Chapter 20
From Monster to Mister
Riven
I am being crushed to death by the most lethal force known to Vyders: gratitude.
“Thank you so much for saving my shop!”
“Can I get a picture with you?”
“My daughter says you’re cooler than Spider-Man!”
The barrage of appreciation bombards me from all sides as I stand awkwardly in the center of Pine Ridge’s main street.
Humans mill about, clearing debris and beginning repairs on the buildings Kestra damaged.
I’m trying to be useful—my silk has excellent structural support properties—but every time I anchor a loose beam or stabilize a damaged wall, someone rushes over to thank me.
It’s excruciating.
My exoskeleton wasn’t designed for this kind of torture. Give me a vengeful dryad any day over this endless parade of smiling faces and extended hands. At least Kestra wanted to kill me quickly.
“You’re doing great,” June murmurs, squeezing my upper arm. She hasn’t left my side all morning, somehow sensing each time my fight-or-flight response kicks in. “Just breathe.”
“I don’t require breathing guidance,” I mutter, though we both know it’s a lie. My respiratory rate has been elevated since the moment we arrived in town to help with the rebuilding efforts. “I faced a homicidal tree entity yesterday. This should be significantly less stressful.”
June laughs, such a pleasant sound. “And yet your legs are doing that nervous tap dance they do when you’re about to bolt.”
I glance down. Indeed, my rear four legs are rhythmically shifting against the pavement, poised for a rapid retreat. Traitors.
“It’s merely a calibration exercise to maintain joint flexibility,” I lie.
“Sure it is, big guy.” She pats my thorax affectionately. “Hey, you want to help Dale move that fallen sign? It looks heavy.”
I nod gratefully. Physical labor is preferable to social interaction, and Dale has been surprisingly… not terrible. Since yesterday’s battle, he’s treated me with a cautious respect I hadn’t expected from a human law enforcement officer.
I move across the street, aware of the stares following my every step.
Some are still fearful—that’s to be expected—but others are merely curious.
A few children point and whisper excitedly, which is deeply unnerving.
In my experience, human children are loud, sticky, and prone to throwing rocks at things with too many legs.
“Hey, spider-dude,” Dale calls, struggling with a large metal sign that once hung over the hardware store. “Mind giving me a hand? Or, uh, a leg?”
I lift the sign effortlessly, holding it in place while Dale secures the brackets.
“I didn’t know if you’d show up today,” he says, keeping his voice casual as he works. “Figured you might head back to your mountain for good.”
“June wanted to help,” I reply simply.
Dale glances over at June, who’s organizing a supply distribution station with impressive efficiency. “Yeah, that tracks. She’s always been the responsible one.” He pauses. “So, you two are… together, right?”
I stiffen. “That’s a rather personal inquiry.”
“Hey, I’m not judging.” He holds up his hands. “Just trying to make conversation. You saved my life yesterday. Least I can do is be friendly.”
I consider this. Perhaps it’s time to practice my “small talk” skills, which June insists are an important part of human social functionality.
“Yes,” I say finally. “June is my mate.”
Dale’s eyebrows shoot up, but to his credit, he doesn’t flinch. “Mate. Right. That’s… serious, then.”
“Vyders mate for life,” I inform him, adjusting my grip on the sign. “It is indeed ‘serious.’”
“Well.” Dale clears his throat. “She could do worse. God knows she’s turned down every eligible bachelor in this town.”
I feel an unexpected surge of possessive pride. “As she should have. She deserves the best. Which would be me.”
Dale laughs, the sound startling me. “You know what? I think I’m starting to see why she likes you.”
Before I can respond to this bewildering statement, a commotion near the diner catches my attention. An older human male has arrived with several large boxes, and June is running toward him with unusual speed.
“Dad!” she calls, throwing her arms around him.
Ah. Frank Hartwell. June’s progenitor. The man who raised her.
My potential father-in-law.
All eight of my legs lock in place as a new form of terror seizes me.
“Go on,” Dale says, noticing my paralysis. “He’s actually a pretty chill guy.”
I force my legs to move, approaching the scene with the caution of a Vyder entering unknown territory. June turns as I near, her face lighting up.
“Dad, this is Riven,” she says, gesturing toward me with unmistakable pride. “Riven, this is my father, Frank.”
Frank Hartwell is a sturdy human male with graying hair and June’s hazel eyes. He’s balancing a stack of boxes with one arm while holding a tray of coffee cups with the other. He looks up—way up—at me, and I brace myself for the inevitable fear response.
Instead, he shifts the boxes to free one hand and extends it toward one of my legs.
“So you’re the one who saved my Junebug,” he says gruffly. “And the whole damn town, from what I hear.”
I stare at his outstretched hand, then awkwardly extend my front right leg, unsure of the protocol for leg-hand interactions. Frank grasps it firmly and shakes it as though this is a completely normal greeting.
“It was merely an acceptable risk management decision,” I respond, mandibles clicking nervously.
Frank’s weathered face cracks into a grin. “That’s not what the videos show. You were something else out there.” He claps me on what approximately corresponds to a shoulder on my exoskeleton. “Any man, human or otherwise, who puts himself in danger for my daughter is all right in my book.”
I blink all six eyes, processing this unexpected acceptance. “I… Thank you.”
“Dad brought coffee and donuts for everyone,” June explains, rescuing me from having to respond further.
“Least I could do,” Frank says. “Town’s been good to our delivery business. Figured fuel was needed for the cleanup crew.”
A small crowd forms as Frank distributes the offerings.
I step back, allowing the humans their refreshments, content to observe June in this familial context.
She moves with the same efficiency she applies to her delivery routes, ensuring everyone gets what they need.
Her genuine care for these people is evident in every interaction, and I find myself captivated by her gentle competence.
“And who’s this behemoth?”
I turn to find a robust human female approaching, carrying a massive box that emanates a sweet, sugary scent. Her nametag reads “Merry.”
“This is Riven,” June says. “Riven, this is Merry. She owns the diner.”
“Oh, I know exactly who he is,” Merry says, grinning up at me. “The whole town’s talking about our spider hero. Which is why I brought these.”
She thrusts the box toward me. I accept it reflexively, peering inside to find dozens of circular pastries with holes in their centers.
“A lifetime supply of donuts for the hero,” Merry announces proudly. “On the house.”
I stare at the offering, completely bewildered. “I… do not require payment for basic ethical actions.”
“It’s not payment, honey. It’s a thank you.” Merry pats my leg. “Besides, everyone needs donuts.”
The box is awkwardly large in my hands, and I’m not sure what the proper etiquette is for carrying such a quantity of pastries while trying to assist with reconstruction efforts.
“Perhaps I should put these somewhere safe until later,” I suggest. “I’ll just…
store them here.” I carefully thread the donuts onto four of my spider legs, sliding them up until they rest securely against my exoskeleton.
The sugar coating leaves a pleasant sticky residue, and the weight distribution is actually quite manageable.
“Is this the correct carrying method for wheel-shaped pastries?” I ask June, who is making a strange choking sound.
Several humans around us have stopped working to stare. Then, to my confusion, they begin to laugh, though not the cruel laughter I’ve always feared. It’s something warmer, almost… affectionate?
“Oh my god, that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Merry wheezes, pulling out her phone. “This is going on the diner wall. Our very own hero with his donut bandolier.”
“You look ridiculous,” June informs me, but her eyes are soft, and she’s looking at me the way she does when we’re alone in my nest. “Absolutely, perfectly ridiculous.”
“Is this not standard procedure?” I ask.
She laughs. “It’s going to be now.”
A child’s voice pipes up from somewhere near my lower legs. “Mister Spider, can I have a donut?”
I look down to find a small human female, perhaps six years old, staring up at my donut-laden legs with naked longing.
June watches me expectantly, clearly curious how I’ll handle this interaction.
I carefully bend down, bringing myself to the child’s level, and detach a sugar-coated donut from my leg. “These were tactical reserves,” I inform her seriously, “but I believe your need is greater than mine.”
The child accepts the offering with solemn reverence. “Thank you, Mister Spider.” Then, to my absolute shock, she pats my leg and skips away, already biting into her prize.
When I straighten up, June is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite decode.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “Just thinking that you’re going to make an excellent father someday.”
The implication of her words hits me with the force of Kestra’s root attack. A future. With June. With possible offspring. A life among humans and monsters alike, no longer isolated on my mountain.
“Would you…” I begin, then hesitate, uncertain how to phrase such a momentous question.
“Would I what?” she prompts, eyes twinkling as though she already knows what I’m struggling to ask.
“Would you like another donut?” I finish lamely, gesturing to my leg-mounted pastries.
June laughs, rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my mandible. “I would like all the donuts you have to offer, Riven. Every single one.”
And somehow, I know she’s not talking about the donuts at all.