The newborn's body dripped molten light, each step leaving burning prints in the soil. It didn't walk so much as ripple forward, wings twitching like they had only just learned what flight meant. Its gaze swept the field—blank, bright, hungry.
The original Queen hissed, mandibles flaring wide. Her body leaned low, claws pressing into dirt already scorched. Gold ran down her side, her wound raw and spilling, but her stare locked on the copy in front of her.
Buzz felt the air thicken until breathing hurt. His claws shook where they gripped Zza's arm. She pulled silk from what was left of her glands, the threads faint, fraying, but still wrapping around his waist to steady him.
He rasped into her shoulder, "Tell me you're seeing what I'm seeing."
She didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the ground.
Because the ground was moving again.
