The Queen did not move. She didn't have to. Her throne loomed above them—bone and flesh woven into a grotesque seat, glistening in the flicker of firelight. Eyes blinked across its surface. Root-veins pulsed through the walls like arteries. The air stank of bile and decay. Four humans stood beneath her: Thorne, Beth, Ryvak, and Asher. Surrounded. No exits. No corridors. No slope to climb. The drones circled in silence, forming a wall of malformed bodies. Dozens of them. Maybe more. The smell made Asher gag—some mix of iron, infection, and something older, like wet ash and decay. Beth's voice was tight. "They're not attacking." Thorne wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his gauntlet. "They're waiting." Asher didn't answer. He couldn't. His lungs were pulling fire. His grip on the bone-blade trembled. He wasn't ready for this. None of them were. And still, somehow, he felt like the Queen had dragged them here for a reason. Not to kill them. To see something.
The Sentinel stepped forward. Taller than the others. Twitching. Its limbs dragged the floor with every step, too long, too loose. It stopped just shy of the drone ring. One clawed hand twitched near its side. Its voice scraped against Asher's skull like bone on metal. "You stand in the presence of She-Who-Breathes." Ryvak choked on a breath. "This is suicide. We're not supposed to be here." Beth stayed calm. Gun raised, eyes on the Queen. Thorne bared his teeth. "If you're gonna kill us, do it. Otherwise—get out of our way." The Sentinel tilted its head. "No. You will kneel." "No thanks," Asher said before he could stop himself. His voice came out low. Angry. Tired. Something rippled through the drones at that. A tension. A command not spoken. And then the eggs ruptured. The Queen never moved. But her children obeyed. Cysts tore open. Spawn tumbled out—pale, twitching, malformed. Not full drones. Not yet. But vicious all the same. They charged.
"Hold!" Thorne barked, stepping forward. His blade snapped out—cutting through the first that lunged. "Hold this line!" Beth flanked him without hesitation. Her voice was a whip crack. "Come on then! You watching? Try me!" The spawn shrieked. One skittered low—Asher barely dodged, driving his boot into its ribs. It crumpled sideways, but another took its place. He fired the last round in a scavenged pistol. One fell. Click. He tossed the gun. Useless now. Asher reached down, hand closing around the jagged weapon of a dead drone. The Void Stone pulsed—hot and sharp. He felt a slight surge of power. Minuscule but still there. A hum inside his spine, quiet but undeniable. He didn't think. He moved. Blade met jaw. Crack. Blood sprayed. The spawn dropped. Beth glanced sideways at him. "Good. Don't stop." He didn't want her praise. But he needed the rhythm. Needed anything to keep him from thinking. Ryvak fell to a knee. Breathing hard. Pale. "I'm out—I'm sorry—" Beth didn't even look. "Stay low. Just breathe." Thorne grunted as another spawn slammed into his shoulder. His blade cut through it, but his step faltered. Asher lunged to his side, covering the gap. "We're not dying here," he muttered, swinging again. The blade slammed into the creature's side. It let out a shrill cry and collapsed.
They stood back-to-back, the four of them, soaked in sweat, blood, and rot. The drones circled tighter. But they didn't attack all at once. They should have. Asher could feel it. They weren't trying to win. They were trying to study. Beth felt it too. "She's measuring us." "For what?" Thorne grunted, catching his breath. Asher didn't answer. He was too busy trying to hold himself together. His limbs shook. Not from fear—though fear was there. From something worse. Something deeper. The pressure in his spine was building. The Stone pulling tighter, feeding off the hive's hunger. It didn't whisper. It didn't explain. But it was responding. Reacting. Like it recognized this place. She hadn't moved. But she saw him. Only him. Asher swung again. Another down. Another behind it. Time was cracking. Seconds stretched and snapped. Every step felt heavier. Every breath thinner. His legs were lead. His ribs ached. His back burned. He tried not to look at her. The Queen. Crown of spines. Skin like oil on muscle. She watched him with eyes that didn't blink. She didn't blink because she didn't need to.
Beth was panting now, her movements slower. Her knife was slick and chipped. She didn't care. Thorne bled openly from the ribs. His mouth clenched in pain, but he didn't stop moving. Ryvak coughed behind them, trying not to cry. "She's waiting for something," he said suddenly. They all froze a moment. Beth shot him a glance. "Waiting for what?" Ryvak shook his head. "I don't know. But I think—she doesn't want us dead yet." Asher clenched the bone-blade tighter. "You know me," he whispered. "Don't you?" No reply. But she tilted her head. And the drones froze. All of them. Mid-step. Mid-growl. Silence fell like a stone dropped in water. Beth straightened. "She's picking now." Thorne grimaced. "Picking what?" Asher's knees wobbled. The blade in his hand vibrated. He could feel something breaking open in his mind. A voice came. Not his. Not hers. But ancient. "We have been waiting." He gasped. Stumbled. Beth steadied him, her hand like ice on his arm. Thorne stared at him now too. "What does she want?" Asher whispered. No answer. Just the Queen. And the sound of his own heart trying to claw its way out of his ribs. The Void Stone twisted something deep inside him. A memory that didn't feel like his. A name he couldn't remember. And a presence—huge, endless, cold—pressing down on his soul. She had seen him before. Before this war. Before he was Asher. He wasn't a soldier. Not to her. He was a vessel. And now, the Queen leaned forward. A single claw touched the ground. The rest of her body followed. She unfolded like a thing waking from a long sleep. Asher couldn't move. Beth reached for him, but her fingers hovered just short of his arm. The Queen's mouth didn't open. But her mind did. And Asher heard it clearly. "You are not whole. But you are mine." He screamed.