The tunnels were dim and warm; their walls slightly damp from underground moisture. Sounds of the colony grew faint as the two scouts traveled deeper into the unknown—each footstep silent, measured, deliberate.
"Sir Pellin...." chirped the younger scout, voice barely above a whisper, groaning with the weight of exhaustion after the rigorous training. His soul leaving with every word he uttered. His name was Tikk, and his energy had become unnecessarily unenthusiastic and depressing and yet his burning passion for stories still erupted violently. He leaned forward, eyes pleading, voice trembling with desperation. "Can you... please continue the story from last time?" his tone was begging him to say yes. Anything to kill this silence he so dreaded.
Pellin, the older scout, didn't respond at first. His antennae twitched slowly, always scanning his surroundings, meticulously finding for any source of vibration, anything that could be a threat, yet the only voice that echoed in his mind was Tikk. His black shell was dulled by countless dustings and scuffles, and one of his hind legs bore a thin scar from the last beetle incursion. Still, he moved with the same caution and control in every situation.
"Now is not the right time Tikk...," Pellin finally said, his voice a low rasp of clicks and vibrations. "Remember our duty. It is to explore and ensure that there are no threats to the colony."
Tikk scampered ahead a few paces, then circled back, clicking his mandibles nervously. "But—but it's been so long, we have been scouting for ages. Not to mention, how can you stop at how the Giant was battling the EVIL cricket and just leave me on a cliffhanger. THAT IS SO UNFAIR—"
"ENOUGH." Pellin said, but without malice. His voice was steady, calm. "Keep quiet. This is not the time for your bickering AND especially not out here."
Tikk nodded hastily, trying to calm the crisis in his thorax. But a few seconds passed before he piped up again, antennae twitching in curiosity.
"But... what were they like, sir? The crickets? I never saw one. Were they really as big as the tunnels?"
Pellin's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he let himself remember, at least from what he concluded from the stories—the tremors of their steps, their towering stature, their thirst for others.
"
Yes," he said finally. "Bigger."
Tikk gave a low, awed whistle. To him it was nothing other than an exaggerated mythical being from legends. An entity that didn't exist within his world. Yet awe often walks hand in hand with dread.
Just then, Pellin froze.
His antennae flared wide, sweeping rapidly left to right.
"Quiet." His voice heavy with caution.
The young scout's body stiffened as if turned to stone. The mood changed instantly. Pellin crouched low, gesturing with a subtle motion of his foreleg. Tikk followed, breath held.
They advanced slowly, until the tunnel widened into a faintly glowing chamber where the moss light seeped weakly from cracks in the rock above. Just past a broken ridge of stone and root, the air changed.
Just past the broken ridge, in a moss lit chamber heavy with silence, the two crickets loomed over a battered moth. The air stank of crushed wings and fear. The moth lay curled on the ground, his antennae twitching erratically as his remaining wing fluttered uselessly.
One of the crickets—a lean one with a jagged crack across his thorax—spoke first, voice rough and amused.
"Still breathing? You're tougher than that last one, little flutter-bug."
The moth gasped, crawling back with trembling limbs.
"P-please… I-I didn't mean to wander… I swear, I wasn't spying—"
CRACK. A brutal slap of a foreleg sent him skidding, dirt and dust flying.
"AAHHHHHHHH," it screamed in agony.
The second cricket, heavier and broader, chuckled darkly. His mandibles clicked as he stepped forward and stomped on the moth's wingtip, pinning it.
"Do you think he's lying, Kress? Should we tear off the other one and see if he still tries to fly?"
"Good idea, Borr," Kress replied, raising his leg with casual menace. "Let's test how well moths bounce without wings."
"No—please—NO—"
But it was too late. With a sudden rip, Borr tore away the remaining wing, making the moth scream—high and raw, echoing against the cavern walls.
Kress crouched beside him, his antennae brushing the moth's quivering form mockingly.
"Shhhhhhh. It's not so bad. You'll live. For a little while. You're lucky, really. Most don't get to entertain us this long."
"Besides," Borr added, kicking him over onto his back, "you're not dead yet. And that means you still have some use left."
The moth sobbed, curling up.
"You're monsters..."
Kress leaned in, voice lowering into a cruel purr.
"Meh."
Tikk's breath hitched, and a tiny screech escaped his mandibles before he could stop it.
Pellin spun instantly, gripping the younger scout with two legs and pressing him flat to the wall.
They didn't move.
They didn't breathe.
The crickets hadn't noticed.
They were too busy watching their toy squirm, eyes lit with the thrill of cruelty.
Pellin took three slow steps back.
What should he do? What CAN he do?
He clawed through his thoughts, desperate for something that matched his plight.
"They.... I think they're crickets."
"Wha- what?" his jaw dropped, mandibles clattering. They were real this whole time? his body felt betrayed; an unwelcoming sensation pulsed through him.
But Pellin remained calm. "There may be one thing we could do." His gaze locked onto the terrified Tikk.
"Run and inform the Giant. I'll distract and lure them."
"What. NO!" He protested under his breath.
"Silence!" His whisper carried authority. "If they are truly like the crickets in the stories, then there is a way to overcome them. I promise I will be safe, just hurry and run."
Tikk's eyes gleamed with sadness, portraying a sense of hopelessness. "Okay... But remember you still need to finish that story alright." Pellin let out a chuckle.
Then without hesitation, he lunged into the open chamber, catching them by surprise.
"Well, well, you must be the famous 'crickets' I've heard so much about!" he chirped, voice laced with mockery. "Is that what you call playing with half-dead bugs? HA! Pathetic!?"
The larger cricket, Borr, turned slowly, one mandible twitching. Kress's eyes narrowed to slits.
"What did you say, you twitch-legged twig?"
Yet he didn't stop.
"Seriously—TWO of you to beat up a single moth? I didn't know you guys were so powerless!"
The crickets didn't need more provocation. With a shriek of rage, they lunged.
"GET HIM!"
Pellin spun and fled.
Pellin cursed under his breath and ran with all his might.
The chase... had just begun.