Kaelren stared at him like he’d just proposed to a nest of wasps.

  “What are you doing?!”

  Alistair stood still, gaze locked with the towering arachnid in front of him.

  He hesitated before answering.

  Because, truthfully, he wasn’t sure himself.

  “I… don’t know,” he muttered. “Something deeply questionable.”

  The spider loomed, unmoving. Eight black eyes watched him with unreadable stillness. Not hostile. Not exactly. But charged.

  Its eyes never blinked. Its legs were spread wide, ready to lunge or vanish.

  Then his vision lit up.

  [Soulbinder Trait – Resonant Target Detected]

  A soul of rare and pivotal alignment is within bonding range.

  [Ability: Soul Bond – Active Trigger]

  You may initiate a permanent connection between your soul and the identified target.

  Initiate Soul Bond?

  [Yes] / [No]

  Alistair stared.

  Then exhaled. “Well, I already got rejected by society, why not a spider?”

  He clicked [Yes].

  A line of light appeared, thin, golden-white. It stretched between them like a thread of spun silk, connecting two souls.

  For one brief, disorienting second, it felt right.

  Warm.

  Strange.

  Like a puzzle piece snapping into place somewhere beneath his ribs.

  But then...

  It flickered.

  And died.

  Like a candle under water.

  [Bond Rejected]

  The target has denied your Soulbond attempt.

  [Trait: Soul Insight remains active]

  Further attempts may require rapport, alignment, or consent.

  Alistair blinked, stunned.

  Then blinked again.

  “Seriously?”

  The spider’s legs shifted. Its weight shifted.

  And then it hissed.

  A sharp, vibrating clatter of mandibles, like stone teeth grinding together.

  It raised a leg. Not to attack. Not quite.

  But the meaning was clear: Don’t try that again.

  Kaelren stepped sideways, putting a good five feet between him and Alistair.

  Hands up.

  “Okay. That’s a no. A hard no.”

  Alistair groaned. “I felt the bond. I felt it pull. And then... Nothing. Cut off. Like it looked at my soul and said, ‘Try again when you’ve got better eyebrows.’”

  Kaelren squinted. “Do you… usually bond with giant spiders? Is that part of your bloodline?”

  “No. This is new.”

  The spider didn’t move, but it hadn’t turned away either.

  Still watching.

  Still unsettling.

  Alistair looked at the empty air where the thread had been.

  “I swear,” he muttered, “I don’t know what’s worse, being ignored from the system for years… or getting soul-zoned by an angry cave spider.”

  Kaelren gave him a deadpan look. “I’d say rejected by a godspawn spider beats ignored. At least you’re getting attention.”

  “That’s not the kind of attention I was hoping for.”

  “Be honest,” Kaelren said. “Did it hurt more emotionally or spiritually?”

  “Yes.”

  The spider stared at them for a long, heavy moment.

  Then it moved forward, slowly, deliberately. Not stalking. Just approaching.

  Kaelren shifted uneasily, arrow half-nocked.

  Alistair didn’t move. His eyes were still locked on the animal, half-hoping the rejection had been a dream. Half-hoping it wasn’t.

  Then the air changed.

  The spider’s legs stiffened. Its body paused.

  A green shimmer rippled across its carapace, like leaves catching sunlight underwater. The shimmer deepened, magic gathering around its legs, abdomen, and fangs.

  Alistair took a step back.

  Then it began.

  The spider collapsed inward, not folding, not shrinking, but shifting. Legs curled and warped. Shell softened. The pincers retracted.

  With a soft crackle of energy and a puff of spore-scented air, the spider was gone.

  In its place stood a gnome.

  She was barely four feet tall, wrapped in a tangle of faded robes and strips of stitched moss-leather. Her skin was nut-brown and lined like aged bark, and her hair...

  Alistair blinked.

  It was impossible to tell where the hair stopped and the chaos began. Grey-brown, matted, frizzed, and curled in all directions, an untamed thicket of wiry mess that looked like a bird’s nest had been abandoned mid-construction and then struck by lightning.

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  In one hand she held a twisted green staff, not carved but grown, its bark still pliant, its tip budding with fresh leaves.

  It wasn’t just a walking stick.

  It wasn’t just a weapon.

  It was alive.

  She scowled at him.

  Hard.

  “Oi,” she snapped, voice rough and gravelly like someone who’d smoked spelldust for a hundred years. “You think I didn’t feel that?”

  Alistair opened his mouth.

  Closed it.

  She jabbed her staff into the dirt beside her like planting a flag.

  “A bond? Really? That’s your idea of a polite introduction?”

  Kaelren, still backing up cautiously, muttered, “Told you.”

  The gnome woman turned her sharp glare to him. “And you, bow-string boy, don’t think I didn’t see you drawing on me earlier. I’ll have your pointy ears pinned if you so much as look at me twitchy.”

  Kaelren held up both hands.

  “No twitching. Promise.”

  She turned back to Alistair.

  “You just see a spider and think, oh yes, this terrifying beast must be lonely, let me glue our souls together like a drunk idiot with a cosmic glue stick.”

  Alistair raised a hand. “Okay, in my defense...”

  “Shut it. I’m not done.”

  He lowered the hand.

  Her eyes narrowed, and her staff gave a gentle creak like a sapling being twisted in place.

  “I’ve dealt with cursed blades, gods of wind, and one particularly rude ent who thought asking for directions was a form of attack. But you? You take the rootrot cake.”

  Kaelren stifled a laugh.

  Alistair sighed. “Look, I get it. I came in a little hot.”

  “A little? Child, you sent me a contract of eternal spiritual entanglement without even a hello. You realize how invasive that is? That’s like skipping the courtship and jumping straight to joint property ownership.”

  Alistair rubbed his face. “So that’s a no on the bond, then? I’ll have you know I have a castle!”

  She snorted. “You’re lucky I don’t turn into a badger and gnaw on your ankles.”

  She grabbed her staff, twirled it once, not dramatically, just enough to shake off a few fresh leaves.

  Alistair didn’t flinch. He’d been insulted by nobles, spit on by undead, and punched in the gut by goblins. This… was new. But familiar. Like a slap from a wooden spoon that hadn't happened yet.

  The old woman jabbed her staff into the dirt and narrowed her eyes. “What even was that? That thing you just tried to do with your shiny little vampire soul?”

  Alistair raised a brow. “It’s called Soulbinding.”

  She scoffed. “You don’t say.”

  He nodded. “I’m a Soulbinder. And a vampire.”

  Her eyes flared with something between interest and judgment. “A Soulbinder, you say?” She took a step forward, scowling so hard her wrinkles had their own folds. “Not even pretending to hide it. Typical.”

  She gave him a slow, pointed once-over, like she was examining something sticky stuck to the underside of her boot.

  “I’ve heard of your kind. And the dark deeds they’ve done to the poor souls they’ve shackled to their sides. Twisting lives. Turning allies into slaves.”

  Alistair raised a brow. “And yet, here I am. Shirt on. Fangs sheathed. No chains in sight.”

  “Thankfully, I haven’t met another one of you in my very long life,” she snapped.

  He gave a tired, sarcastic sigh. “You mean since the cloud giants ruled Helios? I’ve heard a lot has changed since then. For instance, most races decided to grow an inch or two.”

  The small gnome’s eyes gleamed.

  Kaelren groaned. “Oh no.”

  The woman stepped forward, staff rising like a club.

  “Careful, youngling. I’ll put you over my knee for a proper spanking. Something you clearly and desperately need.”

  Alistair’s face froze.

  Then he smirked. A slow, sharp, dangerous smirk.

  “I’m not opposed to a little light spanking before more… intimate moments.”

  Kaelren choked.

  Alistair stepped closer, lowering his voice dramatically.

  “Normally I wouldn’t consider bedding someone even my vampire father would call a historical artifact, but they say old hens make the richest broth.”

  He gave her a wink and waggled his eyebrows.

  The gnome’s eyes widened. She looked genuinely stunned, torn between laughter and the urge to bludgeon him to death with her leafy walking stick.

  Kaelren wheezed, nearly doubled over beside him.

  Alistair puckered his lips. “Well? First kiss to seal the deal?”

  That’s when her staff pulsed.

  Light bloomed at its tip, green, glowing, and just a little too threatening.

  “One more step,” she growled, “and I’ll turn your thingy into a grey, shriveled slug.”

  Alistair instantly cupped his groin. “Hey! Not my thingy! That’s premium loot!”

  Kaelren lost it, howling with laughter, nearly dropping his bow.

  Between chuckles, he managed, “Don’t worry about the bond. You get attributes and skill boosts for dealing with this insufferable vampire. And I bet the rewards only get better with time.”

  The woman glared at him, but Kael just grinned.

  She turned her focus back to Alistair, eyes narrowing. He gave her a confused look, genuinely baffled.

  “What? I’m a delight. Excluding the teeth thing, I’m peak vampire charm.”

  She didn’t answer. She stepped forward, jabbed her staff hard into his chest once, just enough to sting, then took two steps back.

  “Whatever. I am not becoming a spirit-bound slave to some entitled, delusional vampire.”

  She turned around and waddled off, muttering to herself and using her staff like a cane.

  Alistair shouted after her. “Hey! That was hurtful! My ego is fragile and very emotionally sensitive!”

  Without even turning around, she snapped, “I doubt it.”

  He chuckled, watching her disappear down the path, her staff tapping rhythmically against the ground.

  Kaelren shook his head. “Are we seriously going after her?”

  Alistair shrugged. “Should we?”

  Kaelren gestured at winding creek. “She clearly wants to be alone.”

  Alistair was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed.

  “Truth is… the Soulbinder thing? It’s new. You’re my first bond. I’ve never had this before. But something in me… something old, something buried... it wants her. Like the bond is already half-formed. Like I’d be missing part of myself if I let her walk away.”

  Kaelren tilted his head, expression softening.

  Alistair cleared his throat. “Besides… what if she trips over a rock? She’s like eighty. I worry about her arthritis.”

  Kaelren groaned. “Fine. But if there’s more talk about spanking, I’m out.”

  Alistair grinned and started walking.

  “No promises. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll take one for the team.”

  They followed the sound of the gnome’s staff tapping against stone and dirt.

  She didn’t look back, didn’t wait for them. Just kept waddling along with the grumpy determination of someone who hadn’t heard a single word worth listening to in sixty years.

  Alistair walked a little behind her, arms folded.

  That’s when he saw it.

  Her hand reached into the folds of her robe and pulled something out, a golden chain, thin and elegant. At the end of it was a round, flat medallion.

  A real one.

  She glanced at it briefly, almost like she was checking it hadn’t disappeared, then tucked it under her layers with a grunt.

  Kaelren whistled low beside him. “Well, well. The old bat did grab a medallion.”

  Alistair grinned. “Another reason to keep her close.”

  Kaelren raised an eyebrow. “Still thinking about bonding her after that verbal beatdown?”

  Alistair shrugged. “She’s prickly, but smart. Tough. Dangerous. And now she’s holding exactly what we need.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Let me ask you something. When you wore your medallion, did you feel it? The pull toward the Founding Crystal?”

  Kaelren’s face shifted, becoming still. He nodded once. “Yeah. Like a tug inside your chest. Like your bones remembered where to go, even if your head didn’t.”

  He went quiet for a few steps, boots crunching over loose gravel.

  Then he said, more softly, “If I get one again… and I find that crystal, it’ll change everything. For my people. My tribe’s been scraping by in the same cursed grove for generations. But with something like that… we’d have land. Safety. Power.”

  He turned toward Alistair, eyes sharp.

  “Do you really have a castle?”

  Alistair smirked. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  He nudged Kaelren with his elbow. “I’m a prince.”

  Kaelren snorted. “A prince?”

  “Lucky you. Your new companion’s rich.”

  Kaelren rolled his eyes. “Yeah, rich in problems.”

  Alistair chuckled. “That too.”

  But Kaelren tilted his head, serious again. “So why would you want the Founding Crystal? If you already have a kingdom?”

  Alistair’s smile faded.

  The image of the Bloodmistress filled his mind. Then his father, cold, calculating. His brother, faster, smarter, favored.

  And the land he came from.

  A dying kingdom choked with ash. Surrounded by enemies. Ruled by nobles who wanted him to fail.

  He looked ahead at the cranky, old woman, still muttering to herself.

  Then down at the dirt path beneath his boots.

  “Freedom,” he said quietly.

  Kaelren said nothing.

  He didn’t need to.

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