacted him about making contact with a single arachne, only for them to then go silent. Those ones were probably already lost.

“I believe it is time.”

He sighed, then took a deep breath and said: “[Law: The Hunters Cut the Veils Between Life and Death]!”

The world twisted away from him.

They stared down the battlefield at their sworn enemies. The arachne, hundreds of thousands of them, carrying weapons and musical instruments. They were many and powerful, but so were the Hunters, and they had the gods by their side. They screamed a battlecry as they began running towards each other…

The Elder shot a fireball the size of a building towards the army. The normal [Soldiers] screamed in fear and began turning and running, as if that could’ve saved them. The Hunters, on the other hand, stayed fixed in place, staring down the falling Spell. Marcus, the biggest of them all, a quite literal four door wardrobe of a man, raised his greatsword in the air and, with one movement, cut the Spell in half, the mana inside escaping violently but harmlessly. The Elder screeched in rage…

They were bleeding out on the ground. His companions, his friends, his comrades. The four arachne in front of him stared at the dead bodies with enough glee to remind him of children opening presents on their birthdays. He tried to lift himself to the ground but, the moment he did, the arachne in the back, the one holding a little harp, played a few notes, and he watched his body fall from outside as his soul…

The arachne’s greatest mage fell to the ground of the verdant forest, her heart pierced through by countless arrows, her body bleeding from hundreds of cuts or charred black from spells. And still she laughed. When her heart stopped beating, her body exploded into dust. No, wait, not dust. Sand. And it wasn’t her body. It was the ground underneath her. The ground all around them. All turning to sand…

Nero took a deep breath, emptying his stomach on the ground, but not falling thanks to the [Elite Warrior].

Now, it was time for the tides to turn.