Ares crawled into the hideaway by channeling his inner worm and wriggled beneath until the ceiling elevated slightly. The sun caught his ankles as he slid inside, a lumpy cloth bag dragged in his hand.

  He saw that familiar Guide first, the one that had been by Sylvan. His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at the little girl who frowned in dissatisfaction.

  "Oh dear," he mused, avoiding the scatter of dust that drifted. "Who made the princess upset? Certainly not the darling friend over there?"

  "He reeks!" protested the girl.

  Ares shamelessly sniffed the air as he wriggled beside the Guide, whose gaze seethed. Definitely murderous. He shrugged, inching away. Death under a ruined building wasn't how he wanted to go, even by a handsome man's hand.

  "Smells pretty good to me," said Ares. "Like dust, dirt, and possibly corpse. The Rifts' natural perfume."

  "Ew!" Artemis scrunched her nose. "I smell like flowers!"

  "I'm sure you do, but I'm not about to wriggle over and test that," said Ares when she eagerly held out her arm for him to sniff. He glanced sideways at the wary Guide and smiled. "Apollo, my little prince, I'm sure you're happy, aren't you?"

  Apollo blinked and said nothing. He only stared at Ian and tentatively inched closer. The Guide didn't stop him, though tension ran along his muscles, and his sharp gaze flickered left and right.

  "What's in the bag?" asked Ian with a jerk of his chin. He adapted to the situation rapidly.

  Ares noted the man's behaviour and smiled. He sat up with a hunched back, bent enough to resemble the crescent moon, and dumped out the contents.

  Dozens of tiny black dots poured out.

  One skittered before Ian's hand. The little boy shrank towards him, and the girl lurched away with pale disgust.

  "Spiders," grinned Ares. "These babies have been working hard all night."

  Artemis curled her legs in. She sniffed. "Hera says your taste is anything alive, but are you calling a spider your baby—"

  "Lovely Artemis," laughed Ares. "Get your mind away from those banned romance books and remember the term baby was once meant for infants, and still is. Plus, these cuties haven't done anything to you."

  "My mind is fresh and beautiful!" protested the girl loudly. She swerved toward her brother for validation, which she loved the most.

  Apollo, on cue, nodded obediently.

  "See! So you agree I shouldn't stop reading them?"

  Apollo blinked and shook his head.

  "....." The girl pouted, sticking her tongue against her cheek. Denial or avoidance were two methods of evasion taught to her by Hera, and she coughed. Her large eyes squinted at Ian. "You know, Zeus is very pretty too. She has eyes like yours."

  Ares poked the pile of dead spiders with a skinny slab of stone. Another rolled in front of Ian, elicting a frown.

  "Keep your babies to yourself." Calmly, Ian flicked it back, sending a little leg flying mysteriously into the shadows.

  "No need to enact violence on the innocent." Ares lightly rolled them away from the corpse-killing Guide and glanced at Artemis. "Also, black eyes aren't a rarity, I hope you know. Otherwise, your education needs some work."

  "No!" Artemis, with an utter lack of the concept of personal space, crawled closer to Ian. Distracted, she forgot her previous grievances. "They're like marbles, glassy and clear. Kind, but something's scary. Zeus smiles prettily, but you're not smiling at all! Smile, now!"

  "I don't take orders."

  "Pretty please," said the girl easily, batting her eyelashes.

  Ian cocked his head and brought his middle fingers to his lips, stretching them into an ugly, frightening contortion. Artemis' eagerness vanished, and she slipped away again.

  Ian was amused by her antics, but kept cautious.

  The Aegis Alliance took on code names based on Ancient Greek Gods. His childhood friend had read those books, assortments, and fragments of history that he managed to slip inside the facility. His favourite one was something to do with a messenger.

  Both Ian and his sister took great care to imprint those words to memory; the only place their secrets could remain protected.

  Words, Ian recalled, were a favourite of that older boy whom he'd never learned the name of. Every visit, he would come with a new phrase or word, as if uncovering buried legends that persisted with their knowledge.

  Forgotten words no longer important to humanity's survival; the survival that ranked the necessity of both life and memory.

  Ian's thoughts returned to the curled baby spider coated in dust.

  Slivers of sunlight streamed from under the crack, and the creature's steps sent a continued vibration against the ground. Three members of the Aegis Alliance—two hybrids and a frivolous man.

  Somehow, he preferred the former over the latter any day. Unfortunately, the best course would be to make temporary allies of the three.

  The social recluse inside Ian once again protested, and he emotionlessly smacked it down. Resolved, he lifted his gaze to Ares, who smiled and waved.

  "Tell me what you've discovered," he demanded.

  Surprisingly, Ares' usefulness restrained Ian's desire to enact violence. The key to the Rift lay in the creature that roamed during daytime, and remained closer to the center of the ruins by evening.

  A day lasted approximately two hours. In the darkness, a mass of baby spiders would scamper across the grounds, in every crevice or crack.

  "What's the rule for this Rift?"

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  Ares hummed thoughtfully, a long strand of hair lightly falling from his ponytail. "The rules exist as a means of categorizing the strength or dangers of Rifts. Not all rules exist to be known."

  "Then it can range from anything," said Ian.

  "Naturally, pretty boy." Ares leaned back with a smile, stretching his long legs out to take an unnecessary amount of space. "We like to make sense of what we don't know, and the rules are a means of assessing that. How little do you know about Rifts?"

  "I know enough."

  "Doubtful, but I praise your confidence. Prideful, aren't you?" Ares smiled and explained the minimum.

  Being deprived of knowledge made Ian seethe internally, but to dismiss an opportunity to learn from a notorious figure would be foolish. As far as his knowledge went, small groups could sign up as part of the gathering team or the combat team.

  Organizations or certain groups remained together, while others were an accumulation of citizens who needed money or excitement.

  The gathering team consisted of the lesser-ranked, and the combat team saw them as useful tools of sacrifice in the event of a disaster. Only once the Queen or King died would the Rift close. Alternatively, destroying the core of monsters could grant leave to a limited group.

  However, the cores were an expendable energy source still researched by scientists in the Center. Ian knew they held importance in maintaining the energy field, but details remained hidden.

  "Happy?" smiled Ares after the explanation. "It's rare for the glorious I to devote such information, no matter how pretty the person."

  Ian dismissed him, focused on his thoughts. "I'll explore again."

  He didn't wait for an answer and wriggled his body clockwise to begin his shimmy towards the exit. Light still streamed outside, but by his calculations, he assumed night would fall soon.

  "Don't tell me you were counting down the time as I was speaking?" called out Ares, lazily lying on his side. Artemis crawled over and insisted he braided his hair, to which he easily complied. His movements were smooth and practiced.

  The relationship between the members was close, bonded by need and loss. He remembered Lucian then, that bright gaze and gentle smile.

  With Ian's disappearance, he must have left. To the upper levels.

  Ian exhaled and glanced back. He could spare a few moments before darkness interrupted. "Your self-awareness is one of your few charming qualities."

  "Oh, you think I'm charming?" His fingers weaved through the girl's long hair, and she clapped happily in satisfaction. "Princess, do you want some decorations?"

  Her face fell. "If you suggest those spiders, I'm telling Hermes!"

  "That won't do," said Ares disappointedly. He peered over her back and raised his eyebrows. "Well? Do you confess to my charms?"

  "Your charm is akin to those spiders."

  "Cute?" offered the Esper.

  "Deceased," retorted the Guide.

  Finally, after the terrible burden of socializing, night fell, and Ian slipped away.. When he stood, shoulders and muscles cramped from being squeezed in the small space, he realized he had a little follower.

  A little follower that clung to the corner of his shirt silently. Upon feeling his stare, the small face innocently blinked up.

  Ian cocked his head. "You'll wrinkle my clothes."

  The small hand easily slipped from the shirt and into his dangling hand. Apollo's grip held surprising tenacity, with an unwillingness to release. Ian participated in a staring contest for 30 seconds before he relented.

  "You're damn stubborn," he said and lightly tugged the boy along. "I'm not going to save you if something scary comes out."

  The boy nodded.

  Ian glanced down and sighed. He couldn't get rid of the strangely clingy child, and so he became a kidnapper instead.

  The duo ducked beneath a lopsided arch of stone wrapped with jagged leaves. Soon, their eyes adjusted to the chaos and outlined twisted structures and ruined slabs of stone.

  They stopped at the center of a weathered square structure, its ceiling exposed to the endless skies.

  Far above their reach, a circle of illuminating white carved a space in darkness. A full moon. A distant tale that no longer blessed the skies with its image, now set in the permanence of its hollowed curvature.

  In the past, Ian wondered distantly, had they worshiped the full moon? Or was the regularity of its cycles a dismissed event; had normality reaped it of its beauty?

  He felt a squeeze on his hand and looked down. The boy craned his neck, peering eagerly at the moon as if trying to seal it in his eyes. Ian couldn't help but laugh and ruffled his hair out of habit.

  "You'll break your neck," he said without the same sharpness as before. "Do you like the moon?"

  The boy nodded and withdrew his hands. He lifted them and curved his fingers into two crescents before pushing them together to form a blob-like shape. Then, he pointed at the moon and made the shape again.

  Ian squinted. "You love it?"

  The boy nodded happily and held his hand again. The small squeeze seemed to carry rings of joy and silliness.

  "What's a brat like you doing with an illegal organization?" he muttered curiously. A band of misfits, dangerous rebels who opposed the base. He couldn't attain much information from the child, and the other man reeked of trouble. "Do they like strays?"

  Apollo blinked once and nodded.

  Ian raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?" He directed them toward the center again, careful to watch for sudden movements. Tiny spiders scattered across the dirt. "They're your family?"

  Another nod. Whatever the Aegis Alliance stood for, they were loyal to their members. In a sense, it made them more human than the cruel descriptions Sylvan described.

  Humanity drew itself into a meta-narrative of one giant family—every act and every terror was for the mindless sake of prolonging their suffering existence. But what was the difference between killing a human and a beast?

  He thought of the factors of intelligence, appearance, and all the insignificant details, made important by definition. His eyes pierced through the darkness, left hollow.

  He found that he couldn't find a reason.

  The boy yugged again and took the lead, directing them closer to the center. Distracted, Ian said nothing as he allowed the small teenager—perhaps thirteen, perhaps older or younger—to drag him away.

  Once they crossed the first three rings of pillars, a vibration tore underfoot. A shadowed shape staggered to a stand on a center platform. Its long, skinny legs snapped out, lifting a rounded shape in the middle.

  Ian realized what the creature was—

  —a spider. One nearly four times his height with a penchant for murder.

  He twisted and snatched up the teenager, who hurriedly wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and stared at the approaching spider. Branches snapped under their feet as he broke into a dash, passing low and high arches, waving through stone slabs.

  Run. He didn't dare stop.

  The spider's movements were steady, each step a stab that shook the earth. It towered above them, its shadow depriving them of vision.

  It was nearing. He could feel its heat against his spine.

  An urgent tapping rapped against his shoulder, and the boy leaned back with his hand outstretched. He pointed at a tight space where two pillars leaned against an uneven wall.

  "Won't work," said Ian bluntly, leaping through a shattered gap of stone. "The gaps are too big. It'll reach us."

  The boy shook his head and pointed again. Ian frowned, cursed, and pivoted suddenly, slamming his bodyweight against a wall. Dust tumbled as he made a mad dash for the space and leaped through.

  His body slammed into the dirt, and the boy wrestled out of his grasp. He threw up his jacket again. The fabric fluttered, stretched across the exposed gap.

  Ian's eyes widened as he saw slivers of yellow coat the boy's fingers and seep into the cloth. The boy's ability, he remembered, had wrapped a skin-like bandage around his stomach. He turned and found a long stone cylinder.

  With a gasp, he dragged it over and wedged it against the fabric to keep it in place. The spider's footsteps thundered against the ground towards them—

  —and then past.

  Ian let out an exhale, and the boy slumped onto the ground with a gasp.

  "Let's move away from the entrance. The fabric should keep for now as long as the wind doesn't pick up."

  The boy nodded and tiredly followed Ian deeper into the space. It went further than Ian expected, a short hollowed space. His foot clinked against a small object, and he paused. Bending down, he felt a paper, rectangular box in his hand rattle with objects.

  He raised it to his eyes. A matchbox.

  After he confirmed that the spider's footsteps hadn't neared again, he pulled one stick out and struck it against the side. A spark flickered, but it failed. He frowned impatiently and struck again, only for another spark to fizzle away.

  He persisted stubbornly for an extended period of time before a small tug pulled his jacket, and the boy held out an open palm.

  Ian stared reluctantly, and he planted it into the boy's palm.

  It took the boy one strike to light the match. Ian's eye twitched, and he turned away to mask his petty jealousy. Then, he froze. A chill shot up his spine.

  He moved, and his foot bumped into another object—something much, much larger.

  The small flame cast warmth against the shadowed space, and with it, illuminated several large, rounded shapes, resting against the fallen pillars.

  Cocoons.

  They were standing in a hollow of human-sized cocoons.