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Buzz didn't bother counting the hours. Time had stopped being a clock and started being a bruise—always there, always sore.
The warren was alive in ways silence usually hid. Threads shook faintly with passing bodies. Bioluminescent veins pulsed low against the walls. The smell of resin and old wounds hung in the air.
Zza walked beside him, her antennae twitching with each drumbeat that came from deeper in the tunnels. The Scarab Sisters hadn't stopped since dawn. Not loud. Just steady. A reminder.
Buzz's eyes tracked the Centipede envoys. They hadn't scattered. They'd settled into disciplined spirals, as though even rest had to be neat, purposeful. Their armor shone faintly under the glow, polished in places where claws had tried and failed to pierce them.
He stopped near one, a younger envoy with legs still too thin for the plates it carried. Its eyes didn't move from the dirt.
"You ever fought outside your nest?" Buzz asked.
The centipede didn't lift its head. "Not until today."
Buzz nodded. "Keep your fear. You'll need it."
The envoy twitched. Not agreement. Not refusal. Just… acknowledgment.
Zza leaned closer, voice low. "You're giving speeches now?"
"Not speeches," Buzz said. "Reminders. They already know what happens if they lose."
And he did too. That knowledge never left.
—
By mid-day, the Weaver Elder called them to the central chamber. No throne, no platform, no ceremony. Just bare stone under shifting silk, allies packed shoulder to shoulder. Glowbeetles lined the walls, their rhythm of light syncing with the Scarabs' drums until the whole chamber throbbed like a single body waiting for breath.
The Elder's voice was flat. "The Queen believes she has already won. That is her weakness. We will use it."
No applause. No cheers. Just breathing.
The Elder's gaze shifted to Buzz. "You spoke of choice. Speak again."
Buzz's legs locked for a heartbeat. Then he stepped forward, every wound pulling at him like chains he refused to drag.
He didn't raise his voice. Didn't have to. The walls carried sound in ways meant for listening.
"She thinks silence is loyalty. She thinks no one questions. She thinks no one remembers how to fight without her permission."
He paused. Every eye, every antennae, fixed on him.
"Well, we remember. And we don't need her to tell us who we are."
A ripple went through the chamber. Not noise. Just something taut pulling tighter.
Buzz exhaled slowly. "We'll bleed for this. She'll make sure of it. But better to bleed and still be ourselves than live as something she rewrote."
Zza's hand brushed his shoulder—quick, grounding. He didn't look at her. Didn't need to.
The Scarabs struck harder. The Glowbeetles flared brighter. The Centipedes tightened their spirals, legs tapping against armor in quiet agreement.
The Weaver Elder inclined its head. "Then we prepare."
—
Hours passed in rhythm.
Scarab Sisters dragged their drums into battle order, shells scraping stone with each pull. Glowbeetles adjusted their light patterns, pulses slowing into signals only allies could read. Centipedes coiled into defensive formations, practicing the tightening of rings meant to crush whatever broke their line.
Zza worked her hands raw tying silk strips around wounded limbs, sealing cracks in carapaces, steadying wing joints. She moved like someone who knew she couldn't afford mistakes.
Buzz sat alone for a moment, back against the cool wall. His wing throbbed where Drii had punctured it. He traced the scar with one trembling leg.
He thought of the Queen's laughter—real once, hollow now. He thought of drones thanking her as they dissolved. He thought of the way silence had listened in that first tunnel, heavy as judgment.
Zza sat beside him, dropping a strip of gauze-thread in his lap. "Hold still."
He didn't move as she wrapped the joint, her fingers steady even as her jaw clenched.
"Do you regret it?" she asked.
"What?"
"Not letting her change you. It would've been easier."
Buzz almost smiled. Almost. "Easy's just another word for empty."
Zza tightened the knot, harder than needed. "Good."
For the first time in days, Buzz let himself close his eyes. Not to sleep. Just to breathe.
Outside, the forest shifted. Heavy. Expectant.
The Queen was still waiting.
And so were they.
Not broken or weak.
They were plotting and waiting.