Sylas woke up by the soft touch of a hand, petting his head. As he opened his eyes, an obsidian roof came into view. Anna was there, petting his head affectionately.
"Morning. How are you feeling?"
Before responding, he looked around trying to understand where he was.
The entire room was made of carved obsidian. Small stones notched into the wall were the only source of light, but it was enough to light up the entire room. Somehow Sylas knew they were normal stones with runes carved into them. Despite that the room was basically empty, with only a small desk on one of the corners together with a stool.
He turned to look at Anna.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse and uneven.
"That's what I want to know. You suddenly started to bleed from your nose." She gently took his hand. Sylas could feel the worry trembling beneath her calm tone. "What's happening to you, Sylas?"
"I… I'm not sure." He blinked slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. "My memories—something's wrong with them. Whenever I reach for them…"
Amnesia wasn't surprising, considering the nature of his injury. In fact, Anna would have been more worried if there weren't any side effects.
Still, this was far from ideal. Not because of the memory loss—memories could return with time—but because of the pain.
It was impossible that his brain hadn't been healed properly. The healers had checked on him several times before he was discharged from the hospital, and they weren't of the type who overlooked details.
Yet despite that assurance, something was undeniably wrong.
"Rest for now. We'll go to the hospital again later, just to be safe."
Sylas nodded weakly.
Anna brushed his hair back and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. At the doorway, she turned one last time.
"Rest. Please."
Sylas ran a hand through his hair.
'Now what?'
He was curious.
'What was that magic? Can I learn it? Where am I? Who am I?'
Questions churned in his mind, refusing to let him rest. With a quiet groan, he pushed himself up from the bed. When his bare feet touched the floor, he paused. The obsidian surface was warm—unnaturally warm.
'Must be enchanted as well.'
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Sylas decided his first priority was to search for anything that could tell him more about himself. His golden eyes were immediately drawn to a small desk against the wall. It looked old—frail, poorly maintained, a thin layer of dust coating its surface.
He approached and ran a finger across it, leaving a clean trail in the dirt. Without thinking, he traced the shape of a small rabbit's face.
'…Cute.'
He let out a small giggle before pulling open one drawer. Empty. Undeterred, he tried another one.
This time, something lay inside—a thin, worn book.
'A diary?'
He examined the cover. It was entirely black—plain, featureless, revealing nothing about what might be written inside. Unlike the desk, there was no dust on it. Someone had been using it regularly—either him, or whoever lived in this room before him. He tried to pry it open, but the pages weren't just stuck—they were fused, as if melted together. Even straining with all his strength, the book refused to open.
'What the fuck is this?' A wild thought crossed his mind. 'No way… is this thing enchanted shut?'
It was the only explanation that made sense—nothing else about the book suggested a normal lock.
'Perfect. My first clue is useless… If it's sealed, then there has to be a way to open it…'
But no matter how hard he tried to think, nothing came to mind. A deep sigh escaped his mouth.
'Maybe I should ask her about it. Right, I should ask her name as well…' His stomach growled. 'Great. It only gets better.'
He slipped the book beneath his tunic and stepped through the ivory door.
The corridor outside was narrow, lit by the same stones as before. To his left was a solid wall–nothing but a dead end. To his right, the hallway stretched on, empty and silent, until it met a spiral staircase twisting upward out of sight. Many doors similar to his own lined the corridor.
Moving slowly to avoid making noise, Sylas eventually reached the staircase. Perhaps because of his small, childlike body, the stairs seemed impossibly tall—stretching upward without end.
Still, he began to climb. There was no alternative.
The climb wasn't long, but for someone his size it felt endless. At the top, he emerged into a dim chamber where a lone chandelier flickered overhead, sending long shadows dancing across the obsidian floor. Only one door awaited him—an oak door. He pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear anything on the other side. Nothing—only silence. Gathering what little courage he had, he reached for the golden handle with trembling hands and slowly turned it.
On the other side lay a vast hall shrouded in darkness, stretching far into the distance. Towering obsidian pillars supported the weight of the structure, disappearing into the shadowed heights above. The only illumination came from strands of pale light cascading down from unseen openings overhead, forming an intricate pattern like falling threads. Enormous spiderwebs sprawled freely between the pillars and support beams, untouched and ancient. The entire hall radiated a solemn, almost sacred atmosphere, leaving Sylas star-struck—so much so that he barely noticed the familiar ache blooming in his skull once more.
Sylas saw people moving throughout the hall—many of them—each wearing a mantle similar to Anna's, dressed underneath in simple tunics. Their faces were obscured by the shadows cast from the hoods pulled over their heads, turning them into silent, ghostlike figures drifting between the pillars. His fear faded beneath a swell of curiosity, and he began to wander after them.
It didn't took long before someone noticed him.
The figure met his gaze and offered a small, graceful bow. Sylas returned it almost instinctively, and the robed figure continued past him.
As he did, Sylas caught a glimpse beneath the hood—a young man with gentle brown eyes and a polite, practiced smile. Realizing that these hooded figures were just ordinary people going about their daily lives.
Sylas visibly relaxed. The hall suddenly felt far less threatening.
Now confident there was no immediate threat, Sylas's childlike curiosity ignited, his eyes widening at each new discovery. When he looked up, he noticed countless spiders crawling along the massive web overhead. Some were small, others enormous; some were as black and glossy as the obsidian pillars, while others shimmered with bright, vibrant colors that stood out even in the temple's darkness.
Suddenly, something tapped his forehead. It was so light—so faint—that he almost doubted it had happened at all.
He instinctively looked toward the direction it came from. Up on the web, dozens of spiders were staring down at him. He didn't know how he sensed it, yet he was certain—they were angry.
But their anger wasn't directed at him.
Following their gaze, Sylas found a tiny little spider on his forehead. It was hard to see her on his forehead, but he could at least make out her yellow fur.
He could practically feel her fury—tiny as she was, she seemed to be ranting at the others, legs flailing in a miniature tantrum.
Sylas could only guess, but it seemed like the little spider had been tossed off the web—maybe because she'd done something wrong, or maybe just simply because the others didn't like her.
In any case, the stare-off lasted only a few moments before the other spiders turned away and scurried back into the web, completely ignoring the poor little spider.
Left behind—defeated and abandoned—the tiny creature's furious posture faded, its anger giving way to something much smaller, much sadder. It was only now that she noticed the surface beneath her—pale skin, unmistakably human. And yet, the presence beneath it felt… different.
When the human offered his finger, she climbed on without protest. As his finger lowered her, she became increasingly aware of the human's immense size. Yet, despite his enormity, he felt more like kin than the spiders who had just cast her aside. Her eight golden eyes—so similar to his—lifted to meet his gaze.
Sylas studied the tiny creature. Her yellow fur blended with black in a pattern he couldn't name—something familiar, yet just out of reach. Her eyes were wide and round, staring up at him without fear.
"Hey, little one. Are you okay?"
To his surprise, the spider seemed to understand him—she gave a tiny nod. He glanced back toward the web.
"What a bunch of pricks, huh?"
She turned as well and shot a disdainful look at the spot where the others had been.
"Since they don't want you anymore," he continued, "why don't you keep me company? I could use a partner to explore with."
He tilted his head, offering a small smile.
"What do you say?" She did not hesitate. She lowered herself in a small, practiced bow—the same gesture she had seen humans repeat countless times. But in her tiny frame, the gesture looked almost comical.
Sylas giggled softly.
"Do you have a name?"
She shook her head.
"Then I guess I should give you one, right? Hm…"
He thought for a minute, brow furrowed, until a name finally surfaced.
"Silk. What do you think?"
Silk's eyes seemed to glow as she nodded.
"Silk it is, then." He smiled. "Let's go."
He placed her on the tip of his nose, where she curled up like it was the most natural place in the world. Together, they continued onward.