NOVEL WEB Chapter 211: Silk
Allen didn't leave the Hollow right away. The hum in his veins wasn't just a trickle now—it was a steady current, a low, living thrum that made the edges of his senses feel sharper. Every shift of the silk under his boots, every faint tremor in the air above, every whisper of movement down the winding tunnels—he could feel it without looking. The platform bled seamlessly into the bridge ahead, and as Allen stepped forward, the silk reshaped itself to meet him, threads unspooling from the shadows and weaving a walkway in real time. It was like the Hollow was guiding him somewhere—and he let it. Fina and Rinni stayed close on his heels, their eyes darting to the moving strands, while Nyxilith followed in silence, her spindly legs making no sound at all. They passed under a massive arch of blackened silk, and the air shifted—warmer, thicker, with a faint copper tang like blood carried on the damp. A faint chittering echoed in the distance, not threatening but aware, like the Hollow itself was listening to their footsteps. The tunnel widened, the threads thickening, and in the dim light, shapes moved above them—shadows of spiderkin slipping across the ceiling, keeping pace. Fina's tail swished in small, wary motions, while Rinni's ears twitched, catching sounds even Allen couldn't.
The path opened into a chamber unlike any they'd seen—its center held a colossal loom made of bone and silk, the threads shimmering as if they carried moonlight inside them. Nyxilith moved ahead without a word, her clawed fingers brushing one of the strands. It vibrated, sending a ripple of light up into the weave, and Allen felt that hum in his bones deepen, as though the thread had answered him, too. Fina reached for his hand instinctively, her soft fur brushing his knuckles, while Rinni pressed closer on his other side. The wives got that side of him no one else did—warmth, subtle protectiveness. He gave Fina's hand a squeeze, glanced to Rinni with a small smile, before letting his gaze sweep the chamber again. Something was watching.
From the far end of the loom, a figure emerged. Tall, elegant, draped in strands of shimmering web that clung like water to bare skin—another spiderkin, but her eyes were sharper, her presence heavier than Nyxilith's. "So… this is the one who walks my Hollow as though it belongs to him," she said, voice smooth as silk but with a hook underneath. Allen didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, reading the way her mandibles flexed ever so slightly, the way the other spiderkin above stilled to listen. Something told him this wasn't just an introduction. This was an invitation—or a challenge. And Allen? He never walked away from either.
Allen didn't rush to speak. Silence had weight here, and the figure across from him—whoever she was—was testing how he'd carry it. Fina and Rinni stayed close, but their eyes tracked every twitch in the threads above, ears and tail picking up unspoken cues. Nyxilith hung back just enough to let the moment breathe, but her stance told Allen this new arrival wasn't just another Hollow denizen; she was the kind of presence others stepped aside for.
When Allen finally did speak, it wasn't with deference. "If it feels like I walk it like it's mine," he said, voice steady, "maybe it's because it's letting me."
A soft laugh came from her—low, deliberate. She stepped closer, each footfall silent but marked by the faint shifting of the silk beneath them. The shimmer on her web-woven garment caught the dim light, making it seem almost fluid, and Allen caught flashes of dark, patterned skin beneath, the kind of markings spiderkin wore like ancestry. Her eight eyes studied him all at once. "Bold," she murmured. "The Hollow tolerates many. It welcomes few. But it bonds to even fewer still. You've touched its threads. That's not nothing."
Allen felt the faint vibration underfoot again, that hum that wasn't sound but sensation. It was subtle, but it was there—like a distant heartbeat synced to his own. He didn't know yet if it was an advantage or a trap, but either way, he was already in it.
She circled him slowly, glancing at Fina and Rinni without a word. Fina met her gaze without flinching, her tail flicking once in quiet defiance, while Rinni tilted her head just slightly, watching with that deceptively soft curiosity that hid a razor edge when needed. The spiderkin leader's attention lingered on them a fraction longer than necessary. "These two," she said finally, "are not like the others who follow you."
"They're not followers," Allen replied, his tone softer now, but more certain. "They're mine."
The woman's lips curved—not quite a smile. "Then I suppose that means they'll leave this Hollow untouched. The others…" she let the thought hang in the air like an unfinished web.
Allen didn't rise to it. Instead, he asked, "And you?"
Her gaze sharpened. "I am Velith. Keeper of the Loom. I weave the Hollow's memory into threads that will outlast centuries. Everything that passes through here—every voice, every deal, every betrayal—it all stays with me." She leaned in just enough for her scent, faintly sweet and metallic, to drift between them. "And now, so will you."
Allen didn't flinch, but Fina's tail brushed against his leg—an unspoken reminder that they were being drawn into something. Rinni shifted closer on his other side, her warm presence grounding him against the quiet tension. Above them, the spiderkin who had been moving restlessly earlier now hung still, their attention fixed on Velith.
"You've got my attention," Allen said, "so let's skip the slow dance. What do you want?"
Velith's expression didn't change, but the loom behind her shivered as if catching a sudden wind. Threads brightened, faint images rippling along their length—faces, places, half-formed scenes, too quick to fully register before fading back to silver. "There's a tear in the web," she said simply. "Beyond the Hollow, in the lands where the dunes meet the glass cliffs. Something has been cutting threads. Not mine—older ones. If it keeps going, the Hollow will lose pieces of itself it can't ever reclaim."
Allen caught the way her voice shifted on that last line. This wasn't just about preservation—it was personal. "And you think I'm the one to patch it?"
"I think," she said, stepping back to the loom and letting her fingers trace a single glowing strand, "that you're the only one who's already tangled enough to follow it without getting lost." Her gaze slid back to him. "And because you carry bonds that the Hollow recognizes. Your wives." She glanced again at Fina and Rinni. "You keep them close. That matters."
Allen could feel both of them watching him now—not for permission, but to see if he'd even consider it. He knew they'd follow him into the worst of it without hesitation, but the Hollow's kind of business wasn't clean. It was threads, knots, and traps.
Still, he felt it—the pull of the next step, the way the air between here and that far-off place already seemed to be tightening around him.
"Alright," Allen said at last. "I'll go see what's cutting your threads. But I'm not doing it for free."
Velith's lips curled into something that was almost approval. "Good. I wouldn't have respected you if you had." She reached to the loom, plucked a single thread, and with a faint, soundless snap, it coiled into her palm before she tossed it to him. Allen caught it—it felt warm, almost alive, and as soon as his fingers closed around it, he felt the hum in his veins double.
"That will lead you where you need to go," she said. "But be careful. The thing that's cutting is not doing it blindly. It's hunting."
The chamber dimmed slightly as if the Hollow itself was drawing in a slow breath. Allen didn't look away from Velith, but in the corner of his vision, he saw the faintest outline of something in the silk—like a shadow stretched too long, waiting.
And he knew then that whatever this next path was, it had already found him.