It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He reaches out and gestures at one section of the web, swiping his hand to the side as if swiping right on the biggest dating site ever. That casual flick sends the strands fluttering away, and then he pulls at open air. One shining, bright golden strand fills with light, and I step forward to get a better look at it, fascinated.

“This is Aron,” the Spidae says. He holds the thread delicately, and as I lean in, I can see where dozens of other threads cling to it, crossing over back and forth at various spots. The Spidae gestures again. “The other threads are where he meets with other mortals, where he intersects in their lives. Humanity is a web, crossing back and forth over one another, interweaving. No thread stands alone. Do you understand?”

I follow the beautiful thread of Aron’s, gazing up to see how high it goes, and I’m not entirely surprised to see that it extends far beyond the rest of the web, stretching high into the shadows. “Why does it go so much farther up?”

“Because he is anchored to the High Father’s realm. The Aether. Once he is torn from the mortal tangle and the Anticipation is complete, he will no longer be connected here.” The Spidae points at the web, and near his finger, I can see where the shining golden strand splits into three different threads. “He is still anchored there, to the cosmos above.” He gestures up, and when I glance overhead at the shadows, I see nothing but darkness, and it’s easy to imagine the thread leading all the way up to the heavens. “Each thread must follow its path to completion.”

I lean in, gazing at the split in the threads and the messy snarl of what looks like nothing but tangles. Paths crossing, he said. Lives interweaving with one another. Despite my worries, it’s fascinating. I follow Aron’s thread and notice the loose string dangling on one end, cut free from its moorings. I point at it and look over at my companion. “Liar Aron?”

He nods.

It creeps me out to see that loose thread sitting there, dead. It’s what we had to do, of course, but I still don’t like to see it. Farther up, I see another loose strand made of shining gold, and I wonder if it’s Tadekha. Hedonism Tadekha. I follow that thread as far as I can, but I can only see two connections left.

I return to Aron’s thread, gazing at it closely. “Where am I? If I’m Aron’s anchor, shouldn’t I be in the weave here somewhere?”

The Spidae smiles, and I can’t decide if it’s a creepy gesture or a fascinating one. “You catch on quickly, my dear. Allow me to show you.”

He doesn’t point at the front of the web, as I expect him to do. Instead, he takes a few steps to the side, moving away from the main tangle of the threads. Curious, I follow him as he moves behind it and from there, I can see a few strands stretching across from an entirely separate web.

Holy shit. There are two webs.

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Two webs.

I gape, unable to stop staring as I look at the threads that crisscross between the two webs. They’re maybe a foot apart, the two webs, but each tangle seems completely separate save for a few rogue threads. There aren’t many—maybe a dozen? Maybe fewer? Each of the rogue strings are pulled taut between the two webs, and when the Spidae gestures at “my” thread, it gleams with an unnatural light and I can see where I’m connected to Aron in the other web. My thread is twined around his, as if they’re lovers. It’s very clear mine cannot be separated from his.

Fascinated, I set my football “pod” down on the ground and step forward to study the webs closer.

“He’s not actually tied to this web at all,” the Spidae murmurs. “You are what anchors him here. When your connection is severed, so is his.”

I follow my “connection” back to my own web, staring nose-height with my thread. The web for Earth—because it has to be Earth—isn’t lit up with as many colored threads as the other. There’s a deeper, darker tangle, as if billions of people are all caught up in the mix together. Makes sense. I want to ask where our gods are, which religion is right, what happens after we die, why my web is next to Aron’s if it’s two different worlds, but I zoom in on something else entirely. “Is…my thread breaking?”

I stare at my connection to the Earth web. It looks…really fragile. Frayed. Like the thing could snap at any moment.

“Your tether to your world is tenuous at best,” he agrees.

“What does that mean?”

“It means if you leave now, I can weave you back into the web of your world.” He gestures at the strand, completely taut between the two webs. He points where I’m intertwined with Aron’s thread. “If I cut here, your thread is loose and can be worked back into your world’s weave.”

I gasp. I can go home? All of this bullshit can be over and I can go back to my normal life? Back to a world with cars and phones and cheeseburgers and medicine? Where no one’s trying to kill me on a regular basis? My heart skips with joy for a brief moment—very, very brief. “You can snap your fingers and send me back?”

The Spidae inclines his head. “The veil between worlds was thin when Aron and the Aspects came through. I wove them into this web, and others were caught in the confusion. You were not the only one to cross over between worlds.” He gestures at the handful of threads crisscrossing between the two tangles. “Nor are you the only one that has found your way to the side of an Aspect. Even now, others from your world serve the gods.”

Nifty. I don’t care about them. I care about me. I still can’t help but feel that he’s giving me all this information as a test of some kind…like he’s dissecting my brain to try and read my thoughts. It feels like a trap, like if I say the wrong thing, I’m going to fuck myself over.

Or fuck Aron over.

Belatedly, I remember that Aron and Tadekha didn’t get along. I never asked if Aron and the Spidae got along. Shit. “Let’s just play a few scenarios out,” I say mildly, trying not to stare at my stretched-tight-about-to-snap thread. “What happens if I go back? To Earth?”

“I cut you free from this world.” His eyes seem more silver than ever.

I straighten, frowning. “I thought if I died, Aron died too? That I’m what’s anchoring him to the mortal plane?”

The Spidae nods again. “I cut you free…and we are down to two Aspects of the God of Storms, not three.”

My mouth goes dry. My heart hurts and all hope ends right in this moment. If I die—if my thread is snapped from this world’s weave—my Aron goes up in smoke. “He said that the Aron that’s left after all this…that he won’t be the same. The Aron I know won’t exist any longer.”

I look over at the Spidae, waiting for an answer.

He simply stares back.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

If I go home, I screw over Aron. My Aron. I take him out of the running. I look at my thread again. At that fraying connection to Earth. “What…happens if I stay here?” I whisper. “For good?”

He gestures at the Earth web. “Your connection here will snap soon. You will then only be connected to this world. To Aos.”

Fuuuuuck. “So I’m stuck here even after he ascends again? Assuming we win?”

He blinks. “Are you?”

I grit my teeth. It’s clear he’s playing with me. I’m not dumb. There’s something he’s not telling me. Scratch that, there’s a lot he’s not telling me. Instead, I pace closer to the thread tangle, forcing myself to really, really look at it. What am I missing? What am I not seeing that he expects me to see? I lean in and stare hard at the thread tangle of myself and Aron. We’re woven into the web all right, but something about it still strikes me as odd. I want to touch my thread and pull on it, to see where it’s anchored, but I don’t dare. What if I end up lopping my own head off? “I’m missing something big here, aren’t I?”