They worked together—she braced, he cut with his field knife at the gum line, twisting. The fang was a curved dagger in its own right, slick with venom and still warm from the fight. They bagged two, then took a spinneret cluster, a plate shard that bore distinctive markings, and a vial of venom that they carefully milked into a stoppered glass.
When it was done, the silence pressed in heavier than the heat.
No skittering, no movement in the web-latticed cavern. Only the low hiss of dying flames and the occasional snap of cooling chitin. The once-living hive was now a tomb.
Inigo stood, giving the queen’s corpse one last look before turning to Lyra. Her braid was half-undone, grime streaked across her cheeks, and the string of her bow looked one shot away from snapping. She met his gaze without a word. They didn’t need to speak to know what both were thinking—time to go.
He adjusted his rifle, slinging it across his chest, and gestured toward the tunnel they’d cleared earlier. "Let’s get out of this grave."
The trek back through the spider nest felt longer. The smell of scorched silk clung to them, thick and cloying. Several of the side tunnels had partially collapsed from the fire, forcing them to step over chunks of stone and hardened webbing. More than once, Lyra paused, head cocked, listening for the faint sound of legs—but nothing came. Whatever brood had survived the flames had fled deep into the earth.
When they finally reached the outer chamber where daylight filtered in, both of them exhaled at the same time.
The JLTV sat exactly where they’d left it, paint speckled with ash from the fire that had billowed out of the cave mouth. Inigo didn’t bother brushing it off; he yanked the passenger door open for Lyra before circling to the driver’s side.
Once inside, the cabin felt almost unnaturally clean compared to the battlefield they’d left behind. Inigo turned the ignition, the diesel engine rumbling to life. He put the vehicle in gear, and they began the slow, bumpy ride down the trail.
Lyra leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. "First thing I’m doing when we get back is burning these clothes."
"Second thing better be a bath," Inigo said, shifting around a fallen tree branch.
"Third is collecting our reward."
That got a faint grin out of him. "And you said you didn’t care about money."
"I don’t. But I do care about seeing Guildmaster Thorne’s face when we dump this lot on his desk."
They made good time on the road, and by the time Elandra’s stone walls came into view through the tree line, the sun was beginning to dip low, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet. The city gates were still open, though the guards straightened as soon as they caught sight of the JLTV roaring toward them.
One of the sentries raised a hand. "Back from the mining district?" he called over the engine noise.
Inigo slowed just enough to lean out the window. "Nest is clear. Broodmother’s dead."
The man’s eyebrows shot up. "You’re serious?"
Lyra held up one of the sealed proof bags, letting the glint of chitin catch the light. The sentry swore under his breath, then waved them through without further questions.
Elandra’s streets were lively despite the approaching evening—merchants hawking their last wares of the day, adventurers drifting between taverns, and the ever-present smell of roasting meat from the food stalls. The JLTV drew more than a few stares; most folks in this world still weren’t used to the sight of a metal beast rumbling through cobbled roads.
Inigo parked just outside the Adventurer’s Guild hall, killing the engine. The building loomed before them—three stories of stone and timber, banners hanging from the eaves. Its wide double doors were open, spilling warm light into the street.
Inside, the main hall was its usual mix of noise and chaos—laughter from the bar, the clatter of tankards, the shuffle of boots on wooden floors. A few heads turned as they entered, noting the soot on their armor and the predator’s focus still in their eyes.
Lyra didn’t slow. She strode straight to the front counter, where a harried receptionist was sorting through a stack of parchment. "We’re here to see Guildmaster Thorne," she said.
The receptionist glanced up, eyes widening slightly. "He’s in his office. Should I—?"
"No need," Inigo said, brushing past and heading for the back hallway. Lyra followed, ignoring the curious stares that trailed them.
They stopped outside a heavy oak door bearing a brass plate engraved with: Guildmaster Thorne. Inigo knocked twice.
"Enter," came the deep voice from within.
The office was exactly what Inigo remembered—large, cluttered, and smelling faintly of pipe smoke. A massive desk dominated the center, buried under maps, mission scrolls, and half-empty ink pots. Behind it sat Guildmaster Thorne himself, a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties with a mane of iron-gray hair and eyes as sharp as any blade.
"Inigo. Lyra." His gaze flicked over their battered gear. "I take it the mission was... eventful."
"You could say that," Inigo said, stepping forward and setting the sealed proof bags on the desk one by one. "Two Broodmother fangs, spinneret cluster, venom vial, and a shard of her dorsal plate. No survivors."
Thorne’s eyes narrowed slightly. "None?"
Lyra shook her head. "By the time we got there, the nest had already claimed everyone. We cleared it. Thoroughly."
The Guildmaster leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable as he considered the evidence. He picked up one of the fangs, turning it over in his hand. "You’re certain it was a Broodmother?"
Inigo simply rolled up his sleeve, revealing the freshly bandaged punctures in his forearm. "She was certain enough to try and eat me."
That earned a low chuckle from Thorne. He set the fang down carefully. "The miners will be able to return now, once the tunnels are inspected and cleared. You’ve saved this city a great deal of trouble."
He reached for a drawer, pulled out a heavy pouch of coin, and pushed it across the desk. "Guild bounty, as agreed. Plus hazard pay. You’ve more than earned it."
Lyra took the pouch, weighing it in her hand before slipping it into her satchel. "We’ll take the credit, too."
"Already filed," Thorne said. "Word will spread quickly. You’ll have your pick of contracts for the next few weeks."
Inigo gave a faint smirk. "We’ll see if any of them are less... bitey."
For a moment, the room was quiet except for the distant murmur of the hall beyond. Then Thorne’s tone shifted, growing more serious. "You two should rest. Poison or no, a fight like that takes more out of you than you realize. Don’t rush into another mission too soon."
"Understood," Lyra said.
They turned to leave, but Thorne called after them. "Inigo."
He paused at the doorway.
"You’ve got a reputation for bending the rules," the Guildmaster said, eyes locking on him. "But when it counts, you get the job done. Keep doing that."
Inigo’s grin was small but genuine. "That’s the plan."
Outside the office, the hall seemed louder, more alive. A few adventurers had gathered near the counter, whispering and glancing their way. The rumors had already begun.
Lyra bumped her shoulder lightly against his. "Looks like we’re celebrities again."
"Enjoy it while it lasts," he said, pushing the door open to the street. "Tomorrow, someone else will slay a dragon and steal the spotlight."
"Then we’ll just have to top them," she replied with a smirk.
They climbed back into the JLTV, the weight of the day settling in their muscles. The city around them carried on as if nothing had happened—but somewhere in the mountains, a nest had burned, and the two of them had walked out when no one else could.
And that, Inigo thought as he started the engine, was enough.