"My Adam believed," Arachne began softly, "
that no matter how dark the trial, there would always be hope at the end. He carried that belief into the final battle. His friends stood with him. They laughed together before the End descended, promising that if they fell, they would fall as one." Her lips quivered, and she pressed her hands against them to stifle the sob trying to break through. "I watched. I screamed for them to run. But the End is not something one can flee."
Adam stared at her, his throat dry. "What is the End?"
Her eyes lifted to his, and for the first time he saw not just grief but fear in her expression. "The End was the final stage of the world itself. A culmination of every sin, every war, every imbalance that mortals and gods alike allowed to fester. It is not just a monster, but a storm that cannot be endured. It is inevitability given form. When the last stage arrives, the End consumes all."
He shook his head, unable to accept the thought. "There has to be a way to fight it. If it happened to you, maybe my world can prepare, maybe we can—"
Her voice cut across his, sharp with despair. "No preparation was enough. They were heroes, Adam. Every one of them was stronger than you can imagine, yet they were broken, crushed, and scattered like leaves in a storm. Humanity's final breath and hope ended in that battle. And with humanity's end, the gods began to wither. Our existence is tied to theirs. Without them, we fade. I have lasted longer than most, but even I am slipping away."
Her shoulders sagged, her earlier fury gone, leaving only exhaustion. She looked at him again, and this time her eyes held a fragile spark of hope that frightened him more than her grief.
"But you," she said softly, almost reverently. "You are from a world not yet lost. That means there is still a chance. Perhaps through you, something can change."
Arachne's gaze softened as if she were weighing the fragile thread of hope that Adam's presence had ignited. Her trembling hands curled against her knees before she finally spoke again.
"If you can gather the ones you call companions now, if you can forge them into heroes, then perhaps you might stand a chance. Not later, not when the End already looms, but now. Earlier. If you can convince them, if you can lead them, then maybe the tide will shift."
Adam shook his head immediately. "I already have friends. We fight together, but I am not their leader."
Arachne blinked, the words striking her as if they were foreign. Her Adam had always led, his voice the one others followed in the darkest moments. She leaned back slightly, brows furrowing. "Not their leader? But my Adam was the de facto leader of humanity's resistance. Every decision, every stand, was made because he bore the weight of it. How can you not lead?"
Adam met her eyes, steady despite his discomfort. "Because the one who leads us isn't me. It's Leo."
Arachne tilted her head, confusion flashing across her features. She whispered the name again, tasting it as though it was one she had never spoken before. "Leo? That is not a name I know."
Adam hesitated, then spoke with quiet conviction. "According to Phanmorra, Leo is a singularity."
The effect was immediate. Arachne's eyes widened as though lightning had split the cavern in two. She almost rose from her throne, her body shaking with the force of her shock. "A singularity? Who would dare to raise such a thing? Who would be reckless enough to shape one?"
Before Adam could answer, the cavern filled with the unamused voice of Phanmorra. It was steady, cutting through the air like cold iron.
The name echoed, bouncing from wall to wall until the sound felt like a weight pressing against both Adam and Arachne.
Arachne's expression twisted between fury and disbelief. Her hands clenched into fists as she trembled, the spark of despair burning hotter once again.
"Letting my world rot so that she may create a monster that could destroy every world? How vicious she is!" Arachne's voice cracked, half fury, half grief. Her fists trembled against her knees. "I wish I could look her in her eyes and tear her limb for limb for what she has done!"
Adam spoke without thinking. "From what I saw, Discordia doesn't have eyes."
Arachne's fury faltered, confusion knitting her brow. "Without eyes? That is not possible. Something must have happened. Something even I do not know." Newest update provıded by NovєlFіre.net
Before Adam could ask, his body began to feel light, almost as if the ground beneath him was slipping away. He looked at his hands and saw faint wisps of light rising from his skin.
Phanmorra's voice cut across the cavern once more. "Time is running out."
Arachne's breath hitched. Her eyes widened with a desperation that broke through her earlier grief. "No… not so soon." She stood abruptly, her body quivering as she took the few steps that separated her from Adam. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as though she could anchor him here by will alone.
Her voice shook against his shoulder. "I will give you two things before you leave. The first is this."
A faint glow gathered at her chest, swirling into a sphere of light. She lifted her hand, and the orb drifted forward until it hovered between them. Its faint radiance pulsed like a heartbeat.
"This is for her," Arachne whispered. "When you see your Arachne again, give this to her. Tell her it came from me."
Adam swallowed hard, his throat tightening as the orb pressed into his palm and sank gently into his skin. His chest burned faintly where it settled, though it was not pain, only weight.
Arachne's face twisted with hesitation. Her lips parted, closed again, then finally moved. "The second gift is truth. A truth I never thought I would reveal."
Adam's heart thumped heavily. He could feel the weight of her words before she spoke them.
"The gods of this world have touched yours for years," she said softly. "To watch, to learn, to live among mortals. We crafted fragments of ourselves to walk beside humans, to breathe as they do."
Adam's pulse quickened. An eerie premonition clenched in his gut, cold and heavy.
Her tears broke free as she pressed her hand against her mouth, forcing herself to continue. "Long ago, I did the same. I fell in love with a man. A mortal. Even knowing our paths could not remain joined, I could not help myself. Against all reason, against all order, I bore his child."
Adam froze. His chest tightened until every breath felt like a blade. He knew what she would say before the words left her lips, yet dread made him want to deny it.
"I am sorry," Arachne whispered, her voice splintering. "I am sorry for what you endured. I am sorry for not telling you. I am sorry for leaving you. My son."
Her trembling hands cupped his face as he stared at her, tears blurring his sight.
Adam's body dissolved into light, pulled away from her embrace. The last thing he saw was her broken smile, the grief in her eyes reflected in his own.
And Arachne was alone once more.