TORIN YOUTH - CHAPTER 07: THE WEAVER OF FATE

One day after the battle near the ruins of Old Torin City—

The sky is clear and the sun shines brightly after yesterday’s rain.

Three Torinian harpies scan the forest below them, looking for the teams of Legionnaire Specialis candidates.

Each harpy is assigned to search for a different team.

One of the harpies finds the campsite of Team Two, where it is clear they made their last stand.

Another harpy spots Team One walking below.

The third harpy finds signs of a battle that took place near the ruins of Old Torin, but there is no sight of the team members.

The harpies later meet in the air.

“I spotted the fleas on Team One,” one harpy says. “They were headed away from the abandoned mine in the Crystal-light Caverns.”

“No sight of Team Two,” another harpy says. “Looks like the poor bastards got ambushed.”

“Same for Team Three,” the third harpy says. “Which means only one team survived this time. Let’s report back to Aello.”

The giant harpies fly back to the city of Torin to deliver the update.

Meanwhile, in Arimas Piinu—

Atreus gathers vegetables in the field with the inus from the village.

He carries a basket toward a tent where an older inu woman waits.

“Right here?” he asks her.

“Yes, that’ll do,” she answers.

As Atreus is setting the basket down, he sees the woman reach for a pole with buckets hanging from each end.

“Water?” he asks her. “I’ll get it for you.”

The woman allows him to take the water buckets from her. “Oh, how kind of you,” she says.

As Atreus starts toward the lake with the pole balanced across his shoulders, Sophean meets him.

“Son of the Will, I told you to rest, not work all day,” the inu man says.

Atreus laughs awkwardly. “Yeah… about that. I’m a guest here, and I don’t want to be a burden,” he says. “I just want to carry my own weight, if you understand what I mean.”

Sophean nods. “It doesn’t hurt that it helps you avoid spending time with your mother. Am I right?”

Atreus looks away, unable to lie to the inu man.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he resumes walking.

As he nears the lake, he sees Cadmeia kneeling there.

Atreus slows, reluctant to continue.

He sighs, thinking to himself, “Come on, Atreus. You can’t run forever.”

Pushing himself forward, he approaches the lake shore and the fox giantess.

Cadmeia stares into the water, her long hair draped over her right shoulder, hiding her face from him.

Atreus steps into the shallows on her right.

He looks down and sees his reflection in the rippling water, distorted by the movement of the lake and partially obscured by the shadow of the giantess nearby.

Cadmeia notices her own reflection distorted by the waves Atreus creates as he enters the lake.

“I know it’s hard to look at me,” she says softly, aware of his presence.

The boy exhales and turns his head slightly to see her.

“Even after twelve years in this body,” she says, “I still see my reflection and ask, ‘Who is that staring back at me?’”

Atreus lowers his gaze again to see his reflection in the water.

Cadmeia weeps silently.

A tear slips from Atreus’s eyes, sending another ripple across the surface of the lake.

The giantess sighs deeply, composing herself, and turns her head to look at him.

“I’m sorry that I ruined all of our lives,” she says.

Atreus begins filling the buckets.

“You did what you believed was best for everyone on this island,” he says, offering her a small smile. “And we still have life left to live… so let’s make the best of it—there’s always hope.”

He lifts the buckets onto his shoulders and turns away.

Cadmeia reaches out toward Atreus.

She stops herself, pulling back her hand and pressing it to her chest.

“Just say it…” she quietly pleads, watching the boy walk uphill toward the village.

Atreus carries the water back to the older inu woman.

“Is there anything else?” he asks.

“No, you’ve done plenty,” she answers as she takes a bucket inside her tent.

Atreus walks through the village, quietly observing.

He notices an inu man carrying firewood toward his tent, with several villagers nearby.

Not wanting to assume the man doesn’t need help, Atreus approaches. As he draws closer, he notices the expressions of the bystanders and reads their lips. Not everyone is welcoming of “bird people” here.

“Do you need a hand?” he asks.

“No, my work is finished,” the inu man replies. “But thank you for the offer. It just goes to show that not all Torinians are bad people.”

Nearby, Atreus notices an inu woman holding a drum.

He offers her a gentle smile, hopeful.

She returns it hesitantly, her pointed ears twitching with caution.

“Would you play something for me?” Atreus asks.

Her eyes flick to her friends for reassurance. They shrug, smirking.

The inu woman nods.

She sweeps her long white hair behind her shoulders and begins to pat the drum, its strap resting against her body. She moves with the rhythm, performing a traditional dance.

Atreus listens, nodding along.

“You’re good,” he says warmly.

He begins to hum, adding his voice to the rhythm. The sound calms her, her ears gradually relaxing as they open to his song.

Amusement slowly replaces caution on the faces of the woman and her friends.

“Do you want to make more music together?” she asks, suddenly eager. “I want you to sing for me.”

Atreus considers the offer for a brief moment.

“Sure,” he says.

Smiling, the woman takes him by the hand. “Come,” she says. “There’s a song in my heart.”

Further west in the northern region of Crystal Island—

A chateau sits atop a hill overlooking the ruins of Old Torin. It is no ordinary home, a place of almost inconceivable size for a human being.

Within its expansive rooms, Rhea stands alone in the shadow of a gigantic bottle. The bottle is fractured and could easily shatter into several pieces if it were tipped over. She stares at her reflection in its surface.

“Humans are so weak,” she says, lamenting her condition.

Her head is wrapped in bloodied bandages, covering her left eye socket.

Her left arm rests in a sling. Her torso and left thigh are also bandaged.

“Rhea,” a young man calls from the doorway. “Khariklo wants to see you.”

The girl behaves as though she heard nothing Leon said.

Leon slowly turns away, lowering his head in quiet sadness.

In another room, the giant dridder shows Bia more of her ancient relics.

Though the space appears to be meant for storage, it is carefully organized, almost like a gallery.

Bia walks along a shelf where Khariklo keeps miscellaneous items. She peers at a very old letter signed “Apholybane.”

“This paper looks ancient… and weird,” she says. “Is it made from silk or somethin’?”

Khariklo nods, cradling a motorcycle in her hands.

“Have you ever seen one of these?” the ninety-five-foot-tall dridder asks the tiny girl perched on the shelf.

“Nope. What’s that?” Bia asks, wide-eyed.

“Humans ride on these to travel long distances in the lands beyond the great sea,” Khariklo explains. She places two fingers over the motorcycle to mimic a human riding it. “I have no fuel to power it.”

“Oh, it’s a machine!” Bia guesses loudly. “We don’t need those to get around. We’ve got hippogriffs back home. And harpies.”

Khariklo laughs, gracefully lifting a hand to cover her mouth.

“I love how quaint you Torinians are,” she says.

As the dridder carefully returns the motorcycle to its place, Bia looks around at the immense room and whistles.

“I can’t believe how big this place is.”

She then notices a painting hanging on the wall, depicting Khariklo wearing an elegant dress.

“Wow, did you paint that?” Bia asks.

Khariklo gathers Bia into the palms of her hands.

“No. My husband, Cheiron, painted it as a gift,” she says as she carries Bia toward the table in the center of the room. “Who says minotaurs can’t be sweet?”

Leon stands in the doorway, grief etched across his face.

“She still won’t talk to me,” he says.

Khariklo approaches him. “There, there,” she says gently.

She reaches down and lifts him into her hands. “Your cousin is very stubborn indeed. You mustn’t be too hard on yourself for what happened.”

The dridder carries Leon to the table and sets him down beside Bia, who immediately wraps him in a hug.

“She needs time, that’s all,” Bia says, trying to comfort him.

“No,” Leon replies. “You don’t know Rhea like I do. She will never forgive me. Once she develops a grudge, that’s it.”

“The girl is in severe physical pain and refuses to take anything for it,” Khariklo says softly. “Yet the pain she endures inside is even greater. There are only two possible cures, I’m afraid.”

“What are they?” Leon asks.

Before the dridder can answer, Rhea appears in the doorway.

“What a pleasure to have you finally join us, Rhea,” Khariklo says cheerfully. “How did you enjoy sleeping on the pillows I crafted?”

Rhea remains silent, her head lowered even further than before.

“I liked it,” Bia speaks up. “I haven’t slept on anything so soft and comfy in my whole life.”

“Yes, they’re really nice pillows,” Leon adds.

“I’m so glad you appreciate my handiwork, sweeties!” Khariklo says. “Now that you’ve had a day to rest, I believe we are ready for some questions and answers.”

“You still haven’t told us why you brought us here,” Rhea says impatiently, remaining in the massive doorway.

“You’re welcome for the shelter I provided, little one,” the dridder replies, gleefully overlooking the girl’s lack of gratitude.

“It’s self-evident why I brought you here. I know it hurts you to admit that,” she continues, smiling knowingly.

“Don’t pretend that you know me,” Rhea snaps.

“My dear, I’ve been around for a very long time. I’ve seen empires rise and fall in the lands beyond the great sea. I have spun my webs for queens and gods. I have met many souls like yourself.”

Khariklo extends a finger toward Leon, gently lifting his chin, knowing how heavily his guilt weighs on him.

“You believe that by purging anything that makes you feel vulnerable, you will become stronger,” she says to Rhea. “But it is by embracing those vulnerabilities that one truly becomes strong.”

Bia gasps as realization rushes through her.

“Oh gods—that's it! I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner!”

“Hm? See what?” Khariklo asks.

“RHEA HAS A CRUSH ON ATREUS!” the wild-haired girl shouts.

Rhea stiffens, jolted by the outburst.

“YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, BIA!” she screams.

“Oh my,” Khariklo says, laughing awkwardly. “Ladies, let’s keep things civil, please.”

Rhea continues, seething. “I—I could never love that pathetic loser! The day I no longer have to suffer his existence will be the happiest day of my life!”

A sharp wave of agony surges through her body.

“NGH!” she groans, clutching her bandaged eye socket.

Khariklo skitters toward the doorway on her many spider legs, concern overtaking her expression.

“Please accept a remedy for your pain, little one,” the dridder insists.

“Wait!” Bia interrupts, narrowing her eyes at Rhea. “What does she mean by ‘his existence’?”

Leon attempts to steer the conversation in another direction.

“Khariklo, who sent you to find us?” he asks.

“The mother of your former companion,” she answers, smiling sweetly at the boy.

Leon ponders the meaning of her words.

“Atreus’ mother,” he says, still forming his thoughts. “Cadmeia? The traitor? Didn’t she die?” Leon asks.

“She did… and yet she lives,” the dridder responds. “…as the Scarlet Vixen.”

Rhea gasps, remembering the moment she looked into the Vixen’s eyes.

“That explains the desperation I saw in her eyes,” she says quietly to herself. “…and why Atreus reacted strangely to the song she was singing… as if he recognized it.”

Khariklo offers her hand to Rhea, inviting her to sit upon it. The girl hesitates, then reluctantly accepts.

“Cadmeia… became the Vixen?” Rhea asks, momentarily forgetting her pain.

“Correct,” the dridder replies.

Bia rushes to the edge of the table where she and Leon were placed, her heart pounding.

“Our FORMER companion?” she asks. “She really ate him, didn’t she?”

“No. He still lives… for now,” Khariklo says as she gently brings Rhea to the table to join the others. “It was I who told Cadmeia that she must not embark on her journey without the boy.”

“What—what is she planning?” Bia asks, slipping into interrogation mode.

“She means to become human again,” the ancient yet youthful dridder answers. “But the power she seeks requires a sacrifice… or two. I am the one who informed her of it.”

“WE HAVE TO STOP HER NOW!” the easily excitable girl yells. “We can’t wait for Rhea to recover!”

“He is in Fate’s hands now,” Khariklo says, gently setting Rhea down on the table. “She finds him… amusing.”

The dridder then moves her hand toward Leon, grasping a luminous dangling thread attached to him that only her eyes can see.

“I spin and weave for the Mistress of Fate—Morgana,” she continues, gently tugging the glowing thread.

Leon and the others watch Khariklo’s movements but do not understand them.

“I can pull your threads,” she says, pinching the strand between her thumb and index finger. “I can extend it—and your life. I can cut it short. Or I can simply tell you what lies ahead.”

She examines Leon’s thread as if reading a book.

“You should not follow,” she advises.

“We have to go! Atreus is in danger,” Bia insists.

“Tell us more… about this power,” Rhea pleads, desperation etched across her face.

Khariklo hesitates. “I have likely said too much already.”

Rhea feels another surge of pain tear through her body, especially her head. She grimaces, clutching her hand over her bandaged eye socket.

“PLEASE,” she begs.

Khariklo sighs. “In the end, you cannot escape fate.”

She moves across the room filled with artifacts collected over millennia, murmuring to herself.

“Let’s see… where did I leave that?”

“Ah—there it is.”

The dridder returns carrying a gigantic clay jar and delicately places it upon the table. The vessel is decorated with images of armor-clad giantesses and their queen.

“This relic rivals me in age,” she says, winking. “It is an artifact created by a civilization of elven giantesses called the Oiriopata. The very same civilization that shaped this archipelago.”

Her tone shifts as she continues.

"The Oiriopata, led by one of their darker queens, Otrera, created an object of immense power called the Transmatrix, also known as the Fire of Transformation.

The Oiriopata possessed an insatiable hunger for conquest, and the blood they shed powered the Transmatrix.

Only those of the female gender were spared their cruelty in every world they touched.

Before the warrior giantesses mysteriously vanished, the Transmatrix was secured on a small island south of this one."

Khariklo demonstrates the location for the three Torinians by placing her hand flat on the table to represent the larger island, then pointing with a finger to the smaller one.

“I know I cannot persuade you otherwise,” she says. “However, once again, I strongly advise you not to follow them there.”

That night, in Torin City—

General Aello crouches over a group of Legionnaire Officers at a defense station just outside the inner Great Wall.

She and the Legate discuss possible plans.

“Do we even have enough of you little twerps to secure the southeast section of the island, Legate Titan?” Aello asks.

“With the help of the Kelermites keeping the sphinxes off the islands in that direction, it shouldn’t take too great an effort,” the Legate replies, glancing up at the imposing Demon Harpy. “This is necessary if we are to trade beyond the sea.”

“Shit… if the queen wants it that badly, then…” Aello concedes. “We’ll send more of the legion.”

Three harpies return to the city with their reports and gently land nearby.

“What do you wretched bimbos want?” Aello snaps.

“We’ve got the statuses of the three trial teams, General,” one harpy reports.

“Spit it out, then!” the Demon Harpy barks.

Perched atop the inner Great Wall in the distance, a harpy with magenta-and-white feathers and light brown skin focuses her extraordinary hearing on the conversation below.

She frowns as sadness washes over her upon hearing the report.

The magenta-and-white harpy leaves her perch, flying south of the city toward the mountainside.

There, among the trees, she finds two harpies asleep in their nests.

“Hey, Helia! Gale! Wake up,” she calls. “Come on, get up, you worm-ridden mouth breathers!”

Gale stirs and yawns.

Helia remains undisturbed, mumbling in her sleep, sprawled on her belly and drooling.

“Ah yeah… come ‘ere, ya fat little elves… ooh, a whole house full of ya. Mm, I’m gonna swallow you all at once. Tee hee hee.”

Noticing the visitor, Gale blinks and greets her.

“Harriet? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Gale asks.

“No,” Harriet replies.

“HELIA, WAKE UP!” she shouts, disturbing nearby harpies who prefer sleeping at night.

Helia jolts upright.

“AH! Mom, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

Her eyes dart around wildly before she realizes her mother is not there.

“Umm… Harriet,” she mutters. “What’re you wakin’ us up for, ya croonin’ banshee?”

“It’s about Team Three,” Harriet says. “Atreus’ team. They’re missing.”

“WHAT?” Helia and Gale shout in unison.

“It appears there was a fight with a predator near the ruins of Old Torin. Their flag was planted, but there’s no sign of them,” Harriet says somberly.

“We’ve gotta go find them,” Helia declares, spreading her wings.

“But Helia, we are forbidden to interfere in the trials,” Gale reminds her.

“T’hell with that, Gale. I’m not sittin’ on my tailfeathers while my friend might need me,” Helia snaps as she launches into the air. “You comin’, or not, airhead?”

Gale bites her lip, determination hardening her expression, and takes off after Helia.

“Good luck, you two,” Harriet calls after them. “I hope you find him.”

(NEXT CHAPTER)