TMe Mothman doesn't blink—if it even can. It just stares.

That blank, glassy gaze feels less like being looked at and more like being measured. Every inch of my shell hums with static as I shift in the air. "Uhh… can I help you?"

Its response isn't a voice—it's a presence. Slow, deliberate, like a tide rolling through my mind.

"Mother… calls."

Well. Shit. Here we go.

I let out a dry laugh, or as close as my current body can manage. "Yeah, about that… I'd love to go, really, but as you can see, I've got this whole situation with my friend's uncle turning into a murdery ghost dog. Think Mother could, uh… wait?"

The Mothman tilts its head—fractional, unnerving. Its psychic tone doesn't waver.

"Wait… denied. Mother… insists."

I groan. "Of course she does."

Tessa glances between us, eyes wide. "Nur, are you talking to it or arguing with it?"

"Both," I mutter. "And I think I'm losing."

Morven sighs from the ground. "You usually do."

"Listen, Mothman guy—uh, whatever you are," I start, inching back just enough to pretend I'm calm. "I take it you're my brother, right?"

The Mothman tilts its head again, just slightly. The motion is too smooth, too deliberate.

"Blood of light. Born of cocoon. Kin."

"Cool, yeah, sure—kin. Great. So, brother…" I gesture vaguely toward the chaos surrounding us. "Can you maybe, I don't know, help a sister out here? Because I really don't wanna go meet Mother right now."

The Mothman's wings twitch—slowly unfurling just an inch, revealing faint silver patterns that glow like veins under moonlight.

"Mother… waits for no child."

"Oh, for the love of—can she at least schedule?" I say.

Morven, still kneeling, mutters, "This is rapidly becoming a family drama."

Tessa nods, deadpan. "Yeah, and I think we're in the 'get in the car, we're going home' part."

I sigh, pressing a psychic pulse against my shell in frustration. "Look, wing-boy, unless Mother wants to have this conversation mid–wolf chase and possible mental breakdown, she's gonna have to—"

"Mother… already sees."

The temperature around us drops, air thinning, my psychic sense flaring with cold light. I freeze.

"Oh," I whisper. "That's new."

Then

It hits me all at once—like someone jammed a blade straight through my thoughts.

A wave of pain cuts through my head, blinding and absolute. My telekinesis shatters midair; I crash to the ground hard enough to rattle my shell.

The Mothman's voice follows, deep and toneless, reverberating inside my skull.

"Meet… Mother. Now."

Tessa and Morven's voices snap through the haze almost together.

"NUR!"

I can feel their mana flaring—Tessa's heat roaring up, Morven's aura crackling unstable—and even Velith's clone steps forward, vines bristling and sharp.

"Don't!" I scream back at them, my voice exploding through our shared psychic link, more instinct than speech. The pressure in my skull flares again, enough to make the world stutter. "Don't move, don't—he'll kill you."

I drag a breath, forcing my voice through the pain. "Alright, alright—fine!" I manage, glaring up at the looming shape. "Stop. I'll go. Just—stop it."

The Mothman stills. The pressure ebbs immediately, leaving behind a hollow ringing in my mind.

It tilts its head once, slow and deliberate.

"Compliance… accepted."

The Mothman reaches out a clawed hand toward me.

Tessa growls under her breath. "Nur, don't—"

"I'll be fine," I lie, voice shaking.

"Sorry, Tess… Morv…" My voice comes out uneven, echoing faintly in the strange static of the Mothman's presence. "It seems like I won't be able to join you—at least not now."

The air around me ripples like heat haze; even my own words sound distant. "I'll come back and rejoin you both, okay? And, uh… you too, Velith—clone—whatever."

The clone smirks, her tone perfectly smooth despite the tension thick in the air. "Good luck there, darling. Try not to die before you make it interesting."

I give her a glare that's more habit than courage. "Thanks for the confidence."

Tessa takes a step forward, still unsteady, her ears low. "Nur… you sure you're gonna be fine?"

I turn toward her—or at least I think I do; my senses are starting to blur, lines between physical and psychic warping. "I've survived worse, remember?" I try to sound reassuring, but my voice trembles anyway. "Just keep going east. Find your uncle before he loses himself again."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Tessa's eyes glisten faintly, her voice cracking. "You better come back, eggy."

"I will," I whisper. "I always do."

Tessa's voice wavers a little, trying to sound casual but cracking halfway through. "Say hi to everyone when you meet them, okay? Goldy, Victor, Vex, Spiky, and Misa."

I manage a chuckle. "You make it sound like a reunion instead of a abduction."

Morven straightens just enough to meet my gaze, his tone dry but heavy with warning. "Be careful. From what I've gathered about this entity you call Mother, she's… powerful and unpredictable. Even by our standards."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Morven. Spare me the lecture," I mutter, though there's no real bite in it.

He exhales—half a sigh, half a laugh. "I'm just saying."

"Yeah," I say, softer this time. "Thanks, though."

The Mothman tilts its head, silent, waiting. Its folded wings twitch once, like a shadow holding its breath.

I turn toward the Mothman, my core still throbbing from the psychic pressure. "Alright," I mutter, more to myself than to it. "Let's go. Take me to… Mother, or whatever she wants to call herself."

The Mothman's wings unfurl in a single, fluid motion—petals of darkness peeling away to reveal a tall, angular torso and four long, jointed arms that glisten like polished obsidian. Each movement hums with restrained power, the air vibrating faintly from it.

Without a word, two of those hands reach for me. Its grip is cold, careful but absolute, as it lifts me from the ground and pulls me close against its chest. The world tilts as the wings snap once, twice—then we're airborne.

Wind rushes past in waves. Below, the ruined clearing shrinks.

Tessa stands there, head tilted up, her ears low and eyes bright with worry. Morven's beside her, his expression unreadable as always—half calculation, half concern buried somewhere beneath all that composure. And a little farther back, Velith's clone watches us rise with that same smirk her true self always wears—equal parts amusement and intrigue, like she's already imagining how the next chaos will unfold.

I can still feel Tessa's voice brushing against my mind before the wind drowns it out completely.

"Come back, Nur."

I don't answer—can't—but I hold onto it.

The wind tears past us, a constant howl that rattles through my shell. The Mothman's wings beat in slow, deliberate motions—each one heavy enough to shake the air itself. His arms hold me like precious cargo or a particularly annoying bug it hasn't decided to squish yet.

I glance up at it—or down, or sideways, hard to tell anymore—and mutter, "You know, for a brother, your definition of a car ride kinda sucks."

The Mothman's head turns slightly, faceted eyes catching faint light as if it's considering the statement.

"Comfort… unnecessary. Destination… imminent."

I groan. "Yeah, well, so are motion sickness and bad memories, but we all get them anyway."

He doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't.

"Seriously," I mumble to myself, "family reunions get weirder every reincarnation."

A faint psychic pulse hums in reply—not quite a word, more like the echo of amusement.

"You… talk much."

"Yeah," I mutter. "It's either that or scream."

The Mothman doesn't deny it.

Alright, why the hell is Mother calling me? I've made it my entire existence not to step into her territory. I don't even drift my psychic sense in that direction—nothing, zero contact.

So why now?

Did she find out? Did she finally figure out I was human?

A cold knot forms in what counts as my stomach. Oh no. No no no—did she watch me this whole time? Every fight, every conversation, every stupid sarcastic thing I said?

I swear if she's been doing the omniscient goddess voyeur act I'm going to lose it.

Or maybe… someone snitched.

I narrow my focus, running through names. Goldy? Nah, too busy eating everything that moves. Victor? Please, he'd die of guilt before tattling. Vex?

…yeah, maybe Vex.

Would totally snitch just for the drama.

"Great," I mutter under my breath, the wind roaring past. "Either Mother's stalking me or Vex decided to ruin my life again. Wonderful odds."

The Mothman's head tilts slightly, one antenna flicking in what might be curiosity—or judgment.

"Don't even start," I grumble. "Family business.

The Mothman's head shifts, just enough for me to catch that eerie glint of reflected light from its eyes.

"I am… kin"

I groan. "Well, technically, yeah. You are." I pause, trying to keep my balance as the wind whips past us. "But you're definitely not part of my brood, clutch, batch, whatever you wanna call it. You're like… extended family. The weird uncle nobody talks about."

The Mothman's wings flex once, sending a sudden jolt of wind upward.

"We share… Mother. That is… enough."

"Yeah, sure," I mutter. "If sharing a mom automatically makes us close, then I guess I'm also siblings with half the dungeon."

It doesn't respond.

I glance down—the world's nothing but blurred forest, streaks of blue-green fading beneath the clouds. "You ever try humor?" I ask. "It's great for bonding."

The Mothman turns its head again, that same perfect, unnerving movement.

"I do not bond. I deliver."

"Right," I say flatly. "Real family man, you are."

Huh. Weird.

This might actually be the first time I've interacted with another one of Mother's kids—outside my own brood, I mean. The experience is… something.

The way he talks—no, the way his mind sounds—it reminds me of back then. When I first hatched.

Back when Goldy tried to "communicate" with me through that psychic static of hers—nothing but pure, instinctive noise. No tone, no warmth. Just the shape of words without the feeling behind them.

This feels the same. All… structured. Calculated. Like every syllable is measured before it even leaves his head.

Are all of them like this? Cold, efficient, mechanical little extensions of Mother's will?

I glance up at him—or as up as I can from the way he's holding me. His wings keep that steady, rhythmic beat, no hesitation, no strain. Like even flight for him isn't motion—it's function.

"Hey," I say, half out of curiosity, half to test something. "Do you ever feel anything? Or did Mother program that out of you too?"

The Mothman doesn't answer right away. Then—

"Feeling… disrupts function."

"…Right," I mutter. "You're a blast at parties, aren't you?"

No response again. Just the steady hum of his wings and the faint psychic static of a creature that probably doesn't know what laughter even is. ___

A while later

"Are we there yet?" I ask, dragging the words out with every ounce of irritation I can muster. "Because this is getting boring."

The Mothman doesn't answer, obviously, because why would him.

I sigh and look down. The forest has changed beneath us—less of Velith's calm, thriving green and more of a darker, meaner palette. The trees here are slick with sap, their leaves sharp and waxy like they'd cut you for touching. Every patch of moss twitches like it's waiting.

"Yeah, we're definitely in the Northern Territory now," I mutter. "Less garden, more… teeth."

Below, something moves. A centipede the size of a horse crawls through the roots, its chitin gleaming black and wet. A swarm of horned beetles scuttles over it, eating whatever's left of some other monster's carcass.

And the plants—yeah, those are worse. Long, pale stalks with pulsing veins, like they're breathing. A few turn in unison as we pass overhead, following movement, tracking us like animals do.

"Friendly neighborhood flesh-eaters," I say under my breath. "Really makes you miss the polite homicidal flowers back in Velith's zone."

The Mothman's head tilts slightly, as if he heard that.

"Do not… look down."

"Oh, now you say that," I groan. "Thanks, bro. Really helpful."

The Mothman's voice cuts through the rush of air, slow and steady as ever.

"We're close. Almost there."

I open my senses, just to check—and immediately wish I hadn't.

Ahead, the air shifts, thick with something familiar. Fibrous, delicate… silk. Layers and layers of it, like an entire landscape has been draped in silver threads.

Then the movement hits me—fluttering shapes everywhere. Moths. Dozens—no, hundreds—of them, from tiny ones glowing faintly blue to massive, slow-winged creatures whose shadows sweep over the canopy. And between them… Mothkin. My kind.

They drift through the air like dancers, their wings catching what little light filters through the clouds. Some carry woven cocoons, others chant faint melodies that ripple through the mana field, soft and synchronized.

The entire area hums with psychic resonance—like one single living thought stretched across a thousand minds.

A pulse runs through me—half recognition, half unease.

"Yeah…" I murmur quietly. "Almost there, huh."

My shell vibrates faintly as the realization settles. "Guess that means we're home."

The Mothman's voice follows, faintly echoing in my mind.

"Mother… waits."

End of Chapter 70

End of Volume 3

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