The forest trembled like it remembered something old. The stones that had cracked beneath Buzz's feet now pulsed in steady rhythm, the same pulse that ran through his veins. Blue light spread in veins through the roots and climbed the trunks, wrapping around the clearing until it glowed like a heartbeat.
The newborn thrashed against the ancient silk, but it couldn't tear it cleanly. Every time it broke one strand, another reformed. The blue threads hissed where they touched gold, the sound like rain over flame.
Zza staggered to her feet, her arm wrapped in makeshift silk. "Buzz," she rasped, "look."
He followed her gaze. The ancient Weaver stood fully now, its form both solid and shifting, as if the forest itself had risen to wear a body. Its threads stretched far beyond the clearing, connecting to the canopy, the ground, the wind. Everything moved to its rhythm.
