The room was dimly lit, but every detail within it shimmered.
Polished leather chairs curved like exoskeletal spines. Wooden shelves stretched to the ceiling, lined with hundreds of dustless scrolls and flasks of preserved fluids, each from a different species. Mounted on the curved stone wall was his private collection: thirty-four vibrant insect wings arranged in radial patterns, labeled in elegant glyphs. A dusky firefly queen's thorax gleamed beside the broken blade-leg of a rogue mantis.
Lord Varas, the cricket, sat comfortably at the head of a long table of pressed funguswood. His fingers moved with elegance as he carved the roasted meat before him. The knife he used was a polished beetle leg, sharper than diamond.
He dipped a chunk into a deep crimson bowl.
Beetle blood. Still warm.
He placed the meat between his mandibles, chewed slowly. Closed his eyes.
"Tender," he murmured. "Sweet. Just the right amount of gaminess…"
The room was silent, save for the wet sound of chewing and the soft crackle of a small, luxurious fire lamp. The walls, though carved from stone, glowed faintly orange, refracted by the dozens of gems embedded into their curves. Rubies. Emeralds. A dusted sapphire here and there. All gifts from the Queen. All spoils from the fallen.
He finished his plate and wiped his claws on a silken napkin, then stood.
His dark suit, stitched from the nerve-wrappings of a lunar moth, clung to his tall frame like it had been grown there. Bone clasps. Leather elbow guards. His antennae were coiled back neatly, not a single joint out of place.
He put his hands behind his back and exited his quarters.
The hallways dripped with opulence. Every corridor he passed was lined with carved depictions of the Queen, duplicated in profile horn raised high, wings folded neatly across her back, an eternal smirk etched into each sculpted mandible. Between each carving, vertical stacks of colored gems pulsed faintly beneath bio-lamps, like breathing treasure veins.
Servants scurried silently behind him, careful not to make a sound. No one dared interrupt Lord Varas when he walked with hands behind his back.
He arrived at the Officer's Chamber, guarded by two bronze-shelled beetles with upraised halberds. They saluted wordlessly and opened the chamber doors.
Inside sat a round, stout beetle officer whose smile was too wide for his face.
"My Lord Cricket! A pleasure as always!"
Varas nodded politely and took a seat, folding one leg over the other.
"Let's not dally, Officer Branth," Varas said, voice like silk over steel. "The Queen cares only for the screams. I care for the words they left behind."
Branth leaned in eagerly, his mandibles twitching.
"Oh, there were many screams indeed, my Lord. Between the begging and the whimpering. Most of them didn't make sense, of course, but some did…"
He leaned closer, voice hushed.
"They kept speaking of the ground collapsing. Of sharpened spikes hidden beneath false stone. One described webs, like very thick webs. Another kept muttering about 'cloaked shadows in the wall.' Said the backline fell before the front even realized something was wrong. As if some unnatural entity grabbed them from the sky into the abyss."
Varas's fingers drummed gently on the armrest.
"They never said 'ants'?"
"Some said it. Most... couldn't say much of anything, to be fair." The beetle gave a wheezing laugh. "But these weren't mindless workers. There was planning, Lord Varas. Calculated strikes. We believe they attacked from both the ceiling and floor."
"A trap," Varas said. "A buried strategy. Impressive."
Branth leaned back proudly.
"The Queen didn't remember any of it, of course. She was... preoccupied." His eyes gleamed at the memory.
Varas's mandibles twitched—just slightly.
"Indeed. She often is."
He stood now, brushing off imaginary dust.
"Is the team ready?"
"Yes!" Branth beamed. "Waiting in the lower barracks. All the expendables are assembled. They await your word."
"Good. Tell them to prepare for an adventure of their lifetime. We leave soon."
Varas turned toward the door.
Branth's smile faded just slightly. "And my Lord… about my little... gift? How long until she—?" Varas stopped. He turned halfway, his silhouette haloed by the torchlight behind him.
"Soon," he said quietly. "Delays are distasteful to me. As is impatience."
"Of course," Branth bowed quickly. "Of course."
Varas stepped into the hallway.
Behind him, a pair of guards dragged a young beetle girl across the polished floor, her legs scraping stone. She thrashed. Pleaded.
Called for someone, anyone to help.
No one came.
The door closed.
Varas didn't glance back.
He walked with purpose through the gem-lined corridors, surrounded by the sculptures of Queen and conquest. He laced his fingers together and exhaled in content.
"So then," he whispered to no one, "Let's see what this hidden beast really is."
The steam had not yet cooled from the bone-bowl on the table, and already Officer Branth was grinning like he'd devoured half the Queen's court.
"Well?" Varas asked, his hand tracing a graceful arc through the air. "Was that to your satisfaction?"
Lord Varas sat across from him, legs crossed, his sleek black chitin perfectly polished, arms folded behind his back like a humble advisor. His expression, as always, was unreadable—though a smile teased the edge of his mandibles.
"Of course," his grin reached the ends of his cheeks. "I haven't had such fun for a long time."
Branth thumped his chest with a claw, then led the way out of the officers' chamber, down into the damp, echoing corridors of the Forward Barracks. The tunnels smelled of mold and sweat, and the ceiling pulsed with dim torch glands, casting distorted shadows on the stone. Murmurs swirled between soldiers, half-buried in tension and fear. It was now infamous, though never spoken of the Queen's last expeditionary force had been wiped out.
But no one dared say it aloud.
At the assembly chamber, beetle soldiers stood row by row; young, eager, old, disgraced, and every kind in between. Their eyes locked onto Officer Branth as he stepped onto the raised platform. Lord Varas took his place beside him, slightly behind, perfectly deferential.
Branth cleared his throat. Silence fell.
"We… uh… we are gathered today to commence… to commence…" He glanced back at Varas, who subtly tapped two fingers together behind his back.
Branth blinked, then snapped his mandibles. "Yes, to commence Operation Torchwake! In honor of the Queen's vision, you are to secure and explore a new sector of the western tunnels."
He fumbled with a scroll, nearly dropping it. Varas leaned in, whispered without moving his lips."—expedition of discovery," Branth repeated. "Fear not. It's a journey of progress. Hold tight to your tools, blessed artifacts by your benveolent Queen's own design."
A few beetles raised their equipment: oddly weighted poles, strange reflective plates, pouches of sharp-smelling powder. All of them secretly carried markers, scent tags, and chemical data-spikes, none of which the beetles could read or understand.
Varas offered a faint chuckle under his breath. Quiet enough not to be heard. Branth, oblivious, finished with: "Honor your Queen! Return with glory and riches!"
The beetles cheered, thumping shields and carapace. The chamber echoed with blind, eager fervor.
Varas gave a small bow and turned away.
The outskirts of the city were always unpleasant. No polished floors, no gem-lined walls. Just twisted roots, moist air, and rock pressed in like a throat. Varas hated it, but still, he walked. Past broken walls. Past guards who dared not to acknowledged him.
His destination: a narrow tunnel tucked behind a decaying supply den. He followed it until the light faded to pitch, then rapped his claw twice on a wooden door carved with an old moth rune.
It creaked open.
Inside, flickering fungus lamps illuminated a crooked room, and a jagged throne made of bone and half-rotted wood sat at the far end. It was awful craftsmanship. Varas smiled politely and sat.
"My friends," he greeted, folding his legs, his arms spread open in greeting.
The room buzzed with subtle nods and scattered huffs of amusement. Around the warped table sat his true allies. Rell and Rassk, the twin wasps: Rell was silent, refined; Rassk grinned like he had something to prove. Shriv, the blind cave-roach, sat cloaked in shadows, surrounded by his weirdly illuminated bubbling flasks and dried insect husks. Redback, the massive centipede, curled on the floor, mandibles twitching with impatience. And Nula, the silent velvet mite, sat still as a thought, watching without blinking.
"Let me speak first!" Rassk announced, slamming a claw down. "Two beetles last night, snuck into the spice vault. No sound. Just gone. Snip-snap. Beautiful. Shame they bled so quickly. Tell me, who else could pull it off so cleanly? This is why I'm clearly the best wasp out there.
Rell cuffed him without looking. "Shut up. I hatched two seconds before you. You'll always be beneath me."
"Jealous much?" Rassk muttered.
"Enough," Varas said gently, spreading his arms. "We are gathered for more than nighttime stories. Indulge me, what have you each been up to?"
Redback groaned. "Sleeping. Eating. Digging."
Nula remained silent, merely tilted her head.
"And you?" Varas turned to Shriv. "Oh, wise one, have your chemicals spoken to you yet?"
Shriv's milky eyes blinked slowly. "Nothing new. Most test subjects die too fast. Some melted from the inside. Oh, one did dance though. But I need more, something resistant. Otherwise I won't be able to come up with the data that would satisfy you."
"I'll see what I can provide," Varas promised, voice smooth. "But first, I have a task."
Silence. The room leaned in.
He stood, mandibles gleaming in the soft light. Lord Varas adjusted the cuff of his lacquered leather, the glisten of it catching what little light remained.
He spoke, calm and amused, as if commenting on a dinner arrangement rather than the grotesque failures of dead scouts.
"So," he began, voice smooth as honey poured over a blade, "our dear Queen hears tales of a… phantom spider guarding ants. Ants." He let the word linger, savoring its absurdity. "Here, of all places. Curious, isn't it?"
His antennae twitched once in faint derision. "Personally, I find the explanation much simpler. Mushrooms. Spores. A touch too much indulgence in the Queen's own theatrics. Hallucinations, in other words."
He tapped one claw against the stone, sharp and measured. "But stories persist. And it would be terribly impolite of ME not to… investigate."
"Operation Torchwake has begun. Forty or so beetles march into the tunnels as we speak. Your job is not to help them, … but to watch."
Shriv gave a slow nod.
Rassk stood up, flexing his wings. "So we're the shadows AGAIN?" Clearly Rassk dispiesed the idea of not thrusting his stinger into his prey. The one thing he hated more than his twin was not being the center of action.
"The clever ones, yes."
Varas turned to Redback and Nula next.
"You two are on a secondary mission. You should go check up on the mineral mines in the south. The Queen will be very pleased if I find a few mines more."
Redback raised a brow. "She'll reward you, you mean."
"I never said otherwise," Varas replied with a rare smile. "Just make it fast."
Nula tapped her claws.
"Good." Varas turned back to the table. "If this all goes well, I'm sure you all will be rewarded handsomely."
"You mean scraps of your treasure?" Nula finally spoke, unable to hide the hatred in her tone.
"You should be grateful for what you are getting." Varas's tone roared with anger and fury. He rose, hands plummeting as he hovered over the table. "Do I need to remind you that you are nothing more than just an outlaw?"
A low tremor of unease rippled through the room. They didn't dare to argue further, and yet the tension lingered even as the others began to leave.
The wasps were just about to unfurl their wings when Varas's voice cut through the cavern.
"Ah—before you go."
At his signal, the blind cave-roach stepped forward, clutching two small bundles wrapped tight in pale silk. His antennae twitched with unease as he extended them toward the wasps.
Rassk snatched his eagerly, tearing the silk loose. A fine dust shimmered within, the color of deep blood under firelight.
Rell squinted. "What is this? Some kind of spice?"
Rassk already brought the open bundle closer, inhaling. The air shifted, metallic and burning, as if the powder itself sought to claw its way into their lungs. Shiv stiffened, his mandibles clicking faintly. He said nothing, but his legs scraped the stone as if to retreat from the scent.
Varas's smile widened, but his gaze was sharp. "Not spice. Not food. A gift. Something you should only use when there's no other way forward."
`
Rassk's wings buzzed, restless. "Hnh. Sounds like a challenge. I'd be the first to—"
"Don't." Rell's mandibles clicked, frowning. But even he leaned closer, curiosity prickling.
Shiv lowered his head, the faintest tremor running down his frame. His nostrils burned from the single whiff that escaped when Rassk had opened it. He clenched his mandibles tight, forcing his horror behind a mask of stillness.
Varas chuckled, looking toward Shriv. "Make sure they don't spend it all in one spot, hmm?"
The remark drew a snort from Rassk, while Rell tucked his bundle away carefully. Shriv, meanwhile, caught the words and gave a stiff nod, his expression finally loosening as he realized no such package was meant for him.
Varas's gaze lingered just a moment longer, satisfied. "Consider it an investment. If you live to use it, you'll understand why."
And far in the tunnels, Torchwake marched to their fate, clinking armor, glowing glands, their pride loud enough to wake monsters from their deep slumbers.
Lord Varas returned to his shadows once more, traversing through the interwoven tunnels.
The hidden cavern mouth sealed behind him, the rough scrape of stone grinding into place until not even a whisper of the council chamber remained. Lord Varas walked through the narrow, sloping tunnel, each step steady, his thoughts sharpening like blades honed in silence. The smell of damp soil and old dust faded the deeper he went, replaced by the faint musk of polished wood and oils that always clung to the underground estate.
At last, the passage widened, and the wall shifted with a muted groan, revealing his private study.
It was a room of order and shadow, its walls lined with shelves carved directly into the stone, each filled with clay scroll-tubes, brittle parchment bound in silk cords, and trinkets from across the land. The air was heavy with resin incense, the sort nobles liked to burn to convince themselves they were above the earth they came from. A grand desk of dark, lacquered bark sat at the room's heart, broad enough to map an entire campaign upon. A pair of lantern-crystals glowed faintly, washing the chamber in a soft green hue, casting his figure in sharp contrast against the walls.
Waiting there, bowing stiffly as the tunnel closed behind Varas, was his servant. The beetle he had claimed from a borderland market moonlights ago. The creature stood tall, but his brown shell seemed dulled by years of labor. He was dressed in a suit of black and white, its cut mimicking the crickets' angular fashion: a stiff collar tight around his neck, long sleeves clinging uncomfortably to limbs not built for such confinement, and trousers that hindered more than they freed. It was a nobleman's style forced onto the frame of an insect made for earth and toil. Every movement seemed pinched, mechanical, yet the beetle bore it with the quiet acceptance of one with no choice.
"My lord," the servant began, voice low and careful, "I have delivered word to Duke Carabus as instructed. He is waiting in the main chamber. Also, the Queen's gifts… they have arrived."
"Good," Varas murmured, brushing past him with a glance sharp enough to remind the beetle of his place.
Together they walked through the corridor, the servant trailing a step behind, speaking only when necessary. The hallway stretched long and solemn, lined with polished stone columns etched with curling motifs of vines and beetle horns. Lamps of veinstone flickered at even intervals, their pale light glinting faintly on banners that hung from the ceiling, each stitched with Varas's sigil, a scarlet curve that resembled a dripping fang. The silence was broken only by their footsteps, echoing faintly against the stone floor.
At the end of the hall, the main chamber opened wide, its arched ceiling rising high into shadows. There, seated comfortably on a broad cushioned platform, was Duke Carabus.
The duke was massive, bloated with wealth and indulgence, his black shell polished until it gleamed like obsidian. Fat folds pressed against the fine drapery he wore: a robe of pale blue silk embroidered with threads of gold. On his thick horn, gems had been carefully embedded, not so many as to offend the Queen's pride, but enough to sparkle in arrogant defiance of restraint. His mandibles clicked softly as he shifted, a glimmer of pleasure at his own grandeur resting in his small, beady eyes.
Behind him, half-hidden in his shadow, stood his assistant, a brown beetle as well, slender and quiet. She kept her head bowed, hands folded, her presence non-existant.
"Ah, Lord Varas," Carabus's voice rolled through the chamber like a drumbeat, thick and resonant. "At last. I was beginning to wonder if your secret little paths had swallowed you whole."
Varas stepped forward with his usual composed smile, masking the steel beneath. "And deny myself the sight of such magnificence? Hardly."
The chamber's tension coiled in silence, broken only by the distant hum of the veinstone lamps.
A polished blackwood table stretched between them, its surface gleaming beneath the faint glow of the crystal lanterns hanging overhead. Only tea had been set for now, a porcelain pot steaming faintly with its earthy, bitter aroma. The butler moved with precise grace, pouring the liquid into delicate cups, the sound of the stream breaking the silence for a moment before he bowed and left to prepare the food.
Lord Varas lifted the cup, letting the steam curl past his mandibles as his multifaceted eyes flicked toward Duke Carabus. The duke's heavy, plated body shifted slightly in his chair, his antennae twitching as he broke the silence.
"So, my dear Varas… tell me, was the Blood Flame Nectar I provided to your liking?"
Varas allowed a small, polite smile to crease his mandibles, his tone calm, measured.
"Only time will tell."
The answer hung between them, punctuated by the faint clink of Varas setting down his cup. Duke Carabus chuckled, clearly amused by the ambiguity, and then snapped his thick claws together.
At the signal, his assistant stepped forward, carrying a silk bag woven with silver thread. With slow precision, the beetle opened it and began setting its contents on the table.
"Your requested items," Carabus said smoothly.
The first to be placed down were two vials of Fire Molt, their molten cores swirling like captured embers, each one radiating faint heat even through the glass.
"Explodes on impact, causes rampaging fires. Nasty things, really. They'll only yield to mana itself for extinguishing. Took quite a bit of effort for me to get my claws on these."
"I'm sure it must have been tough for you," Varas replied, his tone carrying just enough sincerity to draw a sharp smile from the duke.
Next came eight pouches of Soul Glass Powder. Their pale, shimmering contents seemed almost to breathe within their cloth coverings.
"A pinch of this dust will leave minds adrift in hallucination," Carabus said with a dark chuckle. "Too much, and madness is guaranteed."
Finally, the duke's assistant drew out a carefully wrapped case, unfastened the latch, and revealed a pair of black chitin resin-coated hidden blades, their sheen darker than obsidian, custom-fitted to gauntlets. Carabus' mandibles twitched upward in amusement.
"Why don't you give them a try?"
The gauntlet was handed over. Varas set his cup aside, sliding the device beneath his sleeve. A flick of his wrist—shkkt!—and the blade extended with a suddenness that startled even him, its length flashing dangerously close to the fine stitching of his exotic suit. For the briefest instant, annoyance flashed across his features before he smothered it.
Carabus, however, burst into booming laughter, his mandibles clicking wildly. "Oh, what a sight! You should've seen your face, dear Varas!"
Varas straightened, retracting the blade, his composure seamless once more. "Quite effective," he murmured, though his tone was clipped, his eyes sharp.
The moment lingered until the butler returned, carrying trays of food that immediately shifted the atmosphere. Plates were laid: a bowl of slug soup before the duke, its slimy surface shimmering with mild herbs; and for Varas, a dish of tender beetle meat, roasted lightly. The duke's antennae curled in distaste as he glanced at the cricket's meal, his expression betraying the revulsion he tried to mask.
Varas, sensing it, allowed a faint smirk. "You have my gratitude for these… acquisitions."
"It was not a problem," Carabus said, waving a claw, though his voice carried a subtle weight. "Though I do hope the next shipment of minerals from the south arrives… on time this time around."
Varas inclined his head, smooth and confident. "It will."
He raised his utensils, preparing to take the first bite of the steaming beetle meat when the chamber doors burst open with a heavy crash. Three guards stormed inside, armored claws and halberds gleaming. Their antennae twitched in confusion as their eyes flicked to the duke for an instant, but their orders pressed them forward.
"Lord Varas! You are immediately summoned by the Queen!"
The room froze, tension heavy in the air. Varas' hand lingered above his plate, still as stone, while the duke leaned back, his mandibles twitching with sly amusement.