Ok… Here we go. Watch as I try to hash together a legitimate backstory. Sorry you guys had to wait so long. School's out, so I guess updates will be a bit more frequent? I'm pretty busy this summer.

Back stories are hard….

In this state of near death, his mind- no his consciousness takes some odd turns. He's thinking, but he not. He's remembering, but living it. If he's almost dead though, how is he living it? Everything tumbles into a writhing mass of mud and angles. His sanity is turning to shambles. The Oracle fusses over her poor Knight's soul as his body is being repaired. Her usually serene face is slightly flawed with worry. What a complicated soul this is. She needs to heal him, but it does his mind no good to stay trapped in a dream for too long. Yet when it is pulled away from the body like this, it becomes unstable. Well, only for the pure ones. Most souls have traits and quirks and regrets and sadness and many other wondrous little things that all come together to create an "ego", but Hunter is so strange. Sadness and innocence are there, as is that indomitable will, but it's too much. His soul is like a bubble or an egg, but worse. The pureness and emptiness that makes him such an open slate for his future of endless possibilities is too fragile. Without his body as a container, the grief and sadness and his philosophy to "never give up" all collapse in and threaten to overtake the blankness. She realizes she can't do much but put him back inside his body. The soul becomes stable again and she decides have him replay his memories rather than let his psyche grow stagnant in his mind. Time dulls memories, and usually for good reason, but there is nothing else she can do.

-0-0-0-

Hunter's eyes widen as his grandfather smiles and unwraps a bundle of faded, moth eaten cloth. What designs that used to be there are barely visible. Their dingy, little apartment may be old with peeling paint, but hidden under floorboards and in closets are small treasures. The light is dim, but the green gems on the headband still sparkle brightly. His grandfather gently takes Hunter's small hands and places them over the stones.

"This used to be your grandmother's," he says quietly. "Do you want it?"

"Granny's? Was she a nice lady that would make me cookies?"

"Cookies? Where'd you get that idea?"

"Other kids at school say their granny gives them gifts and bake them cookies. They say I'm lucky I get to live with you."

"I guess I do spoil you. Well, you don't ask for much, and for that, I'm grateful. Your grandmother probably wouldn't bake you cookies though. She'd probably be teaching you how to wrestle or balance."

"Like you are?" He glances at the balance board in the corner of the bedroom, as well as the wooden sticks and wrappings.

"You're gonna be a fine Spider Rider someday."

"My teacher says it's alright to exercise, but that I should worry about this world a bit more."

"Nonsense! Someday, you're gonna go to the Inner World. Promise!"

Hunter giggles and hugs his gramps.

"Okay!"

At school, very few people tease him about his new headband, and they can't help but flee or stutter in shame when some of his peers talk back, saying it's his dead grandmother's old headband. It's a bit surprising. He also doesn't know why he told them something so personal. When he's starts talking, sometimes he lets things slip. He hopes it's a habit he grows out of. The odd accessory does grab him a few curious friends, but most of them leave when they realize he does nothing but talk about a place they've never heard of and not the newest shows and toys. Things are a bit lonely for him. His teacher calls him during free time to talk to him.

"Hunter, I can tell you're a very smart boy, and you always look so interested in class, but look at this," she says, sliding a test in front of him. "You skipped an entire row of problems for no reason!"

"Oh."

The entire line of simple addition and subtraction seems to mock him. The leery -looking zeroes stare at him evilly.

"Are you sure you understand?"

"Yeah, but Josh kept throwing stuff at me!"

She sighs.

"Just do these problems and I won't have to tell the school you might need to be held back."

He picks up a pencil off her desk and finishes them in a flash.

"Done."

She shoos him away and he fumes over how the teacher treated him like an idiot. So what if he's in a hurry and just skips stuff by accident? It doesn't mean he's stupid or anything. He plays alone and focuses on imaginary scenarios in his mind. Unbeknownst to him, his teacher watches him with worry in her eyes. He's too lonely. Too isolated. Too obsessed.

What can she do though? His guardian has already decided this as the best path for Hunter, and while she discreetly admires the boy's stunning willpower, she can't help but hate how his grandfather has doomed him in this world in the hopes of making him a hero in another one. What utter selfishness! What warped love! She makes it a note to talk to Hunter's grandfather during Open House night. However, the night comes and passes, without even a glimpse of the man, so she quietly accepts the situation.

Hunter is lonely for a first-grader, but his delusions trick him into thinking that there's nothing wrong. They whisper to him tales of greatness in the Inner World and sweetly croon to him how wonderful his Gramps is. He smiles and laughs, but on the playground he's alone, and the moment people wave goodbye his face quickly molds back into indifference. The thirty minute walk home is a bit long for a six-year-old, but he takes it in stride and his legs are strong. When he gets home, the apartment is empty, and he cooks his own dinner after finishing his homework. Gramps works late. His job takes him everywhere. It pays well, from what he's heard, but Gramps is smart and saves as much as he can. The flat piece of wood somehow remains parallel to the floor with Hunter on it as it lies on the side of a sturdy cylinder of metal. It barely tilts and the can hardly rolls as Hunter reads some pages of an interesting book he checked out from the school library.

I wonder what magic's in the Inner World, he thinks.

The stubborn door creaks open, flicking specks of chipped paint all about as Gramps comes home.

"How ya' doin' Hunter? Eat dinner already?"

He hops off the board and runs over.

"Yep! Will you tell me a story?"

"Practice first."

Hunter groans.

"Fine."

He picks up the wooden staffs Gramps found and smoothed out during a hike. There are pale patches where the constant touch of their hands has worn away the older wood above, exposing the paler wood underneath. Gramps picks one up as Hunter stretches his limbs, then lunges in. The boy is prepared though; he feints a blow from the right and instead lets momentum drag him towards the ground and under his Gramp's attack. A strange exchanging of blows occurs, with an emphasis on fluid movement and a lack of rigid style. The exercise leaves Hunter with a few bruises. They shift the sparring onto balance boards now. Despite his age, Gramps skills have barely dulled. Again, Hunter uses his momentum and weight to swing himself to the side and under the blows with using the least amount of muscle. He manages to stay on par with his gramps for about twenty minutes before his Gramps swings the staff straight into his side.

Hunter gasps and hits the ground with a whimper, before forcing himself to get up. He gratefully grabs at his Gramp's arm.

"Well, I think that's a new record!"

"Really?"

"Definitely. You know, your birthday's coming up. I got an idea to get to the Inner World. Wanna come?"

Hunter's eyes shine brightly and his head grows hazy with excitement. Even his stomach is twisting uncomfortably in response. He feels energy bubbling inside himself.

"WHEN?!"

"This weekend!"

He yells happily and jumps about.

"Arachna Power!" his gramps shouts.

"Arachna Power!" he mimics.

-0-0-0-

The day comes and Hunter is all packed up with his Gramps. To his surprise, they're not bringing much. Just some water and food. His gramps has memorized detailed maps that he made when he lived in the Inner World and they're waiting at a train station.

"Okay Hunter, I'm gonna go first. Once I'm gone, you wait for the next train and do the same thing, alright?"

A brief nod and his gramps is waiting by the side of the track with everyone else. A train sound its whistle, signaling its inevitable arrival. It puts on its screeching brakes, but not fast enough as Gramps jumps right in front of more than a couple hundred tons of fast moving metal.

"ARACHNA POWER!"

The crunch that sounds is like a bug being crushed, and from the blood on Hunter and his Gramp's mangled corpse underneath the train, that's a very apt simile.

Hunter's inheritance is small but extravagant. A small fortune tucked away in an account with restricted access, various antiques of an unknown origin, and a pocket notebook filled with details about the Inner World. As for custody, he's shunted into foster care, since his parents don't give a damn and have success to achieve first.

Whew! I'm done. Yes, I made his Gramps a bit messed up. The math thing I talked about, it was actually something I did quite frequently myself.