Two figures stood beside a small grave at the edge of a quiet clearing. A lone tree rose above it, its branches stirring softly in the breeze, leaves whispering secrets to the earth below. The air smelled of damp soil and ash, the lingering aftermath of violence slowly giving way to grief.

  One of them was an older woman, slight and weathered, her hair mostly gray now, though stubborn strands of black still threaded through it. She stood with her hands folded, shoulders drawn inward, as if holding herself together by force of habit alone.

  The other dwarfed her.

  Barrett stood rigid and unmoving, boots planted in the dirt, camo pants stained dark from old blood. Dog tags rested against a black beater. Over it all hung a long coat of red and black spiderweave, the fabric shimmering subtly in the light. A stars-and-stripes bandana covered his ruined eyes, holding back long, messy blond hair. Perched on his shoulder was a black raven, red eyes sharp and alert, seeing far more than anyone else in the clearing.

  For a long while, neither spoke.

  At last, the woman broke the silence.

  “It sounds like…” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “It sounds like she found some measure of happiness at the end.”

  Barrett nodded once.

  “She deserved better,” he rasped, the words scraping out of him like gravel dragged across stone.

  The woman inclined her head, grief etched deep into the lines of her face.

  After a pause, she said quietly, “I can see what she saw in you.”

  Barrett turned slightly, surprised.

  “You remind me of her father,” the woman continued. “Always running headlong into danger. Always trying to save everyone. Willing to spend his own life if it meant others could keep theirs.”

  She drew in a slow, steadying breath. “We were warpers once. Like you. A long time ago.”

  Barrett stiffened. His head turned fully toward her now.

  She lifted a hand, gently forestalling his questions. “We came from a lower world. Nothing special.” Her eyes drifted toward the trees. “The spiders chased us. Many didn’t make it. But we found a bridge, leading to this island.”

  Barrett nodded. He’d seen the wooden posts in the water.

  “I’m guessing you destroyed it,” he said quietly.

  She nodded. “We thought it would keep us safe.”

  Her hands trembled as she clenched them together. “Then she came to us.”

  Barrett’s jaw tightened. “Who?”

  “The Spider Queen,” she said. “The one before Rebby.”

  The words landed like a blow.

  Realization darkened his expression. “You…gave her Rebby.”

  Tears spilled freely now. “She promised us peace. She promised she would leave us alone.” Her voice broke. “Rebby’s father refused of course. He fought them. They tied him down. Held him while they took our daughter.”

  Barrett turned away, fists curling.

  “Sick cowards,” he muttered.

  The woman didn’t argue.

  “My husband was never the same after that,” she went on. “One day, he built a raft. Said he was going to find her.” A finger wiped at her eye. “He never came back.”

  Barrett swallowed. He didn’t ask what he already knew.

  Some things didn’t need saying.

  He could piece together enough. The previous queen was gone and Rebby had somehow become the new queen.

  Barrett stood there for a long moment, jaw clenched tight, grief and anger twisting together in his chest. He wanted vengeance. Wanted someone to punish.

  But he knew that wouldn’t bring her back.

  At last, he turned away from the grave and began to walk, boots crunching softly against the earth.

  Behind him, Rebby’s mother remained beneath the tree, alone with the past.

  —

  Barrett made his way back toward the village at an unhurried pace, Grimm balanced easily on his shoulder. The raven’s weight was familiar now, as if it belonged there. The path curved between half-rebuilt huts and scorched earth, the village still wearing the scars of the battle. A battle which hadn’t ended cleanly. Some spiders had slipped through the defenses in the aftermath, scattering chaos in pockets before they were hunted down. It had taken days to clear the worst of it, and even now, every so often, another would surface from the forest or the ruins. They were ugly reminders that peace here was still provisional, still earned one kill at a time.

  A sharp crack split the air.

  Then a low whoosh of heat displacing atmosphere.

  Barrett slowed.

  Curiosity tugged at him, and he followed the sound around the corner of a collapsed wall. There, in a cleared stretch of ground, he found Rei and Pippy.

  Rei stood with her feet planted, posture tight and focused, one arm extended as she fired compact bursts of flame toward a rough wooden target. Each shot hissed as it cut through the air, glowing gold-orange before striking. The impacts were precise. Controlled.

  Beside her, Pippy stood utterly still.

  Her eyes were glowing golden, brow furrowed in deep concentration, hands raised slightly as if feeling the air itself. Each fire bullet slowed or sped up at her silent command. Barrett watched as Rei gradually increased the cadence—faster shots, tighter spacing—and Pippy kept up, her control expanding outward like ripples in water. Nothing was missed inside her domain, everything was under her control.

  They were syncing, working together as one. This was the Team Donovan he had envisioned.

  Barrett leaned against a wooden pillar, arms folding across his chest as he observed in silence. For a long moment, he said nothing—just watched the two of them work, sweat shining on Rei’s skin, Pippy’s breathing growing shallow but steady as she held her domain together.

  Eventually, they noticed him.

  Pippy startled first, eyes snapping open. “Mister Donovan,” she said quickly, almost guiltily, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.

  Rei followed her gaze and lifted a hand in a half-wave. “Hey, Donovan,” she said, tentative despite herself.

  Barrett remained still for a heartbeat longer, then let his posture ease. Inside, he was still a mess, but he didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. He was the leader of this team, and that meant swallowing what he felt and standing steady for everyone else. The best smile he could coax tugged faintly at his mouth. It was small and tired, but genuine.

  “I’d hate to be on the wrong side of Team Donovan,” he said at last. “You two are looking damn good.”

  The tension drained out of them immediately.

  Pippy’s shoulders dropped in relief. Rei exhaled and smirked. “We’ve had a great leader,” she said lightly.

  Barrett inhaled sharply through his nose.

  Rei caught it and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” she added. “I know. I’m on Team Donovan.” She paused, then added more quietly, “If you’ll have me.”

  Barrett let out a short laugh. “Sure,” he said. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “Wow. Truly inspiring,” Rei shot back dryly.

  He smiled, then coughed, the sound rougher than he meant. “There’s…something I wanted to say.” He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner—”

  He never finished.

  Something pressed into his waist with sudden force.

  Barrett looked down to find Pippy wrapped tightly around him, arms locked, forehead pressed against his chest. She wasn’t letting go.

  He froze for half a second. Then gently rested a hand on her head, fingers threading into her hair.

  “I missed you,” she said, voice muffled but fierce.

  “I missed you too, Pip,” he replied, carefully keeping the crack out of his voice.

  Grimm chirped happily from his shoulder.

  Barrett huffed softly. “He’s just happy the team’s back together.”

  Rei watched them for a moment, then cleared her throat. “You talk to Maku yet?” she asked, concern slipping through her composure.

  Barrett straightened slowly, Pippy stepping back at last.

  “Headed there now,” he said.

  And with that, he turned and continued on.

  —

  Barrett stopped in front of a small cabin set back from the main path, its walls still bearing scorch marks that hadn’t yet been scrubbed away. A pair of elders waited there, hands folded, posture stiff with a mixture of reverence and nerves.

  “Hail, great warrior,” one of them said, bowing his head slightly. “I am Wexel.”

  “And you may call me Vin,” the other added, offering a tentative smile.

  Barrett nodded once. His patience was thin, stretched taut by the chilling thought that these men may have been responsible for Rebby’s fate. Grimm shifted on his shoulder, red eyes flicking between the men. Barrett folded his arms across his chest, the spiderweave coat whispering softly as it moved.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asked, voice even but edged.

  The two elders exchanged a glance. Wexel cleared his throat, fingers tightening around the hem of his robe.

  “Well…yes, my lord,” he began carefully. “You see, we wished to ask a favor.”

  Barrett lifted his chin a fraction, signaling him to continue.

  “You are a mighty warrior,” Wexel went on, words tumbling out now that he’d started. “Perhaps the mightiest any of us have ever witnessed. The way you faced the Queen—”

  “Get to the point,” Barrett cut in. He didn’t raise his voice, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

  Vin winced, then stepped in. “We were hoping—both of us—that you might allow us to travel with you. To EverGreen.”

  Barrett’s brow creased. “EverGreen?”

  “The port city,” Wexel said quickly. “We assumed you were headed there.”

  Barrett’s eyes narrowed. “And why would you assume that?”

  Vin gestured vaguely toward the distant shoreline. “The ships,” he said. “Anyone strong enough to carve a path through this world eventually seeks the ships. We thought…well, we thought you might be the same.”

  Barrett was quiet for a moment, the crackle of distant fires filling the space between them. Then he nodded once.

  “That’s right,” he said. “I am.”

  Hope flared openly on Vin’s face. “Then you’ll take us with you?”

  Barrett stepped past them, boots crunching softly against the dirt. “I’ll think about it,” he replied without looking back.

  The elders remained where they were, watching him go, unsure whether they’d just been spared or dismissed.

  —

  He eased the door open and stepped inside, moving with care, as if the wrong sound might shatter something fragile.

  The room was bare in the way only a place of necessity ever was. A narrow workbench hugged one wall, scattered with a few well-used tools. In the corner sat a makeshift bed. It was really just planks, blankets, and padding arranged more for function than comfort. Beside it was a single stool, and on that stool sat an older woman, once blonde, now mostly gray. She was small, compact, her posture upright despite the long hours etched into the lines of her face. There was strength in her stillness.

  She startled when she noticed him and rose quickly, crossing the room with surprising speed.

  “Thank you,” Barrett said, his voice rough but sincere as he faced her. “For taking care of him. For taking care of all of us.”

  She studied him for a moment, searching past the bandana and the scars, and whatever she found there made her eyes soften. Emotion welled up unexpectedly. She nodded once, then pulled him into a brief, firm hug, wiping at her eye when she stepped back.

  “I’ll give you two some time,” Granny said gently, already turning toward the door.

  When it closed behind her, the room felt smaller. Quieter.

  Barrett turned.

  Maku lay on the bed, propped against the wall, staring out the small window as if the world beyond it were easier to face than the one inside. He was only slightly younger than Barrett and still painfully handsome. He had those infuriatingly perfect features Barrett had always pretended not to envy. But something was missing now. A sharpness dulled. A spark dimmed. The sight of it hit Barrett harder than any blow.

  Maku avoided his gaze at first, then slowly turned to look at him.

  Disappointment lingered there. Shame as well, mostly aimed inward.

  “What happened to your eyes?” Maku asked quietly.

  Barrett crossed the room and lowered himself onto the small stool beside the bed, the contrast of his size in the tiny space almost absurd. Grimm fluttered down, settling on the bedpost near Maku’s shoulder, silent and watchful.

  “Venom,” Barrett said. “Did something to me. Lost vision in both eyes.”

  “Permanently?”

  Barrett shrugged.

  Maku nodded slowly. Up close, the damage was impossible to miss—bruises beneath bandages, dark blotches where healing was still catching up. Granny must have worked herself to exhaustion keeping him alive.

  “You see through Grimm,” Maku said, more observation than question.

  Barrett nodded. Of course he’d figured it out.

  “How’re you holding up?” Barrett asked.

  Maku huffed. “Been better.”

  Barrett nodded once, accepting it.

  “I heard you took down the Spider Queen,” Maku said after a pause. “Heard you did it alone. Like it was nothing.” There was an edge to his voice. It was thin and sharp, betraying more than he meant to show.

  Barrett exhaled. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Oh?” Maku said faintly. “What—pull a muscle? Jam a finger?”

  Barrett’s jaw tightened.

  In a flash, he surged forward and grabbed Maku by the collar, hauling him up just enough to meet him eye to bandana. Maku froze, startled.

  “Don’t,” Barrett said, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t talk like that.”

  Maku blinked.

  “We’re friends,” Barrett went on, grip firm but controlled. “Not rivals.”

  Maku swallowed, something unsteady flickering in his eyes. “Best…friends?”

  Barrett released him and eased him back against the bed, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

  “You’re damn right,” he said. “So I got stronger. Big deal. You think that means I don’t need you?”

  Maku looked down, the words settling heavily. Embarrassment. Relief. Something like gratitude.

  Barrett turned his face toward the window—not to see, but to feel the warmth of the twin suns on his skin.

  “What’s the point of power anyway,” he said quietly, “if you can’t use it to protect your friends?”

  Maku let out a small, breathless laugh. “Yeah. Guess I was being stupid.”

  Barrett wasn’t sure the doubt was fully gone, but he let it rest. Competition and insecurity were old demons. You couldn’t kill them. You just had to learn to live with their whispers, and choose, again and again, to listen to the quieter voice that urged you to be better.

  After a moment, Maku spoke again, softer.

  “I heard…you and the Spider Queen were a thing?”

  There was no mockery in it. Just concern.

  Barrett let out a dark chuckle. “I really know how to pick ’em.”

  “I could tell you cared,” Maku said. He heard the pain underneath the humor and chose to answer that instead.

  Barrett nodded. “She was dealt a bad hand. Too young. Too much forced on her.”

  “I would’ve liked to meet her,” Maku said. “Really meet her.”

  “Yeah,” Barrett murmured, wiping at his face. “You would’ve liked her.”

  Maku reached out and rested a hand on Barrett’s. The contact caught him off guard. It was so pure and unguarded; he didn’t know how to respond.

  “Relax,” Maku said with a weak laugh. “Not hitting on you.”

  He started to pull away, awkwardly, but Barrett caught his hand and held it, squeezing once. Maku squeezed back.

  “I’ve always got your back,” Barrett said quietly. “Never forget that.”

  Maku stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

  —Lance—

  Lance laughed, the sound carrying easily down the road.

  “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard,” Tony Baha replied, shaking his head in open disbelief.

  “Yeah, well,” Tanya said with a crooked smile, “that’s the military for you.”

  The three of them had fallen into an easy rhythm during the long trek, the kind that only formed when days blurred together and conversation became the primary way to mark time. Tanya, in particular, had been a wellspring of stories—one unbelievable chapter after another. National Guard deployments. Years as a college athlete. Personal training gigs for celebrities. Time spent cooking professionally in multiple countries. And then, delivered casually as if it were no different from the rest, a stint as a CIA field agent.

  That last one Lance privately filed under probably bullshit.

  He’d known too many guys in high school who swore their dads worked for the CIA. Still, Tanya told the story with such ease, such confidence, that even Lance wasn’t sure. He had to admit, somebody worked at the CIA, so why not Tanya?

  Tony Baha had grown close to them as well, though not through grand feats or heroic stories. What he offered instead was perspective. He spoke often about his time with Barrett before the warp—about training sessions that turned into shouting matches, about stubborn arguments neither of them ever truly won. At first, they sounded like the familiar complaints of a hard teacher dealing with a difficult student.

  But somewhere in the middle of those stories, Lance and Tanya began to notice what went unsaid.

  The way Tony talked about Barrett wasn’t the way a teacher spoke of a pupil, or even how a mentor spoke of a promising protégé. There was pride there. It was quiet but unmistakable. There was concern too, carefully buried beneath gruff humor and casual dismissal. He criticized Barrett the way family did: frustrated, blunt, occasionally exasperated, but never unkind. And when he spoke of Barrett’s strengths, it was with a lingering insistence, as if he wished Barrett could see in himself what Tony already did.

  Over time, the picture sharpened.

  Tony didn’t see Barrett as a student at all.

  He saw him as a son.

  Lance found himself wondering whether either of them had ever realized it. Or if they were both too stubborn, too alike, to ever name the bond for what it was.

  Along the way, Tony also shared what he knew of this world, filling in gaps no system message bothered to explain. He talked about leveling, not as a reward, but as a necessity. Stop growing stronger, he warned, and the world would begin to push back. Progress would slow, then stall, until advancement became nearly impossible. People didn’t just fail here; they got stuck.

  He also spoke of the hierarchy of worlds.

  Warping in from Earth, it turned out, wasn’t just rare. It was insignificant. Earth sat so low on the cosmic ladder that it barely registered at all.

  Not second-class.

  Last-class.

  Lance found that he didn’t mind.

  Low expectations had always suited him just fine.

  In turn, the others had gotten to know him too. He told stories of high school mishaps, online trolling escapades, long nights lost to video games and pointless arguments. Compared to Tanya’s globe-trotting and Tony’s war stories, his life felt small, but they listened anyway. Really listened. Whether out of politeness or genuine interest, he wasn’t sure, but it warmed him all the same.

  Then a shout rose from the front of the procession.

  Lance and Tanya exchanged a glance.

  Tony was already moving, breaking into a jog.

  They followed, the murmur of the group swelling into something louder, more urgent. As they crested the rise and pushed through the thinning crowd, the reason became clear.

  A city.

  Massive stone walls loomed ahead, tall and severe, stretching wide enough to swallow the horizon. Beyond them lay an enormous body of water, dark and restless, dotted with ships clustered around a sprawling port. The scale of it all stole Lance’s breath.

  In front of the city, the land had been stripped bare. No trees. No brush. Just freshly carved ditches, sharpened stakes, and wide killing fields designed to funnel anything foolish enough to advance.

  It wasn’t just a city.

  It was a fortress.

  And it was bracing itself for war.

  A BIG thanks to everyone who's been following along. I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I honestly had no idea how it would be received, what with the niche bodybuilding references, alpha-male stuff, NEET humor, dating chaos, and one-liners. So I’ve been pleasantly surprised (and pretty damn grateful) to find a small group that seems to enjoy the ride.

  Also an even BIGGER thanks to those of you commented, reviewed, and rated the story. I can't overstate how much I appreciate the feedback, and genuinely love reading your comments and reactions.

  BOOK 2:

  -The story will be continuing soon, likely within the next 7 days.

  Thanks again for being part of the journey!