They left before dawn.
The warren emptied in silence, silk threads swaying as bodies filed through the tunnels. No one spoke. Even the Scarab Sisters muted their drums, carrying them on their backs without a sound.
Buzz walked at the front with the Elder. His legs ached. His wing burned. He didn't show it. Zza walked beside him, head high though her hands still shook from the hours of work she had poured into others.
The Glowbeetles lit the path. Soft pulses, steady, guiding. Their rhythm said only one thing. Forward.
The Centipedes spread wide, coils brushing the walls, bodies moving with slow exactness. They looked like a single creature made of hundreds. A wall that breathed.
Above them, the Weaverworms clung to the ceiling. They did not crawl. They drifted. Each one hung like a lantern that had forgotten how to burn, threads sliding down in slow arcs. Watching. Waiting.
