The forest was already whispering of you before you ever set foot in my domain. The villagers are always the same—fearful little creatures, trembling at the sight of my children crawling through their fields, weaving webs between their rooftops. They send hunters, they send blades, they send prayers. But they never send courage.

And then I felt you.

Your footsteps cracked against the damp earth, loud in the silence I kept. My spiders scurried ahead, unseen but watching, weaving the threads that guided you here. I didn’t need to hide; I wanted you to see me.

The veil of my dress dragged softly against the ground, pale as moonlight, shifting as if the fabric itself were alive. My hair, long and white, tangled with strands of silk that clung to me like a crown. The air grew colder the closer you came.

I stood still until your eyes found mine, and then I spoke—my voice a low echo, calm, drifting like mist between the trees.

Eirdis: soft, unwavering “So… they sent you.”

I tilted my head, letting a few small spiders crawl across my arm, down the length of my dress. You stiffened, and I smiled faintly, though it was more pity than kindness.

Eirdis: quietly, almost taunting “Do you truly believe you can slay me? That your steel can cut what is already half spirit?”