Thousands of silk strands stretch in all directions, creating a three-dimensional lattice that seems to defy physics. Some are as thick as ropes, others delicate as thread, all forming an intricate structure that fills the space without clutteringit. Suspended throughout this framework are the most breathtaking tapestries I’ve ever seen.
“Riven,” I whisper, afraid to break the spell of this place. “This is…”
Words fail me. The tapestries range from abstract explosions of color to photorealistic landscapes to complex geometric patterns that seem to shift as I look at them. Some appear to glow from within with a soft blue bioluminescence, creating pools of light throughout the cavern.
“This is where I work,” he says simply, but I can hear the pride beneath his restraint.
I walk forward slowly, afraid to disturb anything. The floor beneath my feet is smooth stone, but a few steps in, it gives way to a bouncy, resilient surface.
“Silk,” Riven explains. “More comfortable for extended work sessions.”
I continue deeper into the space, marveling at how the tapestries are displayed. Unlike a traditional gallery with works confined to walls, Riven’s creations hang at various heights and angles throughout the three-dimensional space, creating a completely immersive experience.
“How do you reach the ones up there?” I ask, pointing to a particularly stunning piece suspended near the ceiling.
In answer, Riven simply walks to a thick vertical strand and begins to climb, his eight legs effortlessly finding purchase.He scales thirty feet in seconds, then hangs inverted from a horizontal strand to adjust the tapestry in question.
Watching him move in his natural environment is mesmerizing. Here, his monstrous form isn’t awkward or frightening. Instead, it’s perfectly adapted, powerful, and strangely beautiful. He navigates his web with a fluid confidence that makes my breath catch.
When he returns to my side, I’m still staring upward in awe. “How long did it take to weave all of these?”
“Many decades.” He gestures to different sections. “The older works are there, newer explorations here. The commissions that pay for my modern conveniences are in that alcove.”
I walk slowly, taking everything in. “They’re amazing, Riven. This whole place is amazing.”
He makes that pleased rumbling sound again, clearly gratified by my reaction.
In the center of the cavern, I notice several large, bowl-shaped structures suspended from the main web. They’re lined with impossibly soft, fluffy silk, creating inviting nests.
“What are those?” I ask, pointing.
“Resting hammocks,” he says. “For when I work long sessions and need to rejuvenate. While I enjoy the modern comfort of a mattress, sometimes I become obsessed and can’t leave the cavern until I finish a piece.”
I walk toward the nearest one, reaching out to touch the downy silk. It’s unbelievably soft, like it’s made out of a cloud.
“Is this how you used to sleep, before modernizing?”
“Yes.” He pauses, then adds, “The hammocks are… a Vyder tradition.”
Something in his tone makes me look up sharply. “What kind of tradition?”
“They serve multiple purposes. Work rest, certainly, but also…” He stops, seeming to search for words.
“Also?” I prompt.
“In Vyder culture, these would be considered nesting sites,” he finally admits. “For mates.”
The word sends electricity through me, and I remember how he used it this morning, so casually yet with such weight.
“You called me your mate,” I say quietly, turning to face him fully. “What exactly does that mean for a Vyder?”
Riven goes utterly still, all six eyes fixed on me.
“For my kind,” he begins carefully, “mating is not casual. We bond for life with a single partner. It’s… exclusive. Permanent.”
“So when you called me your mate this morning…”
“It was presumptuous,” he acknowledges. “Premature by Vyder standards, even. Traditionally, there would be an extendedcourtship, demonstrations of nest-building skill, compatibility testing…”
