Since the time when Tenebrisilk first opened her many-faceted, glittering eyes under the cradle of roots in which she had hatched, there had been no sound in the world.
She remembered no mother, no warmth of siblings, no story of her birth told into her spinnerets. Instinct alone, instinct, primal, aching, relentless, led her first steps, to the radiant fruits above, set like holy suns in the twining lattice of her cathedral of trees.
Guard the fruit. Eat the mana. Evolve.
That was her scripture. Her soul was that.
Thus the young Spiritual Beast turned her shrine. She spun fate and survival together with her threads into a lonely realm of silk and silence. Creatures arrived, attracted by the throbbing energy of her fruits, their ravenous claws keen to snatch the sustenance she had tended through moonlit consumption ceremonies. She ate them up. Rats, flying lizards, and once even a deformed gremlin--all had succumbed to the thread-tangled tomb which was her home.
But as the centuries followed each other as molasses dripped over cold stone, something in her started to unravel. There was a weird vacancy in the depths of her thorax. There was abundance of mana. The fruit, glowing. Her development rose... but the quiet started to sting.
A whirr of wings. A glint of nonsense. A Tsetse Fly, no less.
He was more than aggravating. He was someone she knew--as though deja vu had acquired legs and sarcasm, and was now flitting around smugly through her orchard.
His voice was nothing like the guttural roars of beasts nor the soulless babble of intruders. His words pierced like a psionic needle, each syllable too structured, too human. She couldn’t remember why, but the cadence of his speech was oddly soothing — like recalling a song you never learned but still knew by heart.
And when she had murmured her innocent line — "Isn’t that how humans apologize?" — it wasn’t rhetorical. It was... genuine curiosity.
Buzz’s antennae twitched with mischief. His exoskeleton vibrated with restrained amusement, as if barely holding back a tsunami of mockery.
"Little weaver," he began, voice dipped in that theatrical authority that only shameless manipulators could wield, "you are entirely correct. That is, in fact, the format used by humans to express remorse. However..." He let the word hang in the air like bait.
He continued, voice oozing like warm syrup down the trunk of logic, "An important nuance here is that we... are not humans. We are monsters. Beasts. Exiles of logic. Aberrations of grace."
Tenebrisilk’s limbs curled in visible offense, her voice resonating through their shared spiritual tether like a silk-touched blade. "Speak for yourself, thief! I am no mindless monster. I am a Noble Spiritual Beast, the apex of araneid evolution!"
Buzz immediately amended his phrasing with the polished grace of a scam artist in a tuxedo. "Indeed, indeed. You are correct once more. A being of dignity, poise, and unparalleled refinement. Which is why, if your apology holds any weight, it must be expressed not merely through sound... but through sincerity."
The spider tilted her cephalothorax, perplexed. "Sincerity? What is that? Can it be fermented like mana sap? Does it sprout if you plant it in fertile soulsoil?"
Buzz fought hard not to collapse from laughter in mid-air. The level of innocence radiating from this walking mana-reactor was beyond anything he had experienced. It was like watching a sacred dragon try to figure out how spoons work.
He cleared his throat with professional aplomb.
"Sincerity means to prove that your regret is not merely air vibrations, but heartfelt essence. For instance..." He paused with the precision of a surgeon. "You could offer something of personal value. A token of your regret. Something... edible."
A rustle of webbed branches.
Then Tenebrisilk suddenly vanished into the depths of her arboreal sanctum. Moments passed. A sound echoed — like the soft chime of fruit stems snapping.
She returned slowly, her front limbs cradling a radiant orb of life. The spiritual fruit glowed like a captured star, humming with condensed vitality. She approached with reverence, placing it delicately upon the mossy platform beneath her web. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn NoveI★Fire.net
"I offer this... as proof of my sincerity."
Buzz descended like a saint accepting tribute from a confused goddess.
He touched down beside the fruit, wings stilling. His proboscis gleamed, sharper than a rapier in moonlight.
"Very well, fellow Noble Spiritual Beast. I accept your contrition."
His spear-like mouthpart pierced the fruit with surgical grace.
The flavor was beyond anything he had tasted in this unforgiving world. The fruit’s essence danced along his neural pathways like sparkling cider infused with starlight and aged remorse. If liquid nostalgia could ferment, this was it. A fermented apple-beer kissed by gods.
[Ding! 1 year of lifespan absorbed.]
The mana-laced juice poured into his veins, painting his organs with power. He nearly moaned aloud. His wings involuntarily buzzed a low vibrato of satisfaction. This wasn’t just nourishment. This was soul candy. This was transcendence in pulp form.
Within seconds, the fruit withered to a husk and dissolved into dust. Buzz let out a polite belch, then turned to the eight-legged fool who had just gifted him a year of his life.
"This fruit," he said solemnly, "was artistry. Poetry in carbohydrate form. A triumph of cultivation."
Tenebrisilk’s eight eyes shimmered with something almost like emotion. A strange heat curled in her chest. No one had ever spoken to her . No one had acknowledged her fruit. Not .
Then Buzz struck again, casually, like a rogue laying the final card.
"By the way, what do your peers call you, oh weaver of wonder? What is your name?"
She had never needed one. Names were things humans bickered about while dying.
Buzz chuckled and began to ascend, as if to dismiss the conversation. "Ah, I understand. No name. No problem. No offense taken."
"Wait! Let me— I shall— I mean... Yes!" she said, nearly tangling her own limbs. "My name shall be... Tenebrisilk! Yes! The darkness, and the silk! Combined!"
Buzz paused mid-air, then nodded like a condescending professor who had just heard a child’s first attempt at poetry.
"A truly noble name," he said with a respectful dip. "Worthy of a Noble Spiritual Beast such as yourself."
Tenebrisilk quivered with joy.
Buzz cleared his throat. "As for myself, you may call me Buzz Windbreaker. Warrior of Wind. Patron of Lifespan. Cultivator of Convenience."
They locked eyes — compound and arachnid — and for a strange, surreal moment, it felt like a contract had been signed. One between a liar and the lied-to. Between sarcasm and sincerity. Between an apex predator... and a tsetse fly with a caffeine addiction and a death wish.
Buzz took to the skies, wings humming like a war hymn played on crystal flutes. Tenebrisilk watched until he vanished past the canopy.
Only then did she return to her perch, antennae twitching with an emotion she had never known before.
Buzz didn’t look back.
His wings flared with energy, slicing through the mana-rich atmosphere like sonic blades.
Around him, the world unfurled like a scroll. Every creature within several hundred meters became a glowing thread in his awareness — each one vibrating with the music of heartbeat and breath and lingering fear.
Ants with venom sacs. Squirrels bloated with corrupted essence. Even a bear-sized beast stomping through the fog like a drunken gladiator.
He was no longer a joke fluttering at the edge of extinction.
He was a Tsetse Fly reborn.
A spiritual parasite with style.
And now that Tenebrisilk was off the menu, he needed fresh meat — something with just enough power to challenge him... but not enough to swat him mid-buzz.