Arrival Among the Web-Walkers
Zion and Thalia stood at the edge of the jungle clearing, staring out over a wild, woven landscape.
Before them stretched the domain of the Web-Walkers, a massive tribe nestled among giant blackwood trees and ravines. Their homes were built from interlaced silk, suspended from trees and cliffs, swaying gently in the wind like hammocks of light.
This was no kingdom—just a tribe ten times larger than Nouvo Lakay. Yet their unity, silence, and discipline gave the impression of something ancient… and dangerous.
Every member, from the smallest child to the oldest elder, moved with precision. Their bodies were painted with dark ink patterns that resembled spider legs and fangs. They worshipped N'kulu-Ma, the Spider God, not with fear—but with respect for his ruthlessness.
Zion observed in silence, and Thalia, ever cautious, whispered beside him.
"They're watching us."
He nodded. "Good. Let them see we're not here to threaten. Only to learn."
A Tribe Bound by Thread
The Web-Walkers were not a people of noise. Their greeting was a slow lowering of heads and subtle movements—threads strung between trees vibrated with intent, messages passed not by words but by tension in the silk.
They lived vertically.
Platforms and homes were suspended high above the forest floor.
Warriors trained daily by sparring while suspended upside down or clinging to vertical silks.
Every adult bore a scar from the Spider Rite, a ceremonial encounter with a sacred spider whose venom either strengthened—or killed.
Zion and Thalia were brought to a central gathering platform, stretched like a wide spiderweb between the largest trees in the forest.
There, they met Elder Ka'Zura, a woman with arms like corded rope and white spider tattoos crawling up her spine. Her voice was slow, deliberate.
"You walk like prey. But your eyes move like a hunter."
Zion gave a respectful bow. "I walk with the weight of my people—and seek not to conquer, but to connect."
Trade of Trust
Zion offered dried herbs, river-sourced ink, and the first woven maps of the surrounding lands. The Web-Walkers responded with gifts of their own:
Venom-thread bandages that sealed wounds instantly.
Cocoon wraps for keeping food fresh or preserving it for long journeys.
Smoke bundles made from spiderweb moss that calmed nerves and sharpened focus.
What impressed Zion most, however, was their discipline. They had no standing army, yet their warriors moved in silent coordination, using threads to communicate over great distances without a sound.
"If they marched on us," Thalia whispered at night, "we'd never hear them until it was too late."
"Which is why we'll never make them enemies," Zion replied. "Only teachers… if they'll allow it."
The Dream of the Eight-Eyed God
That night, Zion slept under a suspended silk dome. In his dreams, he stood in an endless forest of webs.
From the dark above, an enormous spider descended—eyes like molten ink, its voice dry as old leaves:
"Even your blade must one day struggle to cut silk."
Zion woke to find a single thread wrapped loosely around his wrist—left by the tribe as a symbol of respect… or warning.