But then Riven turns, placing himself deliberately between the townspeople and Kestra, and his intent becomes clear: he’s here to protect them.
To protect us.
I could cry. I might be crying already. This magnificent, grumpy, terrified creature is facing his worst nightmare—human rejection—for me. For us.
Kestra hisses, the sound like steam escaping wet wood. “Why do you defend them, Riven? Why protect the species that destroys everything they touch? That would mount your exoskeleton on a wall if they could?”
Riven doesn’t engage with her philosophy. He simply plants all eight legs firmly, his massive frame blocking her path to the town.
“I’m not going to let you hurt anyone,” he says, his voice carrying across the now-silent street. “If you want to fight, you fight me.”
Kestra screams before lunging forward.
The battle is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Kestra’s earth magic makes the ground split and heave beneath our feet. She commands the trees like extensions of her own body, their branches becoming weapons, their roots becoming traps. She’s raw power and fury, a force of nature unleashed.
But Riven is something else entirely.
He moves like water, impossibly fast for his size, each of his eight legs operating independently with perfect coordination.He shoots silk in complex patterns, tying down her root-tendrils, creating barriers that protect bystanders, swinging himself out of range of her attacks to strike from unexpected angles.
And his focus… it’s terrifying and beautiful. He isn’t wild or frenzied. He’s precise, tactical, those yellow eyes tracking every movement, every potential threat. He’s not going for killing blows; he’s trying to subdue her, to web her up without causing permanent harm.
“That’s some boyfriend you’ve got there,” comes a voice beside me. Dale, still staring at the battle, pistol lowered but ready.
“He’s not—” I start.
“I could read you,” he says simply. “At the diner this morning. I could tell you knew him. I just didn’t expect… Well.”
I’m not sure what to say, but Dale immediately shifts back into cop mode. “We need to get everyone clear. Whatever the hell is happening, they need space to finish it.”
He starts coordinating the evacuation, shouting for people to get to safety while Riven keeps Kestra occupied. I jump in to help, guiding panicked townspeople away from the destruction, pulling Mrs. Finch out from under a fallen awning, trying to keep people calm.
But my eyes keep returning to Riven, my heart lodging in my throat every time Kestra lands a hit.
Finally he surges up, all eight legs driving him forward, and in one swift motion, he webs her entire body—legs, arms, torso—cocooning her so tightly she can barely twitch.
She thrashes, screaming, but his silk holds. The tremors stop. The trees go still.
Riven stands over Kestra’s bound form, his massive chest rising and falling with exertion, his eyes unreadable.
“This is over,” he tells her. “You’re hurting. I understand that. But you don’t get to take that hurt out on innocents. You don’t get to become the thing you hate.”
Kestra goes limp, her rage seemingly burned out, leaving only exhaustion and something that looks uncomfortably like despair. She’s still dangerous, still broken, but the fight has drained from her.
Dale approaches carefully, his weapon lowered but ready. He looks at Kestra, then at Riven.
“What happens now?” he asks, surprisingly steady for a man talking to a giant spider monster.
Riven steps back, a clear gesture of deference to human authority, but his posture remains protective. The message is clear: if they try to hurt her, they’ll have to go through him.
To my absolute shock, Dale holsters his pistol and crouches down near Kestra’s webbed form.
“I know what happened to your grove,” he says gently. “I know what that logging company did. It was wrong, and you deserved better.”
Kestra’s black eyes fix on him, searching for deception.
“But this—” Dale gestures at the destruction around us, “—is not going to fix anything. We have places that can help you, programs that specialize in trauma for magical beings. I’ll personally make sure you get there.” He pauses. “You haven’t killed anyone. So if you cooperate, you can still have a future. Maybe not the one you lost, but something.”
I stand frozen, watching this unexpected compassion from a man I’d written off as a total jerk.
