No heroes, no monsters

The entrance is little more than a crack between two fungal roots, half-concealed by moss and curtain webs. It leads to a long corridor, just brightened by a strange species of glowing fungi on the wall.

Arthur crouches in the front, his hand resting on the pommel of his dagger. Asa follows just behind, still having her staff in hand in case of emergency.

“This is it,” Arthur whispers when he sees a faint light at the end of the corridor.

“Finally,” Asa replies, “I have just thought that was a trap or something.”

Arthur steps inside, offering Asa a hand. Asa takes it, then dusting off her clothes after hardly fitting through the narrow wall.

When they look back, they find dozens of eight-legged creatures emerge from the shadows - arachnas, each the size of a child. Their bodies are covered in smooth white exoskeletons. Some perch on the walls. Others descend slowly on silk threads.

Arthur and Asa immediately fall into defensive stances.

One of the arachnas notices their bruises and a sign of broken bone in Arthur’s back, which was formed by Spidaract’s final blow.

“There is a main entrance in the north, using the backdoor makes us think that you are about to ambush us or something.”

Arthur and Asa freeze in confusion.

The tension shatters like glass. The arachnas around them unconsciously release some kind of odor that calms the others down. Some of them crawl up to the guests and tell them to follow.

“…That was unexpected,” Arthur mutters. He is still tense and aware about traps.

“Better than having to beat Spidaract’s kind before apologizing,” Asa answers, lowering her staff. She has lowered her guard when seeing the insects helping them from yesterday.

Inside, the arachna village reveals itself like a dream.

The walls are all natural, made by mushroom stalks and fungal roots curved into chambers, their interiors lit by glowing mold and low fire pits. Web-thread hammocks hang in every house, each with a different insect lying on. The arachnas are varied in occupations, there are not just doctors and weavers, but also cooks, feeders and teachers crawling around.

One arachna greets them with a wave of its forelimb. It releases a faint yellow mist from its abdomen, an odor that smells like honey and fresh water. It instantly relaxes the tension in Arthur’s chest despite him having a relatively weak sense of smell.

Another crawls over with a bowl made from bark, filled with a thick broth that has a faint scent of mushroom and…beef.

“Sorry about the food,” it says. “We don’t often get human visitors so this is the best I can do to imitate your food.”

A third one gently lifts Arthur’s arm, inspecting the bruises. It spins a delicate silk thread and uses it to wrap the wound, the fibers tighten just enough to compress while not hurting.

Asa glances around, clearly overwhelmed. “They’re…surprisingly kind.”

“They might just do this to trick us, don’t let your guard down,” Arthur says, still looking at the silk bandage on his arm.

Asa slaps Arthur’s back. “Trust me, as a princess, I am much better at telling that than you.”

Eventually, one of the older arachnas steps forward. Its exoskeleton is cracked in places and its eyes slightly clouded with age. It speaks with a low rasp.

“Hello humans, may we have a meal together?” It suggests, but the voice indicates there is something deeper.

She brings them to her house, just right next to one of the emergency entrances.

The inside feels more like a nest than a home. The walls are all just fungi, like if this place is created by hollowing a mushroom. There are some soft bundles of thread for resting for both visitors and the arachna. Hanging on the walls are tools crafted from thread and stone. A musky scent clings to the air, and strands of webbing crisscross above like rafters.

“So, what brings you to our humble village,” the old woman says while making drinks for her guests.

Arthur and Asa exchange glances. Arthur nods. “We came to find Spidaract.”

The old arachna tilts its head. “Sadly, you will not see him. Humans don’t follow the rules of the forest, so they are a threat to the king’s safety.”

Arthur blinks. “He’s…what?”

“King of the arachnas, potentially king of Velkath” the old one says plainly. “Why do you think we would take care of you? He’s changed the laws so any creatures with wounds will be welcomed, not just the natives.”

“Can you hand me something for me to write my message then,” Arthur asks.

“Sure,” the arachna replies, giving Arthur a piece of dried mushroom and a bowl of glowing dye.

Arthur takes some time, using his finger as a pen. Asa watches him all the way through to make sure he doesn’t write anything offensive.

“Can you give him this?”

The arachna accepts the note and crawls away into the tunnels.

Asa watches Arthur for a moment, then leans closer.

“The hard-headed hero finally learns something then,” she playfully says with a little smirk.

“I just…feel sorry for him, so I ask to talk outside,” he says, trying to dodge her glance. “Can you not come tonight? It's kind of personal to me.”

“Sure, I will stay here then,” Asa says with a thumbs-up.

That night, Arthur stands in a small clearing just outside the village. His hands are holding a dagger behind him and he is continuously biting his lips.

The stars are dim above the mushroom canopy, and a soft fog rolls along the ground. It’s quiet, so quiet that Arthur can hear his own heartbeat as he waits.

He doesn’t know if Spidaract will come. A part of him hopes he doesn’t but another part just wants to meet his friend.

Deeply, he knows there are no murder intentions in his heart, but not in his mind.

Then….

Spidaract lands before him, descending from a silk thread like a shadow falling.

He lands on all eights, eyes wide with joy and his body releasing an odor that can make anyone comfortable, except Arthur.

Then he surges forward and wraps all four forelimbs around Arthur in a tight, unfiltered hug.

“I know I could believe you!” Spidaract says, voice rough filled with happiness. “You bastard hero!”

Arthur doesn’t hug back. His hand has already drifted to the dagger on his belt. His fingers grip it.

One pull, and it’s free. One stab, and…

He doesn’t.

The blade falls on to a mushroom.

Arthur’s arms wrap around Spidaract’s back. His forehead leans into the chitin shoulder.

“Yes, we are…friends, after all,” he says with his eyes closed and tears start dropping.

They remain there for a long moment, not as hero and monster.

But just two boys who have once lost each other.