Come home

the past season has felt like a dream, strange and distant, interspersed with moments of joy and terror. spending time with Strai and Delphi has been healing, but unfortunately much of it had been overshadowed by news of the Blight. Spider’s lost count of how many times they’ve thought about forgoing common sense and returning to the Armada, consequences be damned. updates have been scarce, and Spider has grown restless with the passing of time, trying their best to distract themselves from the scenarios running rampant through their mind: Bas, gaunt and sick, coughing up blood. Wylan, wings void of feathers, gnawing at patch-ridden fur. Ignita, sprawled dead at their feet.

the sight of Bas’ falcon fills them with dizzying relief, and Spider only spares a brief period to bid their hosts goodbye, promising to catch up with Strai soon to properly thank him for his hospitality. for now, they can think only of following the falcon to the Armada’s borders, heart drumming a harsh staccato against their chest.

Bas waits for them at the border.

“Dad,” Spider rasps, slowing to a trot. they move to hug on him on instinct, then pause. “is it…safe? is everyone okay?” is everyone alive?

"Araneae Fatalis"