[Tian] 1:26 (Patreon)

MY UNIVERSAL TRANSLATOR IS BROKEN.

Some time during the battle against the Galgoms, it was destroyed. And now, I am unable to speak with the Websmith; we cannot communicate with each other. We do not share the same language.

Perhaps I should have foreseen something like this happening. Alas, I did not make the necessary preparations for such an outcome. I draw my lips into a thin line, not understanding what the Websmith is saying.

The language of this world is throaty. And it does not help her mandibles click together whenever she speaks. Judging from the situation, I can surmise that she is trying to explain that I no longer have a universal translator, and she does not understand me either.

I nod, pointing at my mouth, then at hers. Both of us exchange an understanding look— we now both are aware of our situation. There is no need for words. However, I insist on bowing. On showing her my gratitude— for saving my life.

After that brief moment of respect, I raise my head and I see the Websmith standing over me. She holds up a scythe-like hand, gesturing for me to follow after her. There is nothing to say; I am still injured. I cannot simply leave, go back up to face the army of Galgom.

I know not where I am.

However, the Websmith does. So, I let her take the lead. I follow her through the cave chamber, walking past the protruding stalagmites, heading away from the ceiling of Lifeblood. The light patter of the ethereal liquid is left behind us as the Websmith brings me to a tunnel. One that descends deep into the unknown.

I glanced around the floor and the roof of the tunnel. I see roots— a kind of undergrowth— filling the rock walls with moss, with roots spilling from the dirt. It is odd how much life flourishes this far underground.

A Cultivator should be able to create such an environment without a problem, but there are no Cultivators in this world.

The tunnel ends, opening to a more expansive surface. However, the single pathway remains as narrow and undulating as it is in the long corridor. It is brighter here. Also, hotter. Because there is a lake of lava surrounding the pathway. It is like a bridge that cuts across a river. Except the river is a molten red, simmering with the occasional pops of bubbles.

The Websmith walks slowly, carefully, crossing through the land bridge as I follow a step behind her. What an odd geography. First, a flourishing undergrowth. That is not too unusual. But right next to a lake of lava?

Apparently, the oddities do not end there. The bridge leads us to a pit at the center of the lava lake, with an ice wall keeping the lava back, and a frozen sanctuary. At the center of the ice island, there is a stairway leading straight down. The chill that creeps up on my skin is natural. A layer of rime covers my body. It tries to freeze me. Halt me in my tracks.

I break through it, almost effortlessly. The same frost covers the Websmith’s skin. Her slow movement is impeded even further. I narrow my eyes. She shouldn’t be having problems with this. I have seen her power. What she is capable of.

I place a hand on her carapace, breathing out. I expend some of the Sixth Essence, offering her a barrier of protection. A flash runs over her body. It removes all layers of frost over her.

She nods and clicks her mandibles gratefully my way.

I may have to take another ginsoul pill sooner than I thought. We begin a slow descent, spiraling down the slippery steps. Neither of us struggle with its icy surface. We reach the bottom soon enough. Just as I expected, it is a different biome.

A different domain. A room with a lower ceiling. It is dusty— damp. Perhaps due to the ice from above melting. That is my first thought, at least, until I see the webs covering the floors. It coats the entire dank chamber.

That is when I realize where I am at.

“This is… your domain?” I ask, looking at the Websmith. She tilts her head to the side, and I point at her. She nods before I gesture at the room around us. Is this your home? The question is clear.

The Websmith looks around longingly. There is a click. A loud sound that comes from her mandibles. It echoes in the empty room, bouncing off the walls. The answer is given; I know what it means.

This is her domain. This is her home. This is where she was born.

And the places before this? The ice island? That is the Icecaller’s birthplace. The same goes for the lava room and the undergrowth tunnel. The Flamelord and the Grovetender.

“Is this how you knew Galgom couldn’t come after us? Because these are your sanctuaries?”

The Websmith understands only one part of my question. Galgom. And she raises a scythe-like hand. I narrow my eyes as I watch the webs untangle— the strings reforming, weaving themselves into a wall. A barrier.

More threads create vague shapes of people, trying to tear down the wall. But they cannot break in. Then they spread out, leaving it behind. More shapes take their place. But these are different. One of them is an eight-legged spider, and the other is a falling figure.

It is us.

We reach the wall. The impenetrable wall. And it parts for us. We do not go through it— it gives way to us, the threads where we touch untangling, letting us to the other side.

Then the other figures return. They try to break through once more. But the threads close before them.

That is how we escaped. That is how we managed to break to flee from the Galgoms above. Some kind of membrane let us through, but stopped them.

I walk up to the figures made of webs. I run a hand through the wall, turning a curious gaze to the Websmith. “What is this?” I ask her, raising a brow.

The Websmith shakes her head, lowering herself to the ground. She lies there as she begins unfurling web after web, stealing all the strings in the room, painting a vivid scene for me to see.

I see an object being formed. The threads intertwine to take the shape of a heart. It sits in a room, held up by the floor and the ceiling. It does not move. But it trembles rhythmically, like it is breathing slowly. And with each breath it takes, these particles fall from its sides. That is… Lifeblood?

Is this the Pishitim?

I do not interrupt the Websmith. Instead, I observe. I wait to see what happens next. It remains inert, doing nothing different for a while. Not until the ground trembles, and part of the ceiling caves in.

Creatures— bits of roots of trees— fall as the walls crumble from above. Many of them are dead. And the breathing of the Pishitim grows faster. It produces more and more Lifeblood. Until the Lifeblood becomes a sea that washes over the dead creatures.

Nothing happens for a while. The sea of Lifeblood acts as a curtain, covering the creatures. Then it recedes. And it reveals four creatures. Four beings that survived. Each of them so familiar. One, a giant spider— the Websmith. Another, a worm-like creature. Some kind of being that buries itself in sand. Perhaps the Flamelord?

A lizard walks forward, ice shards poking out of its back. The Icecaller. And the last is the roots of a tree, tangling together, forming a person. It has some kind of overgrowth, covering its body. Leaves. Although  it looks like a fuzzy ball with the shape of the strings.

The four beings bow before the Pishitim. They rebuild the lair, staying with her for a while, many cycles— years even— before heading off, splitting from one another. Finding their own domains to rule and protect.

I walk up to the moving figures, leaving behind the breathing heart. I rest a hand on it, not looking at the Websmith, although I can feel her gaze bearing down on me.

“This is your home, is it not? And this is where the Pishitim is.”

She makes a noise— I assume that means yes. The Websmith lowers one of her hands down at the heart. She gently caresses it, almost protectively.

I look up at her, seeing the way she stares at the Pishitim. Then she creates the same shapes from before— Galgoms. They fly down at the Pishitim. They attack it. They tear it apart. And the heart breaks. It shatters into a thousand pieces.

The Galgoms scoop up the remains of the Pishitim before flying off.

I stare at the scene. At the death of the Pishitim. Then I glance back at the Websmith. There is a shake of the head. A feeling, not conveyed by words. She is morose.

Anxious. A fear of the loss of the Pishitim.

“You want me to save it— no, her?” I face the Websmith with an inquiring gaze.

She recreates the heart shape, holding it on the tip of her scythe-like hands. The Websmith looks at it, as if trying to burn its image into her head. Then she hands the fake Pishitim to me.

I accept it, holding it in my hand. “What about you?”

The Websmith does not respond. She lies there, her wounded body unmoving. There is an understanding; I know what is happening. I give the last guardian of Utana a determined look.

“I will do it. I promise.”

There is a small nod. The webs covering the walls behind me recede, revealing another tunnel. The Websmith gestures for me to go. I take a step forward, glancing back at her one last time. She cannot get up. She stays there. I nod back at her.

Then there is a smile. A final click. The light in her eyes vanishes. And she slumps over, dead.

Death is a disease.

I draw my lips into a thin line as I head down the final tunnel. It is dark, an unfamiliar place, but I can surmise what lies before me.

And there is only one cure.

The reason why the Websmith fought— perhaps she made a deal with me at first. But now, it is I who made her a promise.

I leave the corridor, stepping into another, smaller room. There is a red glow coming from the center. A shape— a heart. Breathing slowly. Gently.

The Pishitim.

***

“...and he got mad at me for that! Can you believe it?”

Liufan Tian laughed as Xun regaled the story to her. The other girl was talking about how she was punished for coming home with a Sacred Beast; rather than being proud of his daughter, Xun’s father sent the Sacred Beast away, punishing Xun for not returning home the night before.

“I was just showing the Sacred Beast our sect! Like any good—” She paused, glancing at Tian uncertainly. “Uh, any good member of the Liufan sect would!”

“Your father sounds very strict,” Tian says, nodding. “Mother is very kind. She would never punish me for unfair reasons.”

“I wish I had your mother,” Xun murmured under her breath. “Mine doesn’t do anything but listen to what dad says. Honestly! Does she not have any opinions at all?”

Tian wasn’t sure whether to laugh at that. So, she settled for giggling.

The other girl sighed. “I just wish that sometimes… I know that dad has his status to protect and all. But…” she trailed off.

“Hey.” Liufan Tian smiled at Xun. “At least you have a father. Mine passed away a long time ago. Before I can even remember.”

Xun blinked. Then she threw her hands up in the air. “Gah, stop making me feel bad about feeling bad!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tian hurriedly apologized. She thought it would cheer the other girl up!

But Xun wasn’t upset. “It’s fine.” She shook her head, looking up at the Heavens. “It’s getting dark anyways. I should return home. Before dad yells at me again.”

“I should return home too. To check on mother.” Liufan Tian knew she promised she’d be back earlier this time. But Xun was just too much fun to hang around with! And Tiao had told the girl that she needn't worry too much.

The two girls got to their feet. Usually, they would just part ways there and then. But as of late, Tian accompanied Xun until the sect could be seen in the distance. And that meant going up to the small stream up ahead.

Tian and Xun always used that opportunity to converse some more. But this time, their chatter was cut short. They could see the gentle river. The bridge that crossed over it. But someone was standing there. A person Tian recognized. Someone she hadn’t seen in a while.

Lihua. The black-haired bully. The girl who had mocked Tiao. Who often picked on the girl.

Liufan Tian froze in her tracks. What was that girl doing here? She wanted to turn back. She grabbed for Xun’s hand— only to see the other girl stepping forward.

“Lihua! What are you doing here?” She cheerily greeted the girl standing on the bridge.

Lihua brightened as she saw Xun, only to freeze when she looked past the other girl to see Tian.

“W-what are you doing with her, elder sister Xun?”

Xun came to a stop. She crossed her arms. “Why can’t I be with her? Also— didn’t I tell you to stop being so formal with me?”

Tian stared at Lihua. She felt something inside her push her to lash out. The same one that made her defend her mother all those months back. “Leave us alone, Lihua! Xun and I are friends!”

“Hey, calm down.” Xun blinked, looking back at Tian.

The girl felt like sputtering— why are you defending Lihua? The black-haired girl eyed the both of them, and she slowly raised her sleeve to cover her mouth.

“Someone of your standing shouldn’t be around her, elder sister Xun.”

“I said stop being so formal— and what’s wrong with Tian?” Xun almost glared at Lihua.

Lihua raised a brow. “I can understand why your father never told you, but are you saying that your friend, Tian, never told you the circumstances around her mother?”

“No, what are you talking about?”

Liufan Lihua smiled. A wicked smile. Tian wanted to speak, but the accusation left her at a loss for words. “Tian’s mother, Liufan Tiao of our sect, is a Bud,” Lihua said simply. “Simply put, her station is as low as the serf who till our fields. Not even people.”

Xun blinked, the words not registering in her head. Tian took a step forward, pointing at Lihua.

“Don’t insult mother!” the girl shouted.

Lihua narrowed her eyes. “And you— wretch— never speak with Xun ever again. Do you not know your own standing?”

“Why can’t I speak to Xun? She’s my friend!” Tian glanced over at Xun, wanting to pull the other girl away from the bully. “Come on—” She paused. Xun didn’t budge. “X-Xun?”

Xun’s eyes were wide open. As if the revelation struck her to the core. She glanced at Tian, almost hurt. “You’re… you’re a serf? A true Bud that can’t ascend?” She looked down at her hands as Tian tried to protest. “It… it makes sense now. That’s why you’ve never been able to become a Bloom, even though I had…”

“X-Xun? What’s wrong?” Tian repeated herself, suddenly feeling small once more.

“Ah, so you have been lying to her.” Lihua walked up next to the other girl. Crossing her arms, she met Tian’s gaze. “It is unfortunate that that wretch used tricks to get close to you, elder sister Xun. But worry not, when your father finds out, I will assure him that you were manipulated.”

“T-thanks…” Xun said, still in shock.

“Xun, why are you like this?” Tian tried

“Oh, don’t pretend you do not know who her father is, Tian.” She hugged Xun, almost protectively. Tian took a step back as Lihua continued, almost sneering. “You know who she is— Liufan Xun, daughter of Liufan Xiaoming, the Grand Elder and Patriarch of the Liufan sect. And the one who banished your mother for making an embarrassment of the Liufan name.”

Author's Note:

Almost 3,000 words. Who saw the ending coming? Also RIP Websmith.