ChaAndrik-
Mallow finally turns, disappearing between the trees without a sound. Lumi stays still for a few seconds, her fingertips curled around the frostdrop berries like they’re something exalted. We disappear into a thicket of weeping elms.
“Look up,” I whisper, guiding her toward a natural archway where the air seems to shimmer with a thousand tiny, silver lights. They aren’t stars; they are the Loom Spiders of the Rhavari.
As she passes under them, the tiny, translucent creatures begin to drop down on threads of liquid moonlight. Their glass-like legs move with the speed of a heartbeat, knitting and weaving the air itself.
They don’t touch her—they’re too respectful for that—but they weave a canopy of frost-lace above her head, capturing her silhouette in a tapestry of pewter silk that will stay frozen in these trees for a century.
A single spider, smaller than the rest, with legs reflecting the silver thread like a tiny disco ball, descends until it hovers before her face. It studies Lumi for a moment with its deep obsidianeyes. Then, it starts weaving a crown, lighter than breath, inches above Lumi’s head, capturing the golden light and reflecting it onto her skin like a halo.
She lifts her hand slowly, and the spider crawls onto her palm, legs barely a whisper of weight.
“Hello, little one,” she murmurs.
My chest tightens as the loom spider finishes. “They’ve crowned you. Named you their queen.”
“You need a name, don’t you?”She looks at the spider, eyes soft with emotion. “You smell just like him. Like cloves and winter. How about... Cinny?”
The spider's legs flutter, a soft chirp of approval.
She’s naming a loom spider after my scent—after me?
The tiny spider scuttles from Lumi’s hand, pausing at her wrist when she senses the pulsing bond beneath her skin. With a movement finer than most, she lifts a single leg and reaches toward my left ring finger. A filament emerges, so fine it's nearly invisible. A flowing, ephemeral thread stretches from my finger to Lumi’s in a delicate knot, binding the space between us. A soulbond tether—a silent vow recognized by the forest. It is the Ring of Witness’s blessing: a soul-spindle thread.
“She weaves what is already true,” I whisper, watching the lacework pulse between us. “Thral’kaen ves soboeûns... kai’thelûn ves saelûn.” (Written by the witness... Recognized by the bond.)
The thread pulses once more then fades to something only we can feel—a brand beneath our skin, permanent and sacred.
Cinny chitters softly before joining the other in the canopy. The cluster of spiders retreat into the trees, their work complete.
Lumi stares at her hand, then at mine, wonder written across her face.
“What just happened?” She whispers.
“You've been witnessed,” I manage, voice rough. “Accepted. Blessed.”
Her face lights up in a way I’ve never seen—not even when she’s laughing. It's pure fascination, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But it gnaws at my restraint.
She doesn’t notice the way my jaw tightens, or the way my hands shake when I go to adjust the pack. I need the distraction—the weight of something practical, because I can smell her again.
Not her rose-hip body wash, or the smoke from the fire woven into her hair—but her—the scent of her genuine happiness is the most intoxicating, maddening thing I’ve ever had to endure. It’s thick and sweet, coating the back of my throat like honeyed wine. It makes the beast in me want to roar—to claim the source of that scent and never let it fade. The longer we're out here, the stronger it grows.
“Are you okay?” she asks, pausing on the trail. “You’re extra quiet.”
I nod once, too quickly. “Fine.”
Her eyes linger on my face like she doesn’t quite believe me, but something flickers through the trees, and her attention is pulled away.
She gasps and races ahead a few steps, completely enraptured by whatever spirit or Soboeûn just passed by. Every time she giggles like that, I have to stop myself from reaching for her.
She drifts closer to the glimmer of movement luscious, dark hair swinging behind her. I follow, but keep my distance, letting her chase the wonder without the weight of me pressed too close. The bond isn’t just humming under my skin anymore—it’s buzzing, almost too loud to concentrate. Each heartbeat feels like the forest daring me to act.
I glance at the path ahead, but I’m not actually looking at it. I’m focused on her. The way the sunlight fractures against her cheekbone through the trees. The way she slows to listen when the leaves whisper, even though she can’t understand what they’re saying. The way her lips part, just barely, every time something new reveals itself. All I can do is stand back and watch while my control slips through my fingers like the last grains of sand in an hourglass.
A soft rustle up ahead pulls her attention again. I know what it is before I see it. She gasps, barely whispering, “What is that?”
A sleek white shape emerges from the underbrush, massive and deadly. His fur is scattered with charcoal rosettes that shift like smoke across his rippling muscles—a Virekhae.
