The hooded figure crouched behind a jagged outcrop of stone, staring up at the shadowed cliff face. The air was damp and cold, filled with the faint hiss of wind that slid through the rocks like a whisper of warning.
Her fingers tightened on the frayed rope of spider silk that hung from the cliff above, glistening faintly under the thin light of the moon. Her breath fogged the air.
"Climb or not?" she murmured under her breath, biting her lip.
Her instincts screamed caution. If she climbed now, she might draw the attention of the monstrous spider that had left this silk behind—or worse, of the thieves guarding Bloodbeard's treasure vault. But if she didn't climb, she might never have another chance.
She hesitated for a heartbeat more, then exhaled sharply. "Climb," she whispered. "Why not climb? I've never been afraid of death."
Her heart pounded with resolve. She stepped back, kicked off the rock wall to build momentum, and leapt upward, grabbing hold of the spider silk. The strands were unnervingly strong—smooth and cool against her palms.
"Woo…" she breathed, steadying herself.
Hand over hand, she began the ascent. The silk flexed and swayed beneath her weight, but held firm. The higher she climbed, the darker and narrower the world became, until the thieves' valley below looked like a bowl of flickering torchlight.
When she finally reached a height level with the suspension bridge, she paused to catch her breath, clinging to the rock face. She couldn't see the bridge directly—it was hidden behind the curvature of the hill—but she could hear voices drifting through the night.
"I didn't expect anyone to break in."
"Whoever it is, they've got guts."
"Could it be one of us?"
"Shut up. Keep your voice down."
The hooded figure frowned. So, the infiltrator from earlier… the man in clean clothes… he must have been discovered.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed her lips. "Too bad for him," she muttered. "He should've agreed to work with me. Now he's trapped, and I—" she gave the silk a tug— "I'm using a spider's silk to climb right into Bloodbeard's treasure house."
The thought filled her with grim amusement. She had always been one to gamble on the impossible.
Minutes stretched as she climbed. Her muscles burned. The night air thinned and grew colder. When she finally reached the crest of the hill, her hands trembled from exhaustion—but her eyes widened in astonishment.
Before her lay a broad gap carved clean through the stone, as though something massive had smashed its way in. Smoke drifted lazily from inside, carrying the faint, mouthwatering scent of roasted meat.
She blinked in disbelief. "Someone's… cooking?"
Her stomach twisted painfully. She had been lying in wait outside the thieves' valley for over ten days, living on stale rations and wild berries. The smell of grilled meat was enough to make her dizzy.
"Could it be Bloodbeard's son—the one they call the Blood Knife?" she whispered. Her hand instinctively went to the bow strapped across her back.
Moving quickly, she drew the weapon and nocked three long arrows in a practiced motion. The bow creaked softly as she pulled the string. Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing became measured, her gaze sharp.
She crept toward the opening, every step careful and silent. One arrow through the heart, she planned. Then rush in, grab the target, and get out before anyone knows what happened.
Her eyes peered into the gap—and froze.
A man sat there calmly beside a small fire, turning a skewer of meat over the coals. His clothes were clean, almost refined, a stark contrast to the grime of the valley.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "How… how could it be him?"
Luciel looked up, the firelight reflecting in his calm, sharp eyes. "You're here too," he said casually, raising the stick of roasted meat as though greeting an old friend.
The hooded figure stiffened. He sensed me?
Luciel's senses, honed and sharpened by his unusual mental gifts, had caught her presence the moment she'd begun her climb. He had decided to wait—to see what she'd do—but her soft gasp had given her away.
Seeing there was no point in pretending, the hooded figure sighed, lowered her bow, and stepped into the light.
"You…" she said slowly, suspicion and disbelief mixing in her voice. "Why are you here?"
Luciel looked at her evenly. "Why are you here?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You climbed up using the spider silk too, didn't you?"
Luciel didn't answer immediately, but the faintest smirk tugged at his lips.
The woman understood at once and gave a soft, resigned laugh. "No wonder you refused to cooperate with me. You already knew another way up."
But then a thought struck her. Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. How did you know the spider silk could reach all the way up here? Don't tell me—"
A low, unsettling hiss came from behind her. She spun around—and nearly stumbled backward.
A massive grimace spider, its body over two meters tall, clung to the rocks behind her. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and its fangs clicked as it shifted its weight.
Luciel's calm voice came from behind. "As you can see, Arachni is my domesticated beast."
The woman's breath caught. She looked from the spider to Luciel and back, then gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Well… that explains everything."
She sheathed her bow and muttered under her breath, "I guess I took things for granted. Traveling with a tamed spider beast—no wonder you didn't need anyone's help."
From below, the muffled shouts of thieves echoed faintly through the rocks.
"Smash it harder! Don't stop!"
The woman's eyes darted to a pile of stones trembling near the entrance. Then she noticed something else—pits and trenches dug into the mud, the remnants of Luciel's earlier work. She didn't dare move closer. The tension between them and the looming spider kept her frozen in place.
Luciel turned his skewer over and said casually, "You're a step late. I already found the crystal fish."
"I'm not here for the crystal fish," the hooded figure replied quickly. Her voice softened as she added, "That's not what I came for."
Luciel raised a brow. "Not here for the crystal fish? Then what?"
Her tone grew solemn. "Have you seen a pair of flowers with wings?"
Luciel frowned slightly, sifting through memory. "Flowers with wings…"
He thought of the wilted plant he'd seen earlier in the caverns. "There is such a flower," he said finally, his voice calm.
Her eyes lit up instantly. "Really? Where is it? Can you show me?"
"No." Luciel's refusal came without hesitation.
The woman took a step closer, desperation creeping into her voice. "That flower is very important to me. I can trade you something for it."
Luciel's eyes hardened. "You talk about trade, but you're not sincere."
Her body stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Luciel gestured toward her hood. "Would you trade with someone who hides their face?"
The hooded figure's throat tightened. "You'll be scared," she said quietly.
"Then let me decide that," Luciel replied, his tone even.
She hesitated. His gaze was calm—not mocking, not fearful. Just… curious. That, more than anything, unnerved her.
"I've scared many people," she murmured, taking an involuntary step back.
"Then it won't matter if you scare one more," Luciel said, taking another bite of the roasted meat.
Silence lingered between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire.
Finally, the hooded figure drew in a long breath. "If I let you see… will you really show me the flower?"
Luciel nodded. "I can promise that."
"Fine." Her voice trembled with quiet resolve. "Just don't regret it."
She lifted both hands to her hood, paused briefly, then pulled it back.
A cascade of long, snow-white hair spilled over her shoulders, shimmering faintly in the firelight.
Luciel blinked. "White hair… pretty rare."
The woman raised her head slowly, revealing her face at last—a face of delicate symmetry, skin pale and flawless as carved jade, eyes silver as moonlight. But beneath her right eye, faint crimson lines spread across her cheek like veins of glowing circuitry, running down her neck and disappearing beneath her collar.
Luciel froze. For a long moment, he simply stared.
The girl's expression shifted from defiance to sorrow. "I told you," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You'd be scared."
She'd seen it happen before—men and women recoiling in disgust, whispering the same word: infected. The mark of the virtual ghost, they called it. A curse, a disease, a stain of something unnatural.
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to hide her face again.
But Luciel only leaned back, studying her. The firelight caught in his eyes. He smiled slightly. "Your texture," he said, tilting his head, "is only slightly rougher than my three-color crystal fish."
She blinked, completely thrown off. "What?"
Luciel grinned, the first hint of humor breaking his usual calm. "I said—it's pretty cool."
The white-haired girl just stared at him, utterly confused. "You're… strange."
"Maybe," Luciel said, turning the skewer once more. "But I keep my word. Come, I'll show you your flower with wings."
And for the first time in a long while, the white-haired girl didn't feel like running or hiding. She just watched him, uncertain but intrigued, the faintest spark of warmth flickering beneath her guarded calm.