The summons came at dawn.

  Marquil had barely finished fastening his boots when the knock sounded—sharp, official, impossible to ignore. He straightened automatically, smoothing his tunic as if the fabric itself might betray him.

  “Enter.”

  A guard stepped in, helm tucked beneath his arm. “Lord Aurevan requests your presence. Immediately.”

  No expnation. No ceremony.

  Marquil nodded and followed.

  The pace corridors felt different in the early morning. Less theatrical. Less forgiving. Sunlight snted through narrow windows, catching dust motes that hung suspended like unspoken questions. Servants moved with purpose, heads down, already aware that something had shifted.

  Lord Aurevan stood at the edge of the training yard, hands csped behind his back as knights sparred below. He did not turn when Marquil approached.

  “You move well,” the Lord said. “Not just in combat. In space.”

  Marquil waited.

  Aurevan finally faced him, eyes sharp. “There’s a task that requires discretion and restraint.”

  That st word lingered.

  “There have been... disturbances,” Aurevan continued. “On the edge of the Briarwood. Livestock gone. Traps sprung. The vilgers cim a beast.”

  Marquil’s pulse ticked up, subtle but immediate.

  “A hunt?” he asked.

  “An investigation,” Aurevan corrected. “You’ll go with a small party. Confirm the threat. If it’s dangerous—end it.”

  And there it was.

  Clean. Simple. Brutal.

  “Yes, my lord,” Marquil replied automatically.

  Aurevan studied him for a long moment. “You hesitate.”

  Marquil met his gaze steadily. “I wanted to be certain of your intent.”

  The Lord’s mouth twitched. “Careful. That almost sounded like a question.”

  Almost.

  Aurevan waved him off. “Prepare. You leave within the hour.”

  The forest pressed close around them as soon as they crossed beyond the st stone marker.

  Marquil rode at the front, Gareth a step behind, humming tunelessly. Two other knights fnked them, quieter, older, less inclined to chatter.

  The Briarwood earned its name honestly. Thorned vines crept along the forest floor and climbed the trunks of ancient trees, their hooks catching cloaks and armor alike. Light filtered down in fractured shards, never quite touching the ground in full.

  They dismounted near a clearing marked with broken fencing and churned earth.

  “Looks nasty,” Gareth muttered, crouching. “Big, too.”

  Marquil knelt beside him, eyes scanning the scene.

  The signs were there—but not what the others saw.

  No blood. No panic-scattered tracks. The soil was disturbed, yes, but carefully. Intentionally. The fence hadn’t been smashed. It had been pulled apart.

  “Spread out,” the senior knight ordered.

  Marquil moved deeper into the trees.

  The forest grew quieter the farther he went, as if holding its breath. Then he heard it—a faint, dry clicking sound, rhythmic and patient.

  He followed it.

  The web caught the light first.

  Not a trap.

  A structure.

  It stretched between trees in deliberate arcs, yered and reinforced, thick enough to glisten faintly even in the dim forest shade. It wasn’t pced across a path, but beside it—out of the way.

  Marquil stopped.

  “Easy,” he murmured again, the word returning like muscle memory.

  The sound paused.

  Then a shape shifted in the shadows.

  The spider was enormous.

  Its body was low to the ground, legs folded close, eyes catching light with unsettling intelligence. Long fangs rested against the earth, still, non-threatening.

  It watched him.

  Marquil felt the same recognition he had in the moonlit clearing days before.

  Not prey.

  Not predator.

  Artist.

  “You’ve been bmed for things you didn’t do,” he said softly.

  The spider tilted its head.

  Behind him, a shout rang out. “Marquil! Found something?”

  The spider recoiled slightly, legs tensing.

  “No!” Marquil called back quickly. “Just tracks—old ones.”

  He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, hands open.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “But they will if they find you.”

  The spider clicked once. Sharp. Irritated.

  Marquil swallowed.

  “I need your help,” he said. “And you may need mine.”

  He didn’t know if beasts understood words.

  But they understood intent.

  The spider shifted, turning slightly to reveal thick, yered webbing already spun and anchored between roots. It was dense, resilient, beautiful in its complexity.

  Silk meant to endure.

  Marquil’s breath caught.

  This was different from Lumora’s gift.

  This silk had been worked.

  Footsteps crunched behind him.

  “There you are,” Gareth said, relief evident. Then he froze. “Gods above…”

  Marquil didn’t turn. “It isn’t attacking.”

  Gareth swallowed hard. “It’s... staring at us.”

  “Yes,” Marquil agreed. “It does that.”

  The spider remained still.

  Slowly, deliberately, Marquil reached out and brushed his fingers against a trailing strand of web already anchored to the ground—shed, abandoned.

  The silk vibrated faintly, humming beneath his touch.

  “Marquil,” Gareth whispered. “If this goes wrong—”

  “It won’t,” Marquil said quietly.

  He gathered only what had been given.

  Behind them, the forest exhaled.

  When the knights returned to Aurevan’s nds that evening, they reported no active threat—only signs of a reclusive beast that would move on if left undisturbed.

  Lord Aurevan accepted the report, though his eyes lingered on Marquil longer than before.

  That night, alone once more, Marquil spread the new silk beside the moonlit thread on his desk.

  It was darker. Stronger. Purposeful.

  A contrast.

  A choice.

  Somewhere deep in the forest, a spider settled back into its work, weaving with renewed focus.

  And in the pace above, a knight began to understand that every errand came with a price—and that he would decide how it was paid.