The planet Kaivarld grew in the distance through the airlock porthole where Jara would often hide away to watch each and every landing on the many worlds and stations that the Troubadour visited. She knew she could see a more up-close and high-fidelity image watching the wallscreen with the others aboard the spacebus’ small bridge, but for some reason she preferred to use her eyes and see the real thing.

  Maybe she found some comfort in the solitude that the soundproof airlock provided. Or maybe it was the fact that the light travelled those several thousand kilometres only to reach her eyes and feel a strange kinship between those particles and herself as they each moved through the black. Either way, something about Kaivarld was special despite the growing bundle of nerves in her gut.

  After speaking with Dan-Dan the other day about stepping into Ahmad and Amelie’s shoes for her first real stint on the stage, she’d had a well of anxiety that threatened to rule her, as if the pile of things on her mind weren’t already monumental. She did what she could to maintain calm, remembering Bael’s kind words, Flokk’s teachings, Dan-Dan’s assurances, and the unfortunately merciful fading memory of Jonathen’s hopeful face on that day of tragedy.

  Kaivarld was in the easternmost system in the whole of the Stj?rnrike’s spatial domain, or at least what was collectively considered the east relative to the galactic plane. Since there was no up, down, left, or right in space, long ago and before even the time of humans, the eldest species of the Rift Quarter somehow landed on calling what was to become most of the Stj?rnrike east, and most of the rest of humanity firmly within the central or westernmost reaches. Bordered on all sides by the other species – the Quisabar Domain in the northwest, the Alfar in the northeast, the hermit Korvast in the far north, the Vasser in the near-west bordering the Sovereignty, the Herd Federation in the southwest to central, leaving just the Fels, The Odeens’ closest trading partner, the only such nation due east of Kaivarld.

  The fuchsia-bronze hues of Kaivarld’s seas were the first thing visible out the porthole with a smudge of cloud cover over the southern hemisphere. Supposedly rife with cities both large and small, none of them were visible from this high up, especially so since the Troubadour was approaching smack in the middle of its dayside.

  “Local time will be noon-thirty,” said Flokk over the comms, who doubled as the spacebus’ main pilot during take-offs and landings.

  Despite its heft, the Troubadour was a modest ship, only capable of supporting two dozen bodies at its limit, often taking on passengers to help pay their way to the next port and their next performance. However, on this leg of the journey – from Zinsutinam to Kaivarld – only one passenger was aboard; their fellow performer and opening act: The Spider du Mzam.

  “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” said The Spider, having crept up behind her where Jara sat in the airlock.

  “Eugh!” Jara coughed, her hand held to her chest in shock.

  “Oh– I didn’t mean to frighten you, Jara,” The Spider said, sheepish and poorly stifling a laugh.

  Jara regained her breath and said, “don’t– sneak up on me like that.”

  “I am sorry,” they said, “I sometimes forget how quiet I can be.”

  The Spider raised their arms and three of his four legs in a shrug as a gesture of forgiveness.

  Jara had seen them in passing aboard the ship, and more so during their opening act where they used their extra appendages in a confusing and fascinating display of part acrobatics, part side-show. This, however, was their first-ever conversation.

  The Spider lowered his legs back to the floor and leaned back to rest his weight equally on all four of them. His front two legs were normal human, run-of-the-mill, legs. His additional legs were anything but, nor did they closely resemble that of a spider’s. They were two thick, almost-elephantine legs, that sprouted from the small of his back and came to a sort of cushioned-stump at the floor. These thick legs attached directly into his spine spliced right off the central nerve, rather than interfacing through any sort of pelvic structure like normal legs might. Instead, they flexed and articulated in all sorts of directions, seemingly made up of three-inch-long bony segments covered in leathery flesh.

  Pants. Pants were another confusing thing about them. The Spider seemed to take on the ancient riddle of how a dog or horse should wear pants – be it cut across their belly leaving the front legs bear or whether the beltline of the pants ran from tail to collar-bone only leaving their head and back free from fabric-cover – and said “hold my vaske”.

  The Spider’s trousers, however, and more perplexing, were a mix of the two. He had normal two-legged human pants on that ended at his waistline. Then they had on another pair of flexible fabric shorts that covered just the top fifth of the grafted legs with a sort of belt-suspenders-harness that held them up.

  Jara tried her best not to look down in case she started to stare.

  “Hello, by the way,” The Spider said, “I don’t believe we’ve met officially.”

  The Spider held out a hand and Jara had to shake herself awake before she shook it back.

  “Why do you wear shorts?” Jara asked bluntly, her confusion getting the better of her.

  The Spider smiled. “So people don’t feel like I’m walking naked around here.”

  Jara nodded, supposing it maybe would look even stranger if they didn’t wear the shorts.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “Don’t be silly, it’s not every day you meet someone like me. And before you ask, I got these legs willingly. There’s a place in Kaivarld, as a matter-of-fact, that does these modifications if you know who to ask.”

  “I’ve seen you perform a half dozen times already,” Jara said, “they really are something.”

  “You are sweet,” The Spider said with a grin and a bow, “I know they’re not for everybody.”

  “Why did you get them–?,” Jara asked, but not before second guessing whether that was even appropriate to say. She felt like eating her tongue.

  “I always felt like something was missing, you know?” The Spider started, not bothered by the question, “like a large part of me was missing. It took many years before I realised what that was.”

  Jara slowly nodded.

  “I can see you feel a similar void,” said The Spider, “something in your heart searches.”

  “I–” Jara started to say, “I think it’s just nerves.”

  The Spider nodded, seeing through her attempt to hide.

  “Do not worry, young Jara. You will find it,” said the strange being, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  The two of them stared in comforting silence as the world of Kaivarld came into clearer focus.

  The Troubadour broke through the upper clouds revealing the streets and buildings of Zelfira – or in local tongue The City of Gentle Breezes. Coming to rest at a robust spaceport near the city centre, the spacebus’ engines powered down with a sputter and Flokk’s voice came in over the ship’s comms giving them the all-clear.

  Stepping down the ramp, Jara could feel that the city lived up to its name as a light wind washed across her skin and up into the Troubadour’s main cargo hold. The winds’ touch brushed away any anxiety she had been feeling as she let out a soft breath.

  “See! What did I tell you?” said The Spider du Mzam as he walked past her down the ramp, a duffel bag balanced precariously on his hind legs.

  “Thanks– thanks for the company earlier,” Jara said softly after him to which he nodded and bowed as he strode forward and into a bustling crowd of people that moved through the spaceport and adjacent market plaza.

  Next down the ramp were Dan-Dan and Flokk, followed closely by Tomonaga guiding an upgrav skiff containing the troupes’ weapons, instruments, and other gear.

  “Move please!” Tomonaga barked as the skiff picked up speed moving down the ramp.

  “Watch it, Tomo!” Dan-Dan yelped as she and Flokk stepped out of the way. Jara had to make way as well, stepping backward into a puddle of suspiciously smelling mud.

  “Gross,” Jara said, sniffing her boot with a craned neck.

  “Sorry!” Tomonaga called back as he shrugged and kept moving. “Have to get our stuff to the venue.”

  “Don’t mention–” Jara started to say before he too was lost in the crowd of people.

  “You okay, kid?” Flokk asked.

  “I’m good,” she said with a low nod bordering on a bow.

  Flokk waved his hands. “No, no. I’m not your sensei today. No, today we are equals.”

  Flokk extended a hand and Jara gripped it tightly.

  “You’ll do fine,” Dan-Dan assured her, “if you can get out of your own head, that is.”

  “I’ll try,” Jara said as earnestly as she dared. “Where’s everybody else?”

  “Menya and Candle were up late last night; some drinking game with Oleksander, apparently,” said Dan-Dan, “the ladies will meet us at the venue in a few hours. Oleksander is just finishing up some repairs on Menya’s hoop; something to do with the ignitor mechanism acting finicky.”

  “And Ruby?” Jara asked. She was hoping to walk the market streets with Ruby and check out some of the shops before showtime.

  Being trapped in an environment suit everywhere outside her own cabin on the Troubadour, Ruby didn’t really have much need for clothes of the latest fashion, but Jara still found she had an eye for helping her pick out her own outfits, and Jara hoped Ruby liked the company.

  “Trouble with her environment suit, I’m afraid,” Flokk answered, “said she would be a while patching things up.”

  “And what about…?”

  “Ahmed and Amelie?” Dan-Dan preempted.

  Jara nodded.

  “They’ve opted to hold down the fort,” said Dan-Dan, “Ahmad is feeling a little down, this being his first official performance not being a part of the troupe. Amelie is trying to keep his mind off it with some more of her home cooking.”

  Jara had seen Ahmads’ attitude begin to sour over the last week since getting the news. As the disease that affected his optic nerve slowly progressed, his eyesight was beginning to fade. Still, it wasn’t enough for him to be able to walk the ship on his own. But reading and working on chores that involved small things had become increasingly taxing despite a pair of adaptive goggles made to change prescription as his eyesight rapidly changed.

  Inevitably, he would go blind entirely and when that happened he did have options – like synthetic implants that emulate the signals of the optic nerve, bypassing the damage entirely – but those decisions were long off.

  Also, Amelie’s shoulder wound had mostly healed, though the guilt of that still weighed heavy on him. She simply shrugged it off when asked; “thankfully the thing was on fire, it cauterised the wound in an instant!” she responded with brevity.

  “Still, he should get out and stretch his legs while we are on dry land,” Flokk insisted to no one.

  Dan-Dan nodded.

  “Give him time. It’s been traumatic for both of them. They’ll settle into their new roles soon enough. And we’ll see about dragging them out for the after-party!”

  “There’s going to be an after-party?” Jara grinned.

  “Mhmm! Our performance is the main event for some sort of meeting of dignitaries from all over the Stjarnrike and beyond! It’ll be our biggest performance yet!” Dan-Dan said, emphatically, triggering a knot to tie in Jara’s gut.

  Noticing her blunder, Dan-Dan leant forward and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be there to help you along. Whether it’s a large crowd or a small crowd, our routine stays the same. Just ignore anyone and anything that lies beyond the stage limits.”

  “Remember your movements and I will help you should any misstep occur,” Flokk stepped forward as well to assure her.

  Jara let out a long sigh. “I hope so…” she said.

  Three hours later, and a hopelessly dissatisfying walk by herself through a dozen or so shops of the market plaza, Jara met up with the rest of her troupe where they were beginning to set up the stage. Being a modest outfit, the troupe of firedancers didn’t have a dedicated setup and teardown crew, instead much of the legwork was handled by Flokk, Oleksander, Tomonaga and Dan-Dan. Today though, even The Spider was lending a helping hand – or leg?

  As Jara stored some of the various implements onto a weapons rack backstage, she was surprised to hear the repeated thud of footsteps approaching her from behind. Footsteps that echoed through the hall, footsteps that grew into a crescendo, footsteps that eked at the back of her mind harkening back to that day on Flotsam. The screeching, the warriors’ last hymns, the gunfire, the dread.

  Jara reeled around, her heart threatening to leap from her chest and rush off to the nearest cryopod, only to find the largest humanoid shape she’d ever seen standing an arm’s length from her.

  Jara stepped back into the weapon rack, nearly knocking a javelin off its nock.

  The large shape that stood nearly a metre and a half above her own incredible height leaned back and waved its arms in a very human gesture.

  “I am sorry, very very sorry,” the hulking thing said in a voice that reminded Jara of steel on slate. “I did not mean to alarm you small one.”

  Jara didn’t move, just stared in shock at the monster that loomed over her. Sweat welled up on her forehead as she struggled to stabilise herself.

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  Flokk, hearing the commotion from where he was marking choreography lines in the floor of the frontstage, ran back in a huff only to drop to his knees in laughter.

  “I see you’re making friends without us!” Flokk said, trying to catch his breath.

  “I–” Jara attempted to say, her face reddening.

  Flokk stood and examined the creature that continued to wave its massive trunk-arms as it tried in vain to dispel tensions.

  The beast was huge, nearly twice the size of a normal human. Its outer skin – if you could call it that – was rocky, bumped and craggled with cracks and fissures. Its shoulders down to its fists looked like jet-black slag was allowed to drip and harden into a rippling surface where it ended in jagged fingerlike protrusions.

  The rest of it was a sporadic dark flakiness with the exception of its face. Most perplexing was a clear lack of mouth or opening of any kind with which the crushed-gravel of an apologetic voice had come from. Featureless and smooth, in stark juxtaposition to the rest of its form, its face has a soft greyish glow.

  “Does your new grey-faced friend have a name?” Flokk finally said after standing and moving

  “I have none,” the creature answered for her, “As all Fels lack one.”

  “I’ve never met a Fels before,” Jara squeaked nervously as she tried to regain her feet. The hulking creature stuck out a rocky hand to help, its fingers – of which Jara counted eight in total – popped and grinded as they opened. “You truly don’t have a name?”

  Jara took the alien’s aid as her whole hand wrapped one of its forefingers.

  The rocky alien shook its smooth head, no.

  “Well I have to call you something,” Jara insisted as she tried to puzzle out a name. The beast stared back at her – or didn’t stare, due to the lack of eyes or any notable sensory organ.

  “Normally, we need no name. Amongst ourselves, us Fels – a name given to us by those humans that we first encountered – we are but a small part of a whole. But if you must call this form something, let it be that most obvious, that which you have already spoken,” the hulking alien said as it swivelled to look at Flokk.

  “Me?” Flokk asked.

  “Grey-faced?” said Jara.

  “So it is, I am Greyface,” it insisted. “Now, I must apologise once more. I did not mean to frighten you–?”

  Greyface paused, waiting for something.

  “Jara,” Jara said after a stunned silence, “I’m Jara Pell. And this is Flokk Thurisaz. We’re firedancers. What are you doing wandering around here?”

  Greyface’s body language changed, suddenly becoming less drooping as it shed its apologetic stance and went more upright and rigid.

  “What is a firedancer?” Greyface asked. Jara guessed its posture to be either that of embarrassment or confusion. Greyface’s head then tilted, almost like a young pup.

  “We are performers. You were looking for someone else– are you lost? Jara asked.

  “We are emissary to Kaivarld, my fellows and I. This is not the Jarls’ palace? Forgive me, for this place’s opulence often leads me astray.”

  Only now did Jara look behind Greyface’s mountainous silhouette to see four other similarly large shapes waiting at the far end of the room behind the last row of seating. Each of them were markedly different in texture and colouring from Greyface, with one even lacking a head-like protrusion entirely.

  “Are you sure you don’t mean to say all our buildings look the same?” Flokk asked, still enjoying himself.

  “I would not insinuate something so unforgivable,” Greyface responded, and Jara could swear she sensed sarcasm, its voice more gravelly than usual.

  Looking down, Jara could hear the wooden beams of the stage beginning to protest the weight of Greyface’s feet.

  “Not quite," Jara said, "this is the Stjarnhall Theatre, where we are setting up for a performance for the Jarl. You said you were looking for the palace?"

  Greyface nodded.

  "I can take you, I know the way!" Jara said excitedly before remembering her troupe.

  She turned to Flokk who smiled and gestured for her to go. "We've got things here," he said.

  Jara led her new towering friends over to the other side of Kun, the district home to most of the Jarl's compound and connected structures, not too far from the Stjarnhall to be practical, but further still from the spaceport to drown out the roaring from most of the engines.

  Kun, founded as a mountainous outer district of a once solely monastic city, had since seen sprawl encircle its borders. This left Kun isolated from the rest of the planet's natural biomes but still it remained a haven and preserve for the various wildlife found exclusively on the high-gravity world. Although Drassil, being the homeworld and origin of the Odeen peoples' divergence from the rest of humanity, Kaivarld still held high esteem and grew to be a major hub of trade between the Odeen, the Fels, and by extension the rest of humanity. This made Kaivarld a natural place to flourish in the years since with Kun at its centre.

  Although and maybe because of its high station and status as a nature preserve, much of Kun was off limits to those not closely tied to the royal house and the local monastery. Though exceptions were made for emissaries like Greyface and his retinue, and for Jara's troupe for special occasions.

  As Jara walked the wide streets, buildings were laid out in ancient earth style with wide gardens and empty space for activity, a stark difference from the compact stations and ships Jara was familiar with. Even the Troubadour, though spacious by spacebus standards, was confining in comparison.

  She looked around, catching glimpses of the locals both shocked and amused by the unfamiliar trespass of the hulking forms that followed behind her, slamming their rocken stumps of legs into the pavement with a grinding force. Though, Jara could tell Greyface and the others were lumbering slowly in an effort to reduce the damage that their trudging caused.

  Jara waved to those Kun residents and Greyface copied her, relaxing some of the residents as they began waving back. The whole thing was turning into quite the spectacle.

  When they arrived at the palace gates, a small following came to a stop behind them, dispersing and chittering as they recounted the impromptu stroll to others just stepping out of homes and shops to discover the source of the commotion.

  At the gates, four highly armed, heavily armoured guards – warriors that reminded Jara again of those poor souls back on Flotsam – stood at attention.

  "Thank you, dear Jara Pell," Greyface said, "it is ever so easy for us to get lost amongst the incongruity of your city districts. It is nice to know there are those willing to help amongst you."

  Jara bowed, not sure if she should take that as gratitude or as criticism and proof of the Fels' true opinions of her people.

  Greyface turned to its companions and without a word they moved to the palace gates as they glided open in welcome.

  Standing alone now as the gates slowly shut behind them, Jara wasn't sure if what just happened actually happened. Looking around at the people who had been gawking only moments before they had begun to return to whatever it was they were doing before. It wasn't until a chime registered on her terminal that she wriggled herself out of a daze.

  The chime was a bulletin from Flokk, asking her to return and finish readying the stage. Turning, she ran back through Kun, through the streets she had so lazily moved through before with the fels in tow, now swiftly and free. Something then seemingly clicked within her, something deep began to settle in and satiate the nerves that had begun to rot in her earlier that day.

  Make no mistake, she still felt the anxiety of her coming performance, but somehow its sting didn't reach so deep.

  "I can see you feel a similar void," The Spider had said to her. And for once, she realized that however small a thing it was, that something had taken root, that today had begun to fill the void. Drip by drip, a grain of sand at a time, Jara could feel the well inside her suddenly less empty.

  Hours later the sun had faded to a dim glow. Torches lit the stage as their flicker danced off the faces of a full house and the curtains peeled back to welcome the night's first act on stage.

  "Put your hands, legs, and feet together for our opening act!," Dan-Dan bellowed into a stick microphone to the audience, "it is my very special pleasure to introduce to you a marvel of Men, The Mirthful Dawn, Master of Kagura, and a Kaivarld local themselves... The Spider du Mzam!!"

  Drums and cymbals sounded as if rain and thunder had entered the stage. Lights flashed and as the curtains drew back smoke billowed and rose as The Spider leapt onto the stage from high above.

  The crowd gasped as they landed, the instruments stopped, and silence hung as The Spider revealed their face from behind a ceremonial, silken hood.

  The Spider was dressed head-to-toe in a loose-fitting white robe that shimmered as if urging to change colour. Their face was painted chalk-white, their eyes closed and expertly made with long lashes and a black wig that stretched nearly to their elephantine legs that shone like polished obsidian.

  Without words, The Spider revealed a brilliant, gilded fan and a traditional suzu rattle, pulling them from within their robe with a steady grace. The rattle shook like a light rain, crossing over with the golden fan as they waved it intently and walked around the stage; a welcome to the gods.

  The space purified, The Spider knelt, resting both the fan and the suzu at the foot of a four-metre-tall statue of the Teikun that permanently stood at the back of the stage.

  Retaking the centerstage with a steady glide of sandalled feet, they drew from a sleeve a hand-carved flute, and from the other sleeve they pulled a golden streamer tied to an oaken wand. As they began to play, notes whisper quiet as they rose swiftly like the wind, string instruments and drums joining in.

  The Spider twirled and waved the streamer with the ferocity of a river breaking its banks, running, leaping, and cartwheeling with their four legs, mesmerizing the crowd as they orbited a central point on the stage. As they did, their silk-weave robe shifted both colour and pattern wildly in a vibrant spectrum then back to white. All until the music slowed, their robe switched to black, and they suddenly dropped out of sight through a trap door on the stage.

  The crowd gasped once more as several stood in their seats as they clapped. Then, from the central point and through another trap door, The Spider rose again. But this time they weren't white-faced, but made with war paint, a top-knot, sword hilt sticking out from their belt line, and their robe coloured ocean-blue and modestly patterned.

  "Hark!" they said, pointing, "for I am Takeshi son of Kōrin, and I beseech you now oh kami of kami, lords of the heavens and earth, watch now my trials!"

  Takeshi moved to the front of the stage, stepping toward the audience and drawing his blade. Kneeling, they rested their blade across their other arm.

  "Hear me, oh lords of the Pureland, listen to my plea as I set out to reclaim the lands of my late father, from the hands of his murderer, Kagefusa the treacherous!"

  They rose, swinging their sword with deliberate swipes as the drum beats matched pace, and cried out; "Guide my blade, oh hallowed kami, for my path is righteous! Without lands and serfs of mine own, I must accept an offer most foul. You see Kagefusa has offered my birthright and his daughter's hand should I pass a singular trial, a deal I know to be most foolish."

  Takeshi hopped, swiping their blade in a vengeful arc, still playing the flute between lines and waving the streamer with an elephantine paw.

  "The treachery of Kagefusa..." they continued, "he tricked my father with a false alliance! Now he thinks himself smarter still to trick me into my own doom... For he demands that I challenge and lay waste to the terrible Demon Spider himself, Tsuchigumo!!!"

  Drums and cymbals crashed as the crowd grew into an uproar, jeering and booing at the mention of Tsuchigumo.

  "Kami, lend me your strength!" Takeshi cried as the audience began whooping and hollering in solidarity with the hero's plight.

  "Thank you!!!" Takeshi called over the wailing crowd. "Now come, there is no time to waste!"

  Takeshi raised their blade once more to a resting pose and hurried off, stage-right.

  The curtains closed and opened again bringing a billowing fog out across the stage. Set along the sides of the stage were several prop trees with gnarled branches draped in thick mats of spidersilk. Lightning flashed and the drumbeats quickened as a determined Takeshi reentered the stage for the left, still with a streamer in tow, but with no flute.

  "Reveal yourself!" Takeshi called to the trees, "Oh terrible torment, oh demon of demons! Show your wickedness so that I may win what is mine!"

  With a twirl, they tucked away the sword, spinning their entire body and moving to stage-right, they pulled something new from their robe. The robe shimmered again, transforming to a greasy black and patterned with thick legs that ran from the floor to the robe's center where two gigantic and sickly, yellow eyes formed. Brandishing the new prop – a ceremonial mask – they held it high in the air. And as an eerie music grew, they lowered it to cover their face becoming the Demon Spider, Tsuchigumo.

  Twisting horns and long stained yellow hair framed the mask's brown flesh and sullen, and dead nebulaic eyes. And in the spot that Takeshi had stood, a still projection took its place, adding credence to the performance, further suspending the disbelief of there being just the sole actor on stage.

  "Who is it who would challenge me?" Tsuchigumo asked as the crowd rose again to their feet to boo and shout insults at the yokai.

  They removed the mask, spinning and transforming back to stage-left and into the very visage of Takeshi. The projection flickered off as they took its place, but now appeared a projection of The Demon Spider.

  "It is I, Takeshi, son of Kōrin and rival of Kagefusa!" Takeshi cried, "I have come to end your wickedness so that I may reclaim my honour and my father's lands."

  Again they spun and transformed back to stage-right, becoming the Demon Spider.

  "Foolish swordsman!" Tsuchigumo said with a cackle, "I am Tsuchigumo! My magics are many! No earthly warrior can defeat me, especially not one so weak and dishonoured!"

  Back to stage-left; "Kami of kami!", Takeshi said, pointing his blade to the audience, "Guide my hand! May my vengeance be swift!"

  Takeshi turned their blade toward Tsuchigumo and raised it with measurable fury.

  Back to stage-right; "I, Tsuchigumo, will not suffer this insult! Come now and see my cunning!" they said as they drew a blade of their own, curved and jagged.

  Back to stage-left, Takeshi moved to Tsuchigumo as the two moved, circling each other as the drums beat, swinging their swords and displaying their footwork in perfect rhythm, all while they switched back and forth between projection and robed actor with every clash and every five drumbeats.

  Back to stage-right; "You dance well, foolish swordsman," admitted Tsuchigumo, "but I grow tired and have not been fed in what seems like an age! I end this!"

  And with that, Tsuchigumo drew a bundle of thin, white streamers from within their robe, tossing them and ensnaring Takeshi in their webbing.

  The audience roared in outrage, shouting and crying out for Takeshi's release.

  Tsuchigumo laughed and Takeshi struggled to regain their freedom.

  They tried swinging their sword, but it was no use; the webs were too tight.

  They tried biting the webs, but it was no use; the webs were too strong.

  They finally tried reaching toward the crowd, to the kami seated and watching the battle unfold, but it too was folly; these kami could not help Takeshi in the depths of Tsuchigumo's home.

  "I have won!" Tsuchigumo proclaimed, "Maybe I too will claim these lands lost by your father..."

  Takeshi's eyes widened as they shook their head to the audience.

  "No– you cannot!" Takeshi cried.

  "You are too feeble to stop the powerful Tsuchigumo!" the Demon Spider boasted.

  Just then, the lights dimmed, the projection of Tsuchigumo froze in place, and a spotlight shone upon Takeshi where they laid within the webs' snare.

  "I have failed," Takeshi said, "Oh kami of kami, take no pity on me, for I have brought shame to my father's name. Kagefusa, treacherous though he may be, was wise to make me this challenge. "

  Takeshi, dramatically weeping now, pulled a hand free to wipe tears from their eyes, only to feign realization to the audience and return their hand to the web where it was meant to be entangled.

  The crowd chuckled and the stage lighting returned.

  "What– laughter?" Tsuchigumo exclaimed, "Where does this laughter come from!?"

  "A fool you branded me, and a fool I am," Takeshi said to Tsuchigumo. "Please, at least grant me a quick ending."

  "That I cannot do," Tsuchigumo growled, "for I prefer my dinner living!"

  Takeshi continued to plead as the Demon Spider stepped closer, prompting further protests from the audience.

  Suddenly, a bright pillar of light appeared at centre stage as both Tsuchigumo and Takeshi were replaced with projections. In the centre of the spotlight rose a figure in intricately patterned, gold robes and wearing a mask that resembled a jovial-looking man wearing a lofty crown. The figure was nearly double the height of Tsuchigumo and Takeshi – a trick of backstage mirrors and clever lighting.

  "Stop!" said the figure, "I am Hachiman, heavenly kami, and Great Protector of the People! And I declare this contest is far from over!"

  Hachiman moved to where Tsuchigumo stood over Takeshi, the spotlight moving with them, thrusting a greatsword between them and blocking Tsuchigumo's attack. Both elephantine legs twirled about purple and gold streamers. With their other hand, Hachiman drew a small blade and cut the webs that bound Takeshi.

  "My dinner!" Tsuchigumo complained.

  Takeshi squirmed free and regained their footing, bowing to their heavenly saviour.

  Hachiman returned the bow. "Come now, the battle has only just begun!" proclaimed Hachiman before turning their attention to the audience.

  "Earthly kami, I order you as heavenly protector to lend your power to this swordsman that he may overcome this wickedness!"

  The crowd whooped and roared in a battlecry, chanting as they did, and Jara suddenly felt an odd sense of familiarity.

  Takeshi bowed again to the audience. Then, with all the strength he could muster, they held their blade to the sky once more, imbuing the steel with the voices of the kami. Blue and silver streamers roiled around them like a cyclone on the move.

  Hachiman stepped away, lowering their greatsword, allowing a clear path to Tsuchigumo.

  Takeshi and Tsuchigumo again traded sword blows, but this time Takeshi struck with more vigour. Tsuchigumo began to look worried and called out, "Slow your blows! I will yield and call a draw!"

  "A draw will regain me no lands, and no honour! Your wickedness has come to an end! May death be our only defeat!"

  The pace of the drumbeats quickened, cymbal crashes intensified, and Takeshi played the flute between trading blows with Tsuchigumo.

  Attempting retreat, the cowardly Demon Spider misstepped, allowing Takeshi the perfect moment to strike.

  Takeshi thrust their blade between Tsuchigumo's eyes, piercing the projection as it rippled. Red streamers erupted from behind the Demon Spider as they dropped their blade.

  "This cannot be..." Tsuchigumo whimpered, "I am the powerful Tsuchigumo! No mere swordsman can defeat me..."

  "This is no mere swordsman," spoke Hachiman, "this is Takeshi, son of Kōrin, honourable ruler of his father's lands!"

  With that, Tsuchigumo's head slumped. Both Takeshi's and Tsuchigumo's projections fell into the stage and out of sight as the actor themself, The Spider du Mzam, stepped toward the centerstage. In each hand they held both the Tsuchigumo mask and the Hachiman mask, as well as still wearing the visage of Takeshi, and took a bow as all three as the crowd applauded and whooped.

  Jara stood from her seat offstage and joined in with a holler and whistle. The Spider du Mzam turned to her and the rest of the firedancers and bowed again. From the front row of the audience, the Jarl of Kaivarld and his family stood as well, clapping and banging their mugs against the tabletops in front of them.

  As The Spider du Mzam left the stage and passed by Jara, they wrapped their arms around her and squeezed. "Your turn," The Spider said, "you got this!"

  The Spider du Mzam walked off to get a well-deserved drink as the sudden realization of Jara's impending performance downed on her.

  So wrapped up in the performance, of the tumultuous battle between Takeshi, Tsuchigumo, and Hachiman, that she had forgotten that her first ever firedance was only seconds away.

  Jara's heart leapt into her throat as Dan-Dan retook the stage to announce the next act.