Fear prickles my skin as I pierce the webbing with both swords and then slash downward to cut a hole wide enough for me to pass through. The hole reveals the collapsed wall of a small foyer. Dust clings to the heels of my boots. Broken boards and bits of wood lie piled in the corners.

That weighty power beckons to me. I move slowly, every part of me hyperaware that somewhere ahead, a giant spider awaits. I’ve fought all manner of beasts, from serpents to rock scorpions and spiny boars, with their half-dozen tusks. I pray it’s prepared me to face a Spinner.

Beyond the wreckage are the ruins of an immense greenhouse. The ceiling soars high above, but very little glass remains. Instead, all the windows are completely sealed over with webbing. Columns marbled by age and decay stand in two lines at either side.

A series of lit lanterns adorn each column, illuminating the space and the enormous spiderweb that stretches floor to ceiling across the back wall. My stomach drops at the sight.

Caught within the web is a large cocoon.

I grip my swords tighter. Has the Spinner been feeding? What, exactly, does a spider twice the size of a drake even eat?

But the condition of the cocoon doesn’t look new. The web is patchy and old, shriveled gray overlapped in white as if it’s been repaired countless times over countless years. Moss climbs the taut strands, startlingly green, and encases half the cocoon like the speckled shell of a large egg. The entire structure is strangely beautiful, completely at odds with the magic emanating from within.

Nothing else but a Spinner could have woven the massive web, but why would its power be inside a cocoon?

Standing before it, the wrongness of this magic is impossible to ignore. Compared to the blazing purity of my craft, this strange magic is like oil spilling over water. It pulls at me. I have to know what’s inside.

Sheathing my swords, I cross the greenhouse until my hands close around the thick threads of the spiderweb that span the height of the room. I climb. The moss provides a gentle cushion for my palms. Each strand of webbing is sturdy and taut. I’m nearly thirty paces off the ground when I at last reach the enormous cocoon.

I draw one sword and carefully pierce the thick webbing. Dragging the blade downward, slowly, I slice through the first few layers. I tear away what I can and then repeat the process. At length, I sheathe the sword and dig my fingers into the last layers, wrenching the webbing roughly aside.

Within the cocoon is a face. I recoil and almost lose my grip. My fingers seize the web, hanging on as my heart pounds. I stare, dumbstruck. It’s a body.

Perplexed, I shred away more webbing, tilting my head as more of him is revealed.