Chapter 38: Chapter 38: CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE
The forest trembled like it remembered something old. The stones that had cracked beneath Buzz’s feet now pulsed in steady rhythm, the same pulse that ran through his veins. Blue light spread in veins through the roots and climbed the trunks, wrapping around the clearing until it glowed like a heartbeat.
The newborn thrashed against the ancient silk, but it couldn’t tear it cleanly. Every time it broke one strand, another reformed. The blue threads hissed where they touched gold, the sound like rain over flame.
Zza staggered to her feet, her arm wrapped in makeshift silk. "Buzz," she rasped, "look."
He followed her gaze. The ancient Weaver stood fully now, its form both solid and shifting, as if the forest itself had risen to wear a body. Its threads stretched far beyond the clearing, connecting to the canopy, the ground, the wind. Everything moved to its rhythm.
The newborn hissed, mandibles flaring. Its voice was a low growl that scraped the inside of Buzz’s skull. "This forest belongs to me."
The Weaver’s answer came slow and heavy. "It belonged to none. You took what was given to protect, and turned it to hunger."
Blue light rippled through the clearing. The Weaver lifted one arm, and a dozen threads shot downward, piercing the ground. From beneath, roots moved, dragging soil upward until the newborn was half-buried. It roared, clawing at the web, ripping, twisting, forcing the blue light to dim with each movement.
Buzz crouched low. His heart pounded in his chest. "It’s fighting the net," he said. "It’s adapting again."
Zza’s silk trembled between her claws. "We need to help it hold."
Buzz’s laugh came cracked and rough. "You want to help a creature that could crush us by accident?"
"We don’t have a choice. If that thing wins, the forest ends. If this Weaver wins, maybe the forest gets to start again."
Buzz nodded, his claws tightening. "Then let’s bleed for the better mistake."
They ran. Buzz dove behind the newborn, digging his claws into its shell. It screamed, the gold under its skin burning his hands, but he didn’t let go. Zza flung her silk around its wings, anchoring to the Weaver’s threads. The blue light pulsed brighter where hers touched it, merging with the weave.
The newborn roared, the sound ripping through every bone in Buzz’s body. Its tail lashed and caught him across the side, throwing him against a stone. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate. He pushed up, shaking, his shell cracked open near his ribs.
The Weaver’s voice rolled like thunder. "You wear the memory of creation, child of rot. But you have no roots."
The newborn’s eyes burned brighter, its wings snapping free of the threads. "Then I will grow my own."
It lunged upward, its claws tearing through the web, its body twisting midair. Gold veins burst across its shell like lightning, and it slammed down onto the Weaver’s torso. The ancient silk tore halfway, unraveling into clouds of light.
Buzz and Zza stumbled back, shielding their faces as gold and blue fire clashed above. Each burst of light shook the clearing, throwing dirt and leaves like storms. The Weaver reached for the newborn again, its threads forming a massive hand that wrapped around the creature’s neck. They struggled, one burning, the other shining, each second louder than the last.
Buzz fell to one knee, breathing hard. "It’s dying," he said. "They both are."
Zza’s silk curled around his arm, her eyes locked on the fight. "Then we make sure one of them doesn’t die in vain."
Buzz forced himself up, pain flaring down his side. He ran toward the Weaver’s hand, climbing its shifting threads. Zza followed, her silk anchoring to him for balance. The heat from their clash felt like breathing inside a storm.
He reached the newborn’s shoulder and drove his claws deep into the crack he had made before. Gold spurted, burning his arm to the bone. He screamed but held on, pulling harder until the wound split wider. Zza threw her silk around the same spot and pulled too, her teeth gritted, her body trembling.
The newborn shrieked, twisting. The Weaver took that opening and drove its arm through the creature’s chest. Blue light exploded from the wound, flooding the clearing.
The forest went silent.
Buzz dropped to the ground, hitting the dirt hard. His vision blurred. He saw the newborn convulse, then still. Its eyes flickered once, gold dimming to gray. The Weaver leaned over it, hand still buried in its chest.
Zza crawled to Buzz’s side, shaking, blood streaking her face. "Is it over?"
The Weaver looked down at them. "No," it said softly. "Nothing that learns ever truly ends."
The newborn’s body began to dissolve, gold seeping into the soil, spreading like veins under the ground.
Buzz pushed himself up, staring in disbelief. "It’s sinking into the forest."
The Weaver nodded. "It will sleep until something wakes it again."
Zza’s voice broke. "Then what are we supposed to do? We can’t fight it forever."
The Weaver’s eyes dimmed, threads unraveling from its body. "You don’t fight forever. You teach what must be remembered."
Its form dissolved into light, merging with the roots. The blue glow spread through the trees, soft and slow, until it vanished completely.
Buzz fell backward, chest heaving. The clearing was quiet again, but the air still shimmered faintly with gold under the soil.
Zza leaned against him, her voice low. "We survived."
He turned to her, weak but smiling. "For now."
The forest looked calmer, but Buzz could feel the lie beneath it. The blue light that had once pulsed through the roots had faded, but the gold still moved below the soil, quiet and patient. It wasn’t dead. It was resting.
Zza sat beside him, binding a strip of silk around her arm. Her claws shook, but her voice didn’t. "It’ll grow again," she said. "That thing won’t stay down forever."
Buzz nodded, staring at the cracked stones. "Yeah. Evil doesn’t die when it’s clever enough to hide."
He pressed his claws into the dirt. The gold under his skin answered faintly, humming like a second heartbeat. He tried to ignore it, but it was already part of him now, the Queen’s last curse stitched into his veins. Every pulse whispered back.
Zza’s eyes followed his hands. "It’s still inside you."
He laughed softly, tired. "Yeah. Maybe I’m what’s left of her now."
Zza looked at him for a long time before answering. "Then make it mean something better."
Buzz turned toward her. She had always looked small beside him, but now she seemed carved out of the same strength as the forest. Her silk shimmered with dried gold. Her eyes didn’t shake. "You really think there’s a ’better’ left in this place?"
She leaned closer, her forehead brushing his. "There’s you and me. That’s a start."
He let himself breathe for a while. The forest around them had started to rebuild its rhythm. Glowbeetles flickered again, timid and unsure. The air still smelled of burnt moss and blood, but it carried something gentler underneath—the slow return of life.
Then the ground shifted. A tremor rolled beneath them, faint but real. Buzz froze.
Zza’s silk twitched. "Please tell me that’s not what I think it is."
He stood, claws ready, scanning the clearing. The gold under the soil wasn’t moving toward them this time. It was spreading outward, branching. Thin veins crawled up the trunks of trees, glimmering faintly before fading back into bark.
Buzz exhaled through his mandibles. "It’s marking territory. Expanding."
Zza frowned. "But it’s weak. Look how thin the veins are. Maybe it’s bleeding out instead of growing."
"Maybe." He didn’t believe it, and she could tell.
They moved through the clearing together, following the faint glow. Everywhere they went, they found small traces of what the newborn had left behind—tiny cocoons of gold, no bigger than a claw, buried in moss or wrapped around roots.
Zza crouched beside one, touching it carefully. It pulsed once and stilled. "Eggs," she said quietly.
Buzz’s claws clenched. "It didn’t die. It divided."
The words hung heavy between them. The air seemed thicker, like even the forest knew what that meant.
He stared at the faintly glowing pods, then at Zza. "We can’t destroy them all. There’s too many."
She nodded. "Then we don’t destroy. We learn. The Weaver said it—it doesn’t end, it teaches. We figure out how to stop it before it wakes again."
Buzz tilted his head. "You really think we can outsmart something that learns faster than we breathe?"
Zza gave him a tired smile. "You’ve been proving it wrong since the Queen. Don’t start doubting now."
He chuckled, low and rough. "You sound like the forest when it’s pretending it’s fine."
She shrugged. "Maybe I am."
Buzz turned his gaze toward the horizon. The trees stretched endlessly, shadowed and old. Somewhere far off, a faint shimmer of gold winked through the branches, as if the forest itself was watching them.
He felt the weight of everything they had lost—Elder, the Weaverworms, every scar that still smoked under his shell. But for once, he didn’t feel hollow. Just heavy with purpose.
Zza touched his arm lightly. "We start small," she said. "One nest. One thread. We track it before it spreads too far."
Buzz nodded. "Then we hunt the echoes."
She smiled, a small, weary thing. "We always do."
They walked together through the fading light, their shadows stretching long across the roots. The forest hummed behind them, half alive, half infected, as if it too was deciding what to become next.
And deep beneath their feet, the gold pulsed once more—soft, slow, and watching.
Waiting for its next chance to wake.