The Weblord’s Origin: Threads of the Abyss

In the shimmering expanse of the web villages, there lived a nameless child, orphaned and forgotten. They were neither remarkable nor destined for greatness—or so it seemed. The villagers called them Threadling, a child too small to weave, too frail to climb the silken bridges. They grew up in the shadow of others, scavenging scraps of food and longing for something more. Threadling’s life changed on the day of the Great Web Festival, a celebration honoring the Nýfada. The entire village gathered on the bridges to release offerings into the winds—silken kites adorned with prayers and snowflake sigils. Threadling, always an outcast, stood apart, watching the others in silence.
That night, a storm rolled across the sky. The winds turned wild, tearing the sacred offerings from their paths. The villagers fled to their homes, but Threadling lingered, staring into the chaos. Lightning cracked, and in its flash, they saw something vast and terrifying—a Titan Spider, its body a labyrinth of webbed patterns, descending from the storm clouds.
It spoke not with words but with vibrations that thrummed in Threadling’s bones. They fell to their knees as the voice of the Nýfada echoed in their mind:
"You stand on broken threads, child. Yet I see the weaver within. Prove yourself, and I shall grant you a name worth remembering."
Before Threadling could respond, the Titan Spider released a strand of silk, impossibly fine and glowing with divine energy. It tethered itself to the child’s wrist, and the storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
The villagers found Threadling the next morning, unconscious but unharmed. Rumors of the spider’s visit spread quickly, and many whispered that the child had been chosen by the Nýfada. Others were less kind, accusing them of inviting the storm through some unholy pact. Threadling, now bound to the divine silk, found little comfort in either claim.
Years passed, and the child grew into a young thief. The silk strand, though seemingly fragile, proved unbreakable and often saved them from falls and traps during their daring escapades. The bond between Threadling and the strand deepened; when they meditated, they swore they could feel the faint hum of something vast and ancient guiding them.
Their skills grew sharper, their heists more daring, until they caught the attention of the Hollow Strands. A Strandmaster known as Kivis, the Nest Blade, approached them after a particularly audacious robbery—a temple vault stripped bare without a single guard noticing.
“You’ve got talent, kid,” Kivis said, dangling the stolen artifact Threadling thought they’d secured. “But you’ve got no purpose. Join us, and I’ll show you what real threads look like.”
Threadling accepted, and their life changed forever. The Hollow Strands became their family, a web of misfits and outlaws united by loyalty and ambition. For the first time, they felt they belonged.
The turning point came during the Descent of the Titans, a perilous mission to plunder an ancient ruin on the ground world. The ruins were said to hold a fragment of Samus’s snowflake, guarded by wards that could tear apart even the finest silk. The Hollow Strands’ best thieves faltered one by one, unable to navigate the shifting traps and relentless winds.
Threadling, now one of the Silken Wings, stepped forward. "Let me try," they said, their voice calm despite the danger. The silk strand on their wrist pulsed with light, as if in agreement.
They descended alone, weaving their way through razor-thin air currents and collapsing bridges. The strand seemed to guide them, vibrating with subtle warnings and shifting its tension to keep them steady. At the heart of the ruin, they found the fragment, glowing with a cold, crystalline light.
When they returned to the Strands’ airship, the crew erupted into cheers. Even Kivis, usually stoic, offered a rare smile. But as Threadling held the fragment, a voice whispered in their mind once more:
"You have proven yourself, my weaver. Take your place at the center of the web."
The light of the fragment surged, engulfing Threadling in a storm of wind and silk. When it faded, they stood transformed, clad in a flowing, spider-silk cloak that shimmered with ethereal patterns. Their mask bore the snowflake sigil of the Nýfada, and their voice resonated with newfound authority.
They turned to the stunned Hollow Strands and said, “The web has many strands, but only one center.”
From that day on they called them 'Weblord'.
Legacy As the Weblord, they wove the Hollow Strands into an unparalleled force, uniting its members with the same divine purpose that had shaped their own journey. But beneath their commanding exterior lies the heart of that nameless child, still longing to prove their worth to the deity who saw them in the storm.
Their silk-bound wrist still hums with the Nýfada’s presence, reminding them that they are both weaver and thread, caught in the eternal dance of creation and chaos.