Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby novel Chapter 297

Chapter 297: Spatial Reasoning and Contortion

The transition from the psychic torment of the previous level was so vast it felt like being born into a new, alien world. One moment Eleanor’s mind had been a battlefield of echoing despair; the next it was uncannily quiet, forced into a state of singular focus.

She took in the challenge before her: a cathedral of pure geometric impossibility. A three-dimensional labyrinth of glowing white strands stretched into dizzying heights and depths, composed of light that shimmered with a gentle, deadly stillness. The threads moved with slow, inexorable grace, weaving and unweaving silent paths in a continuous, hypnotic dance.

The gaps between them were distinct and precise... triangles sharper than a shark’s tooth, narrow slits scarcely the width of a shoulder, and complex polygons that recalled the Great Square of Pegasus or the Big Dipper... shapes that demanded a contortionist’s intimacy with her own form.

The exit door glimmered like a promise on the far side of the web. There were no instructions; the rules were implicit. She had to reach the other side without touching a single strand.

Eleanor inhaled, the cool, scentless air filling her lungs. She pushed the last vestiges of psychic fatigue from her thoughts and sank into a state of pure concentration. This was a puzzle of the body and a test of the mind, made manifest in muscle and bone.

She watched the patterns, analysing their slow rhythms, then settled on a starting sequence... a low rhombus, followed by a high, wide hexagon.

Dropping to her knees and then forward onto her stomach, she slithered through the first shape with the care of a stalking cat. The strands pulsed inches from her face, the hum vibrating in her teeth. She rose, twisted and threaded one leg through the hexagon; her body moved in a state of complete control.

Then she began to move again, this time like a phantom drifting through geometry. Her movements were a whisper against the silent hum of the room, fluid and precise, her body guided by the invisible hand of her mind. Each motion was a calculated angle, each breath a measured trajectory.

She was nearly a third of the way across when her precision failed her. A lattice of strands she had read as shifting on a horizontal plane suddenly rotated on its axis. The gap she had marked... a generous square that collapsed into two merciless triangles. Her carefully balanced momentum betrayed her; she adjusted a fraction too late. The hem of her robe brushed against the edge of a glowing filament.

The contact made no sound, no sensation... only a flash. The world dissolved into a burst of blinding white. There was no falling, no pain... just erasure.

When her vision cleared, she was once again standing at the starting point. The web hummed with the same quiet indifference, the same unbroken rhythm, as if mocking the futility of her first attempt.

A sharp frustration welled up inside her. She clenched her fists, angry not at the trial but at herself. She had been too focused on precision, on the mathematics of movement... while failing to feel the flow.

Closing her eyes, she let the anger burn itself out, leaving behind the steel core of calm resolve. She inhaled slowly and reopened her eyes, allowing her focus to expand beyond the single gaps and lines.

The strands no longer looked like barriers but like living patterns, breathing in their own rhythm. Though her abilities were sealed, her Mind Reaver bloodline still pulsed quietly within her. Even without her powers, her mind’s architecture was sharper, faster... designed to perceive patterns others could not.

This time, she stopped trying to cross the web. She watched it, studied it, understood it. The strands moved not as chaos but as order in motion... a river of light with currents, eddies, and convergences.

To pass through it, she could not fight the flow. She had to become it.

She stilled herself, analysing the motion. Her pulse synced with the oscillation. The idea came not as inspiration, but as pure, cold deduction... the only possible way. As the slit rose to the peak of its cycle, Eleanor leapt. Mid-air, she twisted her body sideways, aligning her form with the fleeting opening.

For a heart-stopping instant, she hung in the air... perfectly horizontal, her body a taut line parallel to the floor. Then she shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, slicing through the narrow slit with surgical precision. The glowing strands flashed past... one a mere inch above her back, another grazing the air just beneath her chest.

She landed in a smooth, controlled roll and came up on one knee, breath quick and sharp. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with the fierce exhilaration of the impossible accomplished.

And then... it was over.

The constant, thrumming hum of the web dimmed into silence, fading like the last note of a long-forgotten hymn. Eleanor found herself standing on solid, motionless stone before the door to the next level. The stillness was profound, almost sacred. It felt earned.

She turned to look back. The web still shimmered faintly, a breathtaking architecture of light and motion... beautiful, merciless, and precise. It no longer felt like a trap or torment but a teacher. It had not tested her strength but her precision; not her power, but her patience. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Her body felt different now... not weary, but refined. Every muscle, every joint, seemed newly aware of its own balance and potential, as though the lesson of the web had been etched directly into her flesh.

With quiet satisfaction, Eleanor placed her hand against the cool surface of the stone door and prepared to step into the next level.