Chapter Text
Crawl.
Run.
Fight.
Eat.
Mate.
Several bugs scuttled across barren stone, thinking about nothing but the very things that ensured their survival. They prowled, watched, waited for prey. Some remained on the ground, while others opted to lie in wait on the roofs of caverns. A clever tactic.
Pharlids were living proof that things can live, thrive even, in the harshest of environments. they had conquered stormy outcrops, towers where coral grew rampant, and mossy valleys. There was no civilisation, no intelligence, just pure survival and instincts.
However, the little spiders' fates were about to change. A being had entered their land unnamed. A Pale Being. Composed entirely of silk. The Grand Mother of Silk.
She peered through the land, searching, longing even, for a kind to call her own. To love and to cherish. To make their own silk and song in order to serve her as she pleases.
Nothing in particular had peaked Grand Mother's interests...that was until the found a peculiar group of eight-legged bugs. What's more, they seemed to be able to produce rudimentary silk of their own. Perfect. In a blinding flurry of thread she gave the Pharlids her gift. She watched as they grew, and stood up, growing larger, taller, and taller still. Their masks elongated and they lost their jagged claws, instead getting smoother limbs suited to manipulating silk.
The reborn race of spiders looked up at the Grand Mother, a look of confusion upon their many eyes, reminiscent of a child.
"You..." Grand Mother Silk began.
"You...Are my kin".
"Yes. All of you. You are divine. You are my sons and daughters, all here to serve as I wish. Use my gift well. Use your silk to create beautiful things, sing beautiful songs. You are hereby...
..
Weavers."