Have you ever had anyone pull your ear? Like, for real, not just the friendly thing grandparents sometimes do to reprimand you. I mean actual pulling, where you feel your ear warm up, and suddenly the world is whistling strange, mysterious tunes, while you feel your flesh and cartilage stretching as you wonder how deformed the appendage will become by the end of it. If it’ll still be there, naturally.
Issekina, at that moment, wasn’t sure about that last part. The ‘Poison Lady’ looked extremely angry, even if nothing had happened in the end. Well, nothing except her pride getting hurt.
Through the haze of pain, Isse couldn’t recognize the path they were taking. Well, actually, she wouldn’t have even without the pain: she had been born two days ago, after all. She couldn’t already know everything about these woods she and her sisters lived in. Stars, so far she’d visited only, like, five locations in total: the place where she’d been reborn, Grandmother’s clearing, the sleeping areas, the aptly called “Mess Hall”, where the trees formed a natural vault, and the Poison Testing Area, with all its suspended cages filled with wild animal.
Surely, there was more to this place than that.
As she was dragged through the colorful woods, she started to notice the beginning of a lack of said colors and the appearance of progressively more and more white covering every surface.
Then they entered a clearing. One covered from top to bottom in spider silk, as white as snow. And, at the very center, towering over the newborn and the adult arachne, sat a giant of a woman, her body, both the spider and the human half, from her eyes to her hair, of different shades of white. Grandmother.
Her eyes, all eight of them, were closed. Of course, that meant nothing. Actually, Isse had the slithering suspicion that the woman didn’t really need to sleep. Nor did she believe that simply closing her eyes would impair her sight in any way.
She was right, of course.
Because, while back on Earth being old meant getting progressively weaker, in this world age meant only one thing: that the person had had more time to gain Levels and Skills, becoming more powerful. “Respect your elders” gained a whole new meaning when said elderly man, in a moment of great anger, took that dusty sword from the wall of his house and suddenly began breaking bones and cutting people apart. Or began calmly casting [Fireballs] while laughing maniacally.
And Grandmother was old. So very old.
She turned her head towards the ‘Poison Lady’ dragging the clearly pained child towards her, and the shadow of a smile appeared for a moment on her face.
Oh, to be young again.
Then she thought better and slightly shook her head: Actually, no, I take that back.
She looked down at the adult and, with a slightly raised eyebrow, asked:
"Iadara, what has the child done, that you would drag her here and nearly pull off her ear?"
Iadara, no nickname since she hated every single one that had ever been given to her by Makira or any of the others, finally let go off Isse’s ear and pointed accusingly at her:
"What she’s done? She nearly killed herself, that’s what she’s done. One of her sisters is capable of producing acidic venom, and this child decided that, since her own poison was practically flavored water, she should drink it."
The slightly raised eyebrow on Grandmother’s face got another inch closer to her hairline.
"And yet I see her right here, alive and relatively well. It would seem that your analysis of said poison was wrong."
Iadara stomped two of her spidery legs and huffed.
"Don’t joke like that Grandmother, you know I never get such things wrong. I myself do not know how the child survived. That is one of the reasons why I brought her here. That, and to ask you to teach her a lesson."
Grandmother opened one of her eyes and stared at the woman.
"Me? Teach her a lesson? Iadara, you know better than most that I’m not… good with such things. At best, she’ll be traumatized. At worst, she’ll become a more unstable version of Makira."
At that, Iadara visibly shivered. What was wrong about Makira? She seemed like a good arachne. Caring, always smiling.
"Ok, well, just… do your thing Grandmother. Talk to her. And then tell me how she managed to survive. I have to go back, my Skill is about to run out and I don’t want the other children to start drinking poison like I drink wine."
And she left. Just like that! After admitting there was a good chance Grandmother would traumatize her!
Isse looked up at the elder arachne. And saw a small smile appear on her face.
"Well then, let me See."
She bent down, her hair surrounding the young girl, her piercing eyes staring right into her own, the whites seemingly expanding endlessly, slowly devouring reality around them, the various tonalities of that pure color becoming one in an endless place of nonexistence.
Isse lost herself in that sight, so much so that she didn’t hear Grandmother whisper the words “[Total Appraisal]”.
And then it was over.
She lifted her body high, her hair falling behind her shoulder, and stared at the child. The smile had disappeared, instead something similar to anger showing on her face.
"You are one of the Wishers, Issekina. You were brought here, and have great potential, but you have yet to make peace with the past, both yours and the one that was given to you as a gift."
She was still looking down at her, but her eyes moved slightly to the left at that final part. She looked that way, half expecting there to be Anda embracing her like last time, but instead saw nothing.
Could it be… was she looking at the Voice?
"And yet, all I see is separation. To the point where you, Siidi, have even gotten a bloody class: [Hostile Soul-Half]. It is a dark road, the one you’re traveling. One that will not give you what you desire."
At that moment, she remembered that first night. The dream she’d had, where she’d met the Voice. How, upon waking up, those same words had appeared in her mind. [Condition: Hostile Halved Soul]. So it was real.
Grandmother stared down at her. No, at them. Her expression was severe, bordering on angry. The first emotion she’d ever seen on that woman’s face. She tried to make herself as small as spideringly possible, trying to disappear in front of those eyes.
"Tomorrow, you will come here again, after eating. You may leave."
That said, she closed her eyes.
Before she knew it, Isse was out of the clearing and running as fast as she could. For once, the Voice was silent. Scared, just like her.
As she ran, a shadow entered the clearing. It was Makira, a slightly resigned smile on her face.
"There, you’ve traumatized her Grandma."
The elder didn’t even open her eyes as she answered: "Good. They’ll be working together on that then. Remember, daughter, when in doubt, scare them: fear is always the solution."
"No it isn’t, and you know that full well."
"You are wrong: fear is like a wound, and the trauma it can leave behind is like a scar. And you know better than most just how good a lesson a scar can teach."
Makira sighed and shook her head. Her mother wasn’t wrong, but she was old. Too old. Too scarred. She always forgot that most people could only take so many scars before they just gave up and died.
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Especially children.
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Grandmother had told her to leave. Which she’d done, quite well she might add.
Problem: she’d run away so fast she hadn’t even looked where she was going. Well, not that she’d have known where to go to begin with, but that was unimportant considering that the arachne occupied (or infested was probably a better word) more than half the forest known to the outside world as the Woods of Boren and she would have met someone sooner or later.
Or she’d run too far away and end up outside their territory, getting eaten by some wandering pack of Mimetic Wolves.
So Isse ran, unable to understand if the fear she was feeling was her own or the Voice’s. Wait, hadn’t Grandmother said a name before letting them go? Siidi? Was that the Voice’s name? The one she’d had before becoming a part of her mind?
Still she ran, because it felt like her life depended on how fast she could get away from the elder.
She ran.
And ended up tangled in a web.
Oh, the irony, that a spider, nay, an arachne, could end up tangled in a web. To an outside observer it would look hilarious. It wasn’t for Isse. A deep, primal, instinct inside her, fueled by her and the Voice’s fear, because, now she understood, she was scared too, took over, and made her trash around in a desperate attempt to free herself. Which only made things worse.
In under thirty seconds she’d managed to somehow tangle her arms behind her back and get her legs splayed out or crisscrossing under herself. The only part of her still capable of moving was her head, and that wasn’t going to last for much longer seeing how much she was still thrashing around.
"My my, lookie lookie what my webs caught. A young one! Did you get lost, little one?"
A voice asked from somewhere behind her.
Isse immediately froze up, following the typical philosophy of ‘if I look dead it’ll leave me be’, which with an arachne worked just as well as whispering ‘if I cannot see it then it cannot see me’ while closing your eyes in front of a Skeleton King’s army.
"Now now, little one, don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you. Did Grandmother just scare you? That stupid old fart, never understands her ideas don’t work well with children."
She felt a gentle hand land on her spider half and stroke the fur where it met her human half. It was, surprisingly, quite pleasant. She stopped playing dead, opened her eyes, and her mouth opened in surprise.
In front of her was another old looking arachne. Her hair was graying, but here and there one could still see splotches of… was that actually purple? Was there such a thing as hair dye in this world?
Her eyes were a gentle, quiet, green, as if the color was trying to hide, thinking itself unimportant compared to the rest of the woman.
Her spider-half, too, was covered in purpl-ish fur, with flecks of white here and there.
But what truly left Isse speechless, what made her question her eyes, was how colorful this whole area was. This small slice of forest was covered, from top to bottom, in spider silk of all colors and hues, from a deep, dark, red that almost bordered on black at the bottom, to tonalities of brown and gray while rising, to much lighter and lively oranges and blues and yellows and even pink and her brain was going into overdrive while trying take them all in.
The old arachne’s smile widened slightly and a small chuckle escaped her lips.
"Now, that’s more like it kiddo. Like what you see?"
And she moved out of Isse’s sight, letting her take in the beauty of the space around them. Only then did she notice that there was a sort of pattern: the meters upon meters of spider silk, weaved to make actual fabric, not the stuff she and the other kids were wearing that was made up on the spot by their [Carers], were placed in such a way as to recreate something resembling nature: the bark of the trees, the leaves, the sky with its uncountable clouds in infinite forms, and then animals, both hunters and hunted. She was sure that that swathe of night-sky black with red on her left was trying to recreate a wolf bleeding on the ground.
It was incredible.
"Yes, you really do like it."
Isse found it hard to even nod her head in agreement. Had she been able to speak she wouldn’t have found the words to describe the wonder this place made her feel.
A small part of her brain tried to remind her that this was nothing, that she’d seen more greater art back on earth, made by some of the greatest painters of their times, from The Nightmare to The Kiss (the one made by Francesco Hayez, not that monstrous amalgamation of yellows that was the one made by Klimt).
You’ve seen better, kept saying a little part of her that wasn’t the Voice, and yet it was such a small part, its voice nearly a whisper. Because it didn’t matter. Something beautiful, made with one’s effort, stayed beautiful, had to, even in the face of greater things. This woman had created, with silk alone, art that could rival the art of her world. The true art, not that modernistic stuff that kept popping up every now and then and had no reason to be considered art. Yes, Isse disliked Dadaism, how did you guess?
"Ah, but I do recognize you. You’re the one Grandmother liked. Oh, you poor thing."
That broke her out of her reverie as she stared at the older arachne. Who, in turn, had started to untangle her like one would with a ball of yarn.
"She likes many of us. She can See potential, and helps us achieve it. But she isn’t the kindest in helping. Stars, I’d say she’d do anything to let us achieve that potential. Anything and everything."
She shook her head as she finally managed to untangle all of Isse’s feet and helped her get back on the ground.
Never in my life was I more grateful to be Grounded, said the Voice.
"But she loves us all. She’d give up all of herself to help her children and grandchildren. She is an arachne after all. The greatest of us. And, for a while, she was one of the last of our kind."
She looked the girl up and down, sizing her up, and nodding her head.
"The shirt you’re wearing, that must be Makira’s work. I’d recognize her shoddy work anywhere. The girl can make a sling or craft a bow in seconds, but she couldn’t knit or sew to save her life. How about I get you something better? To make it up for the scare."
She smiled and, before Isse could even answer, scuttled away towards a roll of silk hanging from a tree branch. She took one end and pulled, unrolling a few meters, then turned around and sized her up again, nodding her head, her expression calculating and serious. This was, after all, her job, her greatest passion, and her Class: [Stringmistress of Colors]. Level 49. She’d been stuck on that threshold for nearly a decade now and, she feared, she would never reach the fabled Level 50. She was, after all, just a [Seamstress]. Better than most, but just that. Or, at least, that’s what she told herself in her delusions. Her sisters and Grandmother knew she was much more than that, but the decade of stagnation had taken a lot out of her.
Still, she didn’t let any of that show on her face as she smiled and chose the design for the girl’s new dress. Usually they didn’t let her make things for the newborn because they grew up fast and tended to outgrow anything she made. She had never cared. She could make her own silk, knew how to color it, and it took her nothing to resize or even make something new entirely.
Still, Grandmother had told her that she’d have to at least wait a bit more.
So she did. Because it was Grandmother, and however much she disliked the elder, she knew better than most.
But today she would break that little rule. There was nothing wrong with that.
She took a pair of large fabric scissors from a belt around her waist and, with a [Seamless Cut], let the blades glide over the silk and part it in two pieces.
She brought the green silk to a big table not too far from Isse and started working.
The little spiderling curiously skittered towards the woman and watched her work.
The older arachne had taken out another pair of much smaller scissors and had started cutting away at the fabric, slowly creating something that resembled a shirt, but… fancier? She didn’t know what she was actually looking at. She’d always bought her clothes from big shops, and never stopped to even wonder how the things she wore were made, how much effort was put in some of the designer clothes she got, the time and hard work behind it all.
Now she could, and because of that she watched with great interest as the arachne skillfully, without the capital S, crafted what was probably the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. When she’d finished cutting up the fabric, she took a needle and two spools of different threads, one white, the other yellow. She used the white one to sew together the two halves of the dress, and used the yellow one to add some color here and there to reduce the monotony. Then she added a few frills using what remained of the fabric.
All in all, the process took no more than fifteen minutes, but time had stopped meaning anything from the moment Isse had started observing the work.
"For you, child. When it’ll start feeling a bit too snug, come find me, I’ll adjust it for you. Now go," she pointed somewhere into the forest "that way. That’s where you’ll find your little sisters. Make them go green with envy."
The woman smiled.
And watched the little girl scuttle away as she tried on her new dress. It reached to where her human half met the spider half, no further. Which was normal for arachne dresses. No sane seamstress of that species would create something that reached any further, since it would certainly hinder the wearer’s movements. At most, they would add a little flap that covered a part of spider half’s back, similar to a train on a bride’s dress, but that was rare now. The old traditions of their species had died centuries prior, when the Hunters had nearly managed to complete their mission of extinction. They were still alive, which was what mattered most, but oh how much had been lost.
There had been times when there were clans of arachne, with their own customs and traditions, with their symbolisms and stories. Times when the trains of their dresses had, sewn into them, the symbol of the clan, to distinguish each other.
The old [Stringmistress] knew of those times. Grandmother had told her all about it. And, once, before Level 40, she’d been a [Seamstress of Tradition]. She knew, and because of that she felt nostalgia. What a horrible emotion it was, nostalgia, especially considering she’d never seen those times. Yet she longed for them, with all of herself.
So she worked, day and night, leveling, or trying to, in the hopes that, one day, those times would come back.
As she watched the little arachne walk away, her eyes still filled with childish wonder, she nodded to herself and smiled. Yes, she knew it, this was the time. This was the generation that would bring all those traditions back. For them, she would try it all.
And, somewhere, far away from the old arachne, far away from any form of life, Something, that which gave Levels, the System, noticed the new conviction, and added a new, small, amount of percentage that got the woman ever so slightly close to her next level. It wasn’t much, sure, but it was more than she’d gotten in a very long time.