When the fog disappeared and Adam opened his eyes again, he found himself in a very familiar cave. It was the sa one where he had first claid his weapon when he had first started the ga. But this ti, it was different. There was no eeriness clinging to the walls, no suffocating darkness waiting to pounce from the corners. Instead, the air carried sorrow, a heavy blanket of grief and dejection that made his chest tighten.
He scanned the cavern, searching for what had changed, for why he had been drawn back to this place. It didn’t take long for his gaze to fall upon a throne carved of rough stone. Upon it sat a figure whose body radiated divinity, yet whose posture betrayed only despair.
The sight froze him. The person on the throne was almost identical to him in form, the resemblance undeniable. There was only one being it could be.
"Arachne?" Adam’s voice ca out low, hesitant.
At the sound of her na, the goddess lifted her head. Her eyes widened in shock, recognition breaking through the sorrow like sunlight through clouds. Tears welled, spilling down her cheeks as she whispered, then cried out, "Adam!"
The sound of her voice struck him harder than any blade.
Arachne’s joy stopped as abruptly as it had flared. Her trembling hands lowered, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her entire body stiffened.
"No," she whispered, voice breaking. "No, this... this isn’t real. Adam can’t be here."
Her sorrow twisted into rage, and suddenly her voice thundered through the cavern.
"Phanmorra! Why do you wish to mock in my despair? Why do you show this illusion now?"
Her cry echoed until the cave itself seed to tremble. For a long mont there was silence, until a voice answered, disembodied and unreadable.
"Discordia deed this version to be the most fitting for the task."
Arachne lurched to her feet, fury blazing across her features. "How dare that bitch make demands of ! She ignored my pleas, cast aside my suffering, and now she dares to taunt ? What gives her the right!"
The unseen voice remained calm, cutting through her tirade like a blade through silk. "It is not the Discordia you know that is asking."
Arachne froze. Her mouth opened, then shut, her sharp mind turning over the words. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned her head back toward Adam. Her voice, once thunder, now fell to a tremor.
"If that’s true... then this Adam... is—"
"Yes," Phanmorra’s voice confird, leaving no space for doubt. "This Adam is real. From a world where he is not yet lost."
The words broke her. A sob tore free before she could stop it, her legs carrying her forward in a blur. She collided with Adam, tackling him into a desperate embrace. Her tears soaked his shoulder as she clung to him, bawling like a child who had found sothing precious she thought gone forever.
Adam staggered under the sudden weight, his arms instinctively raising though he didn’t quite know whether to hold her back. His mind raced. This truly wasn’t the Arachne he knew. His Arachne was sassy, cruel, mischievous, always lording her wit and sharp tongue over him like she was so sort of superior being.
But here she was, trembling, broken, and crying in his arms like the world itself had ended.
Confusion gripped him, but stronger still was the ache of hearing her sobs echo through the cave.
Arachne’s sobs quieted, though her body still shook as if the grief inside her was endless. Slowly, with a care that felt almost fragile, she lifted her hands to his face. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, and Adam felt the cool touch of her skin, steadying but also desperate. Her crimson eyes searched his features with a longing that unsettled him.
"You look so much younger," she murmured. Her voice cracked, and more tears slipped down her cheeks. "So much like the boy he once was."
Adam swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze pressing down on him. He had never seen her like this. The Arachne he knew was sharp, mischievous, and domineering. She laughed at his missteps and mocked his stubbornness, often treating him as if he were little more than a plaything. This side of her, gentle and vulnerable, felt like a stranger.
His chest tightened under the intensity of her eyes. He wanted to ask her why she was acting this way, why she was looking at him as if she had found sothing too precious to let go, but the words caught in his throat.
Before he could force them out, she gave a sorrowful smile, her thumbs brushing across his cheeks. "I am sorry. I must seem strange to you," she said quietly. "It is just... my Adam died. He died facing what ca at the end."
The words struck him like a blade. Adam’s mouth went dry. "The end?"
She hesitated, her hands trembling as she held his face. Her eyes dropped as though speaking the truth was almost too heavy to bear. "When the world reached its final stage... the End began."
Adam frowned. "What do you an by that?"
Her breath hitched as if she was dragging herself through mories she wanted to bury. "My Adam and his friends stood together when it ca. They fought as hard as they could. They faced it with all the courage and strength they had." Her voice shook as she continued. "But not a single one of them survived."
Adam’s chest constricted. The words echoed through him, each one dragging a new wave of horror into his mind. He imagined his friends, every face, every bond, shattered in a final battle. He could almost hear their cries.
"You an..." He stopped, unable to voice the thought.
Arachne closed her eyes, her tears slipping freely now. "Humanity is gone. Extinct. There is nothing left of them."
Adam froze, horrified. The air in the cave seed to grow colder. The sorrow pressing against him grew unbearable. He thought of his own world, his companions, and the future they were fighting toward. Was this what awaited them?
Her voice returned, fragile and despairing. "With that, the gods too are slowly dying and fading away into nothing. I am simply waiting for my ti to co."
Her words hung in the silence like a death knell. She still held his face in her hands, her eyes shimring with grief and the faintest spark of hope, as if she could not decide whether to mourn or to cling to the possibility that he might change what her Adam could not.
"I have much to tell you," she whispered. "Take a seat and I will share with you what I can in the ti I have left."
Her words carried no command, only plea. Adam found himself obeying, lowering to the cold stone floor across from her. His heart was still racing, but he forced himself to steady his breathing. If she truly ant to reveal the fate of her world, he could not afford to turn away.
Arachne sank back onto the throne of stone. The grand seat that should have symbolized her power looked instead like a prison cell. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers twisting together as though she struggled to decide where to begin.
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