Web of the Ancients


In the distant star system Zyphor-9, nestled in the silky blue haze of a planet called Silkara, lived the Arachyn—a majestic race of giant, talking spiders.

These were not your average house spiders. They were the size of pickup trucks, with brains the size of watermelons and the patience of librarians. Their cities were masterpieces of organic engineering—glistening palaces of silk stretched between the trunks of thousand-foot fungal trees. They didn’t trap flies. They trapped ideas.

The Arachyn communicated by plucking their webs like harps, producing a language of vibrations so nuanced it could express philosophy, sarcasm, and dad jokes simultaneously. Their leader, Thrrika-of-the-Twelve-Horizons, was a wise and unusually cuddly-looking spider who once wrote a haiku that made three galaxies weep.

And then, one day, everything changed.

A human spaceship crash-landed in their sacred grove. A handful of dazed humans stumbled out, expecting the worst—maybe venom or cocoons or eight-legged tickle fights.

But instead, Thrrika descended gracefully from a web tower and sang through the translation web:

“We have waited. Your kind sings at last. Welcome to the Web.”

The humans were thrilled. Interstellar peace! Enlightened spiders! No one was eaten!

…Yet.

But Then Came the Revelation

At a top-secret interspecies summit held inside a golden mushroom dome, Thrrika addressed the humans with vibrating solemnity:

“There is… another reason we’ve reached out.”

A hush fell.

“Long ago, we were visited by the Reptilians—scaly merchants from the planet Glorp.”

“Reptilians?” the humans asked. “You mean lizard aliens?”

“Precisely. They told us of a distant world. Blue. Moist. Overrun with… six billion soft, crunchy snacks.”

“Wait,” one human said, squinting. “You mean people?”

“Yes. You say people. We say… crispy protein sacs with opinions.”

Panic twitched across the human faces.

“But worry not,” Thrrika added sweetly. “We don’t plan to eat all of you.”

And with that, the wall behind her opened to reveal a massive hangar, where silk-clad engineers were weaving the first Arachyn starship—a sleek, eight-legged vessel powered by solar webs and pure confidence.

One spider, consulting a cookbook titled “EARTH: 6 Billion Ways to Crunch”, looked up and said:

“We may bring dipping sauces… just in case.”

The Countdown Begins

Despite the awkwardness of being described as snackable, Earth agreed to limited cultural exchange. Spiders shared their vibration poetry. Humans taught them how to use TikTok.

In time, Thrrika stood before her people and tapped out the launch command:

“Let the voyage begin. For diplomacy... or appetizers.”

And as the spider ship rose into the stars, Earth prepared—for guests, for glory… or for the galaxy’s strangest charcuterie board.

THE END
*(Unless you count the sequel: “Crunch Harder: Return of the Dipping Sauces”)

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