Em’s human form heaved for breath as her spider legs twitched and spasmed across the hard stone floor. Lee was frozen. His eyes were wide and unblinking as the hair across his body stood on end. A primal fear of spiders, unknown to him, seeped into his mind.

He couldn’t move. He was trapped within a woven web—not physically, but mentally.

Spiders from the lower floor began to creep through gaps within the stonework or up the stairs. They were nervous. Chittering and hissing sounds erupted around him as he stood stock still within the small corridor of bookcases.

Em slammed her legs into the stonework. The eight mighty rhythmic slams kept repeating again and again. Faster and Faster.

Then, she slowly began to still. All twitching, leg slamming, shaking… everything stopped.

She raised her head, revealing a fierce grimace as she ever so slowly raised a trembling hand towards Lee, pointing at him with her sharp, gauntleted finger.

“You pry into which you know nothing! Repeatedly, I have told you my answer. Why do you wish for me to leave my sanctum?! I do not wish to leave! I have told you this, and yet you try and try again! ENOUGH!”

She slashed a hand toward the chittering and hissing spiders, causing them to retreat and return to whence they came.

Lee stood there like a deer in headlights. Unable to move or respond immediately. Em started to pace back and forth as she kept her head locked onto Lee, pinning him in place with her red eyes.

“You know not what you ask of me, which is understandable. You would not know. Nobody knows. Nobody will ever know…” She trailed off, murmuring to herself.

Lee swallowed, wetting his dry throat as he took a step forward. “I… I’m sorry. If you could help me understand…”

Em glared once more, rooting him in place. She began scuttling up to him, stopping mere inches from his chest with her dangling metallic leg fangs. They appeared as if she was kicking her legs back and forth nonchalantly, but he knew better than that. The air displacement from their movement fluttered his robes as he looked up to meet her eyes.

“Why? Why do you want to understand?” She waited a mere second for a reply before carrying on—this time with a more somber but factual tone.

“I can taste your fear, you know? It is sickening. You fear me: Vanny, Robert, your soldier friends. Every single being I have ever met has feared me.”

Her grimacing, anger-filled face began to shift into another emotion. Grief. Her contorting face tried to hold back ugly tears, but the facade began to break and fall apart in the silence. Bloody tears began to leak from her eyes and roll down her pale white cheeks as her quivering lips parted as she spoke.

“Do you want to understand because you care? Care for one such as I? A creature you fear? Or do you wish to know my weaknesses so you can capitalize upon them one day? Bring an end to the creature whom you are so dearly afraid of.”

She slowly reached out with a hand toward Lee's face, causing him to stiffen and clench his eyes shut. Her cold, metallic hand gently cupped his chin and she rubbed a thumb against his cheek. He slowly opened his eyes, seeing the bloody tears flow freely down her face, splashing her grayish armor as she wept.

“In every tale I’ve ever read, heroes and adventurers go on mighty quests and daring adventures—Vanquishing foes and returning triumphant. Slaying all those who the common folk fear and letting them sleep comfortably in their soft beds at night.”

She turned to look at her resting spot as her shoulders quaked. The thrown-together torn cushions, blankets, furs, and disheveled appearance of it all. Lee felt tears forming in his eyes as he began to understand.

“You fear me. I fear all.”

“I fear the warm sun high overhead because it exposes me. I fear the people who live their lives happily because they despise me, fear me, and wish me dead. I fear the ramifications of fleeing my post and seeking happiness—becoming hunted by those whom I used to protect. I fear finding friends and allies because my very presence around them threatens their continued existence by association.”

Her voice began to break down as her sobbing intensified. She began to crumble towards the ground, unable to stand on her own legs.

“I… wA… wANt sOMe… SomEoNe tO cARe. I… DoN’t WanT tO LiVe In FEAR. WhEn Is It mY tuRN foR HAPPINESS?”

Lee let his tears run freely as he stepped closer, not caring about the bloodstains on his white robe. He wrapped his arms around Em’s human half and hugged her as he whispered between her wailing sobs.

“I care. I feared you because you were different. Now I know we aren’t so differen’t afterall. Don’t worry, your book is just beginning.”

—----------------------------------------------

Emerson was far east, past the River Fel, and near the forefront of the burgeoning war between Thexis and Bardum. A city built recently, only finished five years ago, and fortified for the war. Its white-walled exterior and numerous surrounding military keeps made it a bastion for Thexian defense. Word would spread to the city itself from surrounding keeps if anything were seen, and their retaliation would be swift.

Acting commander of Emerson, Fatalina Castanna, sat inside her quiet office as she read through various reports from the war front—scribbling notes and sending reports of her own to those in the capital.

She reveled in the reports and took her time to sift through what was essential and worthless. And there was so much that was worthless. In her very mind, she put together the various pieces of the puzzle before her, with all of the information she was given, and plotted her way to success. She shifted, cut, and forced the pieces into their correct positions—anything to make the odds against them greater than before.

She swiftly guided her quill across the paper, writing orders, requests, and demands. Then her small, pointed ear twitched, picking up the sound of nervous footsteps settling outside her office door. She stayed her hand. She could hear them shifting on the rug, their thudding heartbeat, quickened breath, as she narrowed her eyes.

She waited a few seconds before she continued taking notes, giving whoever dared to approach her office during her work time a chance to escape before they made the wrong decision.

Eventually, the figure outside started to raise their hand to knock on the office door, but before they could actually do so, she spoke from within.

“Enter.”

The door opened, revealing her secretary Regina’s new aide. He was an older gentleman, ordinarily much too old to be an aide, but his battle-scarred visage and singular arm put all speculation to rest. He strode into the office and quietly waited to be called upon.

Fatalina took her time finishing the work before her, leaving the man to stand there in silence as she wrote down notes and shuffled through papers.

Eventually, the sound of his hasty heart, nervous gulps, and shifting posture became too much for her to ignore. She placed her quill down and leaned back in her chair, glaring at the man.

“Out with it.” She said, mildly frustrated.

“Ma’am. We’ve received two messages from The Wall of Shadows via Copy Scroll, one from a squadron on a mission. Both are addressed to you. The first passcode used was an older one, and linked to you personally. The second has the current passcode for Felispar.” He said, quite professionally.

Fatalina raised a brow. The Wall of Shadows was on the opposite side of the kingdom—a place they sent the unfit to avoid getting in the way of real soldiers. Nothing ever happened there, and the only thing she could think of possibly happening was dire, more dire than the current war. Also, there shouldn’t be any squadrons on missions near the wall.

Only a select few actually knew about why the Wall of Shadows existed, and she was one of them.

“How old was the code? How many years?” She asked.

“Four. It comes from one Thomas Timberson, the current Wall Commander.”

Fataline tsk’d and begrudgingly extended her hand for the scrolls.

She knew Thomas. She had trained the boy when he joined the military before the war. After fulfilling his service, he asked for a peaceful position, which she granted. He wasn’t anything special, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He wasn’t happy when the war started and the troublemakers were sent his way, but he was a military man. He could do the work.

However, she hoped those around him hadn’t rubbed off on him in recent years. An old passcode was already a bad sign.

After opening the scroll from Thomas, she wrote the recipient code and watched as the information contained within was revealed. The first line she read was already a bad sign. She immediately lost her glare of annoyance and sat straight in her seat, causing the aide to swallow nervously again.

Priority 9

A priority of ten was the worst-case scenario for the Wall of Shadows—A Dark Elven incursion. A nine indicates something that concerns the kingdom as a whole has happened or is happening.

She snapped her fingers at the aide without looking away from the scroll as she started barking orders. “Go get Regina. Tell her to cancel anything superfluous and to come in here. Now.”

The aide sped away as she continued reading.

Priority 9.

Wall Commander Thomas Timberson. The Wall of Shadows.

12th of Hugin, 944 AT.

At around 13:30, the bells were rung.

The 16th squadron of The Wall spotted an individual approaching from within the Shadowgrove Forest. A Human male, approximately 20-25 years of age, six feet tall, wearing ornate white robes.

Immediately, as per protocol, I approached the scene and used the Rare rated Appraisal Scope. It failed. Upon failure, the individual reacted and cast an unknown water spell in my general direction, centering on his location—unknown effects. I do not believe it was a hostile spell. My best guess is one of utility.

This was concerning. A human shouldn’t have been able to be in the Shadowgrove. Either they had slipped past the wall or came from elsewhere. But it didn’t constitute a priority nine. She spared a glance at her secretary, Regina, as she entered the office.

“A drink of water, if you will.”

Regina walked to the side and began pouring water from a clay pitcher into a cup, bringing it over to Fatalina’s grasping hand as she continued reading.

The individual was nonaggressive. He spoke with a member of Squadron 16, one Jeremy Blight, Noblemen of Felispar, before I could fully make my way onto the scene.

Upon arriving, I discovered that the individual in question had two titles.

Fatalina nearly spat the water from her mouth, causing it to dribble down her chin. She ignored Regina's now-concerned look and wiped her chin with her sleeve. Face full of disbelief.