Darianne Perez

Prologue

A blanket of webbing weaved itself over a certain god’s estate, suffocating the screams that emanated from the mountain-top castle. Lifeless bodies were posed in mid-movement, frozen in running or cowering positions. There were countless spiders who had already cloaked the outside with their dark work, and who now determinedly invaded the inside. The insect’s funerary cloth extended to every bit of the mansion; the winding hallways with their centuries-old artwork, the rooms that held revered artifacts, and the elegantly designed bedrooms all found themselves cloaked by the white spider’s silk. It took its time consuming the once grand estate, seemingly exploring and enjoying the splendor. Yet, their movements were uniform, as though they were an army being led by some unseen general. The fine threads, their weaponry, glimmered across the corpses like freshly fallen snow.

Through the mansion’s labyrinth of hallways, a servant boy in his early teens bolted recklessly. He wore only his sleeping clothes, and the webbing grasped at his bare feet with each step forward. Staggering into the estate’s training room, he saw that his only option was to grab a wooden sword–the more threatening weapons having likely been taken by others before his arrival. He wasn’t sure what he could do with it, but his eyes held the determination of any warrior as he weaved through the halls, even as his hand on the hilt trembled. He dodged the bodies of soldiers and his fellow servants, glancing at them before continuing on. The boy heard skittering on the walls and floor around him and, out of the corners of his eyes, he could see small shapes with elongated legs weaving masterfully over the web. His foot stepped on one and he felt the guts squish against his bare feet. Bile rose in his throat, but he stumbled on.

He turned down one hallway and saw an older woman screaming as she swatted at an uncountable amount of spiders that crawled up her body. She turned to him and sobbed. Whatever she might have said was lost as soon as she opened her mouth, for spiders invaded the space as soon as it became available. She took a few weighted steps towards him, and instinctively, he stepped back. As her body froze, he whispered a silent prayer. He had never thought he would watch his aunt die. The web crawled up to claim her paralyzed body, and the spiders cascaded down—and began the quick race towards him. He pushed aside the memories of her that had briefly taken hold of him. There was no time to mourn. Instead, he spun around and kept running.

As he ran down another hallway, a door in front of him burst open. The head samurai, face half-shaved with the shaving cream still on his chin, staggered out. The boy couldn’t help but stop; he had never seen this proud captain with such a look of absolute fear on his face. The samurai didn’t notice him. Instead, his hands grasped out for something--anything--to save him from whatever was inside.

“A Child of Stardust! Hurry, sound the alarms! Help-” He screamed at no one, blinded by his fear. His words were cut off as the boy watched the white webbing slither out of the room and wrap around his throat, dragging him back inside. His fingers grasped futilely at the edges of the door, but the door suddenly slammed shut—and the boy watched the man’s severed fingers fall to the white floor. The boy could feel tears running down his cheeks; he hadn’t been aware that he had started crying. He knew he had to keep going. Above all else, he had a duty to protect the deity of the estate. No one else could distract from that priority. There was no question of who was more important to save.

So the boy kept running, ignoring the sound of silken threads snaking about as they claimed more victims. Though his lungs ached with the need for a break, he kept moving. He stopped only when he had reached the side door into the meeting hall. This part of the estate had become silent. His breaths were deep and ragged, but they were not loud enough to overshadow the quiet sound of talking coming from the inside of the room. He froze immediately. It had been burned into his skull to never interrupt the lord-God when he was with someone. Even now, the fear of punishment for that disobedience kept him from bursting inside. His fingers shook as he brought them to the edge of the door frame. He did not open the door, but pressed his ear against it.

“It’s been some time, Lord Yamamoto. You’ve lived a long life, even by a god’s standard. I would have thought that your children would have succeeded you by now. Though when we met, you were practically a child yourself.” A feminine voice, gentle and polite, spoke from within. It was an unfamiliar voice and it made the boy’s hairs on his arms stand on end. He couldn’t help the feeling that the spiders that had not yet reached this part of the mansion were now crawling towards his ears.

"My father may have been the one to fight you, but I’ve had hundreds of years to grow my power. I don't know what game you're playing, Masamune, but do not think your breed's tricks will work on anyone now!” Lord Yamamoto boomed,voice like a sudden explosion amidst quiet chimes, his words echoing through the space as strong and unrelenting as the stones he governed.

“Breed? Well, I am glad to know that you remember us so fondly. Is that why you were seeking the Wayfinder’s Compass? If you missed me that badly, all you had to do was wake me-”

“You know why I want the compass. I am a god of this star and weapons that should shut up and be wielded will not intimidate me-”

A whipping sound came from within the room. Then there was only silence. In the eerie peace, the boy felt his body go numb. Lord Yamamoto’s words had been cut off. The boy wouldn’t let himself consider what that might mean. He tugged the door open, daring to peek inside.

The main doors to the meeting hall opened at the same time. A pale woman in a teal and purple dress, black hair tumbling over her shoulders, and mint green eyes staring dutifully ahead, entered. Her large black animal’s ears twitched at the silence, while a thick and fluffy tail stayed tight against her backside. Here, too, the spider web had covered the room and hidden whatever splendor might have once existed there. Only the lanterns flickered with dying flames.

At the very back of the room, on a raised platform, stood Lord Yamamoto’s corpse. It was still posed and ready for an attack, sword outstretched in frozen hands. In front of him, another woman seemed to still be in conversation with him, though no sound was heard. She was a tall, slender, and dark-skinned woman who wore a beautiful kimono that shimmered in different shades of purple. Her fine violet hair had been drawn up into an intricate sort of bun, pink bangs framing her face, and set in place by a pin with a black and pink spider-like symbol.

The black-haired woman bowed. “We found his information regarding the compass, my lady. Its location was the site of one of the Wanderer’s last battles, just as we had guessed. I've gathered Aster, Nuwa, and Clementine. We will head out once you give the word.” Receiving a single nod in response, she started to leave the room, but paused for a moment to tilt her head backward. She seemed to glance back at something, but the boy could not tell what. It was brief, and soon the green-eyed woman disappeared and closed the door behind her.

Back in the meeting hall, the elegant woman stepped towards the covered form of Lord Yamamoto. Her expression held a subdued smile, but there was something in her glassy silver eyes that was terrifying to behold.

“Thank you for finding the Wayfinder’s Compass for me. But know this, while the Children of Stardust might be weapons. I…”

She paused, and her head turned to look his way–to look, he realized, right at the door he peeked out from behind. Had she truly seen him, despite his silence and attempted stealth? She did not approach, but raised a single hand up, revealing the webbing extending from her fingertips in thin strands which connected to the threads all around her. He felt cold as her gaze never wavered from his spot.

The boy took a few deep breaths. He knew that it had to be now. Whoever this woman was, she had taken down the God of Stone. Who was he to challenge such a force? But who was he if he did not? She had claimed Lord Yamamoto’s life. Even if he was destroyed…Even if he became little more than a fly upon her web, he knew he had to fight. His hand went to the wooden sword at his side. His thumb brushed against the rough wooden shaft as he pulled the weapon out for the decisive battle.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” A voice mused behind him. The boy turned and barely caught sight of the green-eyed lady. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His hand twitched and, in that moment, his sword was hacked into shards by wires that had wound around every part of his form. The sound of the wooden pieces hitting the white flooring echoed within his spinning head. Laughter from the main room chilled him and his tear-filled eyes trailed over to look through the still-open door slit.

In the main room, the silver-eyed woman’s smile grew wider. She stepped forward one more time and chuckled. Eight glowing purple spider's eyes blinked to life around her body.

“I will be a wielder.”

She wrenched her fingers into a fist and towards her chest, and crushed the God’s body with a sickening crunch. The blood from the body trickled down to the pristine snow of webbing and towards the woman. The sounds of thousands of spiders approaching covered the last strangled gasp the boy could give before the world became silken white.

Chapter 1

"We are all made of Stardust. Within all of us are the makings of a supernova, a black hole, a wish captured in a shooting star. We are all a bit of someone's dream. And we all have the potential for luminosity.-Anonymous

“Fuck.”

Roanoke Mochizuki woke from his routine nightmares and found himself holding a heart-topped pink staff that was ticking like a bomb ready to explode. His hands fumbled with it until he located a small symbol that featured an explosion sigil. It was the need to not blow up that gave him the power to push back the dark memories. His thumb pressed down on the sigil until he felt it go from hot to cold, then released it as he exhaled deeply. The young man waited until the pounding of his heart slowed and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had often woken up from his dreams holding a weapon but... The sound of FUKO’s latest song reached his ears. It must have automatically updated to his playlist while he slept. His hands ran over the staff as he examined the weapon and, for a moment, he tried to imagine a fighting style he could use with such a gaudy thing.

“Fuck detected. Good morning! Would you like to hear the top news for this sphere today?”

Wincing at the pleasantly robotic sound of his tablet, he tossed the staff to one side in annoyance. It landed on a pile of other weapons he had yet to take care of, all results of his sleep-creating. At some point, Roanoke knew he would have to put them in the ship’s mini storage plane, but for now... He glanced over at his tablet and saw the holographic screen already displaying a list of news that he wouldn’t be able to process until much later in the day.

“What’s the ship’s condition?” Roanoke asked, a yawn straining his words.

“Parked On: Sinner’s Point. Ship Condition: Laughable. Crew Condition: Desperate. Monetary Condition—” Roanoke quickly waved a hand over the screen.

“Where are we…?” he whispered to himself. He brought up a map of the area. Myth had insisted on continuing straight through the sleeping hours designated for travel through the Namid Sphere of the Stardust Sea. Given the wyvernboy’s driving skills, it was questionable how far they had actually gotten. His rainbow eyes, shifting in various colors, scanned the image and found their dot. He had to zoom in and, when the place they were on finally appeared, Roanoke swore under his breath. It looked like a shady outpost amid a wealth of possible safe-havens. He had, unfortunately, grown used to such side stops; Roanoke quickly changed and grabbed his silver gauntlet inlaid with a prismatic core.

Turning off his music, Roanoke stepped outside his room and nearly smacked into his pet. The little will-o-wysp, a bundle of stardust formed into a ball, had been waiting outside his door to greet him. As soon as Roanoke realized he had slammed his chest into the little ball, he gasped and lurched forward to rescue them. The orb was hardly hurt by such a thing, however. They bounced off the walls and jumped energetically into Roanoke’s awaiting hands. As soon as they were safely there, Roanoke exhaled slowly.

“Geeze, Lil’ Guy. For an emotional support familiar, you’re causing me a lot of stress.” He lightly chided the creature. The will-o-wysp merely floated up to lounge on his shoulder triumphantly. The young man relaxed a little and slumped against one wall. “Where’s Kal and Myth?” He asked after a moment. The ship was too quiet. In response, the will-o-wysp shot down the hallway and towards the closed door leading outside.

Suppressing a sigh, Roanoke continued down the thin hallway. He passed Kaleida’s room, marked with several stickers and an open/close sign she had “borrowed” from an abandoned store on Camus. Myth’s room came after that, the door plastered with a custom wanted poster the older man had gotten done of himself.

The storage room on the back wall was filled with collectibles Kaleida and Myth squirreled away. Its door was decorated with a basic touch screen that showed a condensed version of their entire inventory in neat little boxes. Roanoke held up his Chroniker and waited as it synced to the room. When the shrill beep confirmed the connection, he lowered his watch and began to browse through their stuff for the necessary basic items.

Of course, there were some unnecessary stuff, like the life-sized ice drake statue Myth had won in a drunk-fueled card game. Roanoke stared dully at the icon for it. His fingers lingered spitefully over the sprite.

What the Tartarus are we supposed to do with that?

Suppressing a sound that was halfway between a yawn and a sigh, Roanoke chose his daily amount of health potions. Noticing Kaleida had picked out all the Diet HP, he reluctantly withdrew five Health Ups. They were more expensive than the Diet HPs, especially since Myth had gotten the Diet HP store-brand instead of a healer god-approved case. They also didn’t heal as much, but it was what they had grown used to. Figuring that his companions might have missed something, Roanoke also withdrew four stardust energy shots and some Insta-Lights.

As he finished getting ready, the ship violently shook, accompanied by the screeching of metal. Even after it had stopped moving, Roanoke kept still as he crushed his emerging frustration. He took a moment to tie his white hair up into a ponytail, the dark blue and purple lower locks sparkling with starlight as they fell over his shoulders. As soon as his hair was set, he bolted into the communal space of the ship.

The pilot’s area didn’t put him any more at ease. It was an open space in front of the communal area where, from his position, Roanoke could read the “FAST TRAVEL ERROR” sign flashing in a desperate plea for help on the pilot’s screen. Lil’ Guy bounced around one hand, silently demanding a pet before he would leave, and Roanoke obliged. After the pet was satisfied, the already-exhausted man opened the door and stepped out to see what chaos would be greeting him that day.

It seemed he had been right about the sketchy part. The air tasted of smoke from various unidentifiable substances. Sinner’s Point was a barren and rocky place, not even big enough to be considered an actual star. It was an asteroid, no doubt acquired by some rich mogul during a buyout of the whole belt. Pathetic mountains poked out from the land, and a short distance away from them a deep abyss had been carved into the earth. A lonely bus stop seemed to be waving in proof that people did stop there out of choice, though the broken sign and flickering bus schedule screen it boasted did little to inspire any confidence. There was a small road that began and ended without ceremony and on either side of it shoddy abandoned buildings stuck out like tombstones. It was a dull, dark, and gray place. The only lighting afforded to it was the flashing neon sign signaling the rest stop just a short walk away from them. Sinner’s Point and Quick Mart, punctuated by a badly drawn logo featuring an arrow hovering over an asteroid with a smiley face, glared aggressively on the tall beacon.