Swift leaned on the haft of his pickaxe, sweat dampening his collar despite the chill of the stone corridor. He’d chipped away enough of the sealed wall to expose a jagged outline. The painted warning glared at him—DO NOT DIG, the spider beneath it smeared from years of moisture and age.

  Not today.

  After two days of travel, a sleepless night under a rocky overhang, and a boar ambush, he knew better than to push forward without rest. Reconnaissance without a clear head was suicide.

  So instead, he found an alcove carved into the tunnel wall, just a dozen feet from the breach. It was shallow but tight, easily defendable. He unrolled his tarp and used some old mining crates to construct a makeshift barrier across the entrance.

  He sat chewing on a bit of jerky and letting his mind run its course.

  He needed plans. Three, minimum. Not just for entering—but for surviving.

  Plan A: Stealth and observation. Avoid combat. Locate the best strands of webbing, harvest them quickly, and leave undetected. High risk if spiders are territorial or actively hunting.

  Plan B: Distraction-based extraction. Lure spiders away using sound or light, harvest during the chaos. Riskier. Might bring more than he can handle.

  Plan C: Aggressive sweep. Take out any small spiders encountered, grab as much silk as possible, then burn the rest. Last resort. Not sustainable or clean.

  He committed the plans to memory, laid back, and stared up at the dark ceiling of the mine.

  His body was exhausted, but his mind kept pacing.

  Eventually, sleep took him.

  The dream returned—sharp and violent.

  The supermarket.

  Gunfire echoing through the shelves.

  Swift’s sidearm trembling slightly in his hand.

  The madman’s face.

  The screaming.

  Blood.

  The recoil snapped through his arm. The madman fell.

  But this time, Swift didn’t fall with him.

  He stayed standing… and everything blurred.

  White light.

  Humming.

  His body heavy and weightless all at once.

  Then, a voice—faint but unmistakably human.

  “Vitals stable. He’s still holding on.”

  Swift tried to move, tried to see. But everything faded, washed in a white haze.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The world folded in on itself.

  He jolted awake.

  Sweat clung to his skin despite the cold stone. His heart thumped against his ribs, not from fear—but from confusion.

  That voice... was that a memory?

  His brow furrowed. How much of this world was real? Or had he simply traded one illusion for another?

  He shook the thought from his head.

  Not now. Not here.

  I have work to do.

  Swift approached the broken seal carefully, lantern in one hand, Excalibur slung but ready. The last few swings of the pickaxe broke through the wall entirely, revealing a dim, humid cavern beyond.

  What greeted him wasn’t an open tunnel—but a solid wall of spider web.

  Thick, silver-white strands ran wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Dense. Layered. The spiders hadn't just used it to build—they’d sealed the mine themselves.

  Great.

  He reached forward, grabbing a section and pulling.

  It resisted.

  He yanked harder.

  Nope.

  He chopped with Excalibur's bayonet, brute-force.

  The web refused to tear cleanly. The threads flexed like rope. Blunt force wasn’t the answer.

  He changed his grip, angling the bayonet and slicing along the grain of the webbing.

  This time, the blade cut through with some resistance—but success.

  So that’s the trick… slice, don’t smash.

  He carved out a section roughly the size of a tarp and set it down beside the breach. The web shimmered faintly in the lantern light, strong and nearly weightless.

  A few more sections followed, each time making sure the slicing didn't create too much noise.

  He peered through the opening.

  The cavern beyond was massive.

  There was a small pool of lava on the far side, unmoving. The adjacent cavern wall glowed faintly red. Pools of steaming water bubbled from cracks along the walls. On the right wall there was a shadow, large and shifting.

  A spider.

  He couldn’t make out the details, but the silhouette moved along the cavern wall with slow, deliberate grace.

  A strange barking sound echoed through the chamber.

  Swift tensed.

  Dogs? No…

  He saw it—small, maybe the size of a Chihuahua. It skittered near the opening, black legs twitching as it tested the strands. But it didn’t approach.

  It froze.

  Then scurried away into the darkness.

  Swift exhaled.

  They weren’t dog-sized after all. At least, not all of them.

  He slowly removed the rest of the web wall, cutting carefully and listening closely. No immediate movement. No barking. No rushing tide of legs.

  The air was hot. Not stifling, but heavy and rising in temperature.

  When he stepped into the cavern proper, he paused at the edge. Above him, high near the ceiling, sunlight streamed through a natural opening—just enough to cast an eerie spotlight across the webs hanging like a spider’s chandelier.

  Inside those webs were shapes.

  Small birds. Bats. Some mummified, some still twitching. A few… human bones?

  The nesting area stretched beyond what he could see. Swift pulled back, heart steady but mind alert.

  No direct confrontation. Not yet.

  He retreated, re-sealing the mine breach with the debris from his digging. It should stop the spiders, or it might discourage them from following.

  Back in his little alcove, he laid the silk sections out neatly and took inventory.

  Three sections. Not enough, but a start.

  He sat and reviewed his options. Plans A, B, and C.

  He’d seen the nest, the terrain, the spider size and behavior, he did not need to adjust the order:

  Plan A: Top priority. These spiders weren’t immediately aggressive. They seemed territorial. Stealth extraction was possible, especially during the day.

  Plan B: If he could distract them with bait or vibrations, he might buy time.

  Plan C: ... probably still suicide.

  He leaned back and let the quiet settle in. The hot air of the cavern clung to him even behind the sealed wall.

  There was still time before nightfall.

  And spiders—especially creatures of darkness—might move differently once the sun set.

  So he closed his eyes again.

  This time not to dream—but to rest for the real test ahead.