The Weaver

As I walk through the tunnel, the lights unravel into a thousand glowing filaments. They shiver before I even touch them – they know my resonance. They should. Most of them were used to stitch me back together.

A silhouette sits at the center of a pulsating, cavernous web of light and music. I pluck a carmine line, listening to the doh’ældynnnnnnn echo into the dark. I add an azure string, then an amethyst one, enjoying the harmonic soh’ti-ældynnnnnnn that shivers through the cavern.

“Late,” she says. The word is a snap of tension.

“My deepest apologies,” I say, not sounding sorry at all. “I know I have been here—”

“—dozens of times,” she interrupts, plucking a string with visible rancor. “What did this ‘reconsideration’ buy you, patch-job? Besides a waste of my time?”

“I know which choice to make,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

“Do tell,” she thrums, her eyes tracking the movement of my hands.

“The moral one. The choice that causes the least harm.”

Arachne lets out a sound that isn't quite laughter – more like the sound of silk tearing. “Moral? You are a ghost inside a looping machine that grinds lives into recycled energy, and you want to discuss morality?”

“I want to see Archer_49 through,” I snap. “I want to give 49 the chance 33 never had. This time I will tip the scales.”

“What?” she plays her strings gently as her eyes twinkle, “You doubt Fate?”

“I trust you inherently.”

“A terrible mistake.”

“I believe 49 can succeed,” I insist.

“You and Death both,” she plays pensively. “Death hasn’t been this excited since… your run, actually. I see nothing of substance in 49. As for the other: Thirty-Three thought ‘mercy’ meant making the truth easy to find. Putting that little note in the first chapter? So the ‘poor souls’ wouldn't have to suffer the climb? PFAH!”

She leans in, her melody dropping to a dangerous hum.

“Thirty-Three didn't realize that in this place, mercy is a flare in the dark. Thirty-Three set the truth so loud that the scrubbers triangulated the signal in a heartbeat. Thirty-Three didn't save the many, 17. Thirty-Three just gave the system a map to their own throat – and then 34, 35, 36, and 37 as well. If you want to be ‘moral,’ fine – but remember that your compassion is exactly how your enemies find 49.”

I look at the page in my hand. It feels heavier. “Then I’ll make the signal quieter. I’ll make 49 earn it.”

“A slightly better thought,” she plucks.

Suddenly, a tiny string nearby rings with deliberate force. Arachne’s head snaps toward it. She rushes over to look closely. “Ardente,” she plunks, her eyes twinkling. “A Superlative? At last.”

A thicker strand chimes and unmoors itself, entwining with the smaller thread.

“Damon?” she thrums, her surprise genuine.

“What does it mean?” I ask, stepping closer.

“It means recursion is compressing,” she strums, her attention already drifting away from me. “Despite the loops, time is running out. Someone is going to make contact with the Creator.”

“God?”

“Something like that,” she affirms. She begins to weave the two incandescent threads into the greater web, dismissing me with a wave of her spindly hook. “Go. Be ‘moral.’ But remember that kindness is not always kind.”

I don’t wait for a second dismissal. I follow the path through the cavern, the atmosphere thickening as I ascend. Light and dark churn around me, a powerful cycle of endings and beginnings.

I step out into the final room. The page is in my hand. The Tome is waiting.