Harry stared at the stingless bee, his mouth dry. Up close, its glossy black body shimmered faintly in the morning light, wings folded neatly along its sides, antennae twitching curiously as it stood before him. It wasn't much larger than he was, perhaps only slightly bulkier, but the idea of riding it still seemed absurd. Could such a small creature really carry him through the air?
He swallowed hard. "Well… here goes nothing," he murmured.
Cautiously, he stretched out a hand. The bee did not recoil. Instead, it gave a faint vibrating trill, as though it accepted his touch. Its body was covered in fine, velvety hairs that yielded under his fingers, soft and springy—almost like stroking a short-haired puppy. Harry marveled at the texture, so delicate yet resilient.
Gathering his courage, he lifted a foot and stepped onto one of the bee's sturdy legs, then swung the other over its back. He sat astride, gripping the insect's thorax as if it were the saddle of some fantastical steed. His heart pounded. He was actually doing this.
The bee gave a testing buzz, its wings blurring into motion. The air rippled around him, ruffling his hair. Harry leaned forward instinctively, clutching tighter as the vibrations grew stronger. Then, with a sudden heave, they lifted from the ground.
Harry gasped. The soil below shrank away as the garden floor dropped from beneath them. Each beat of the bee's wings carried them higher, the wind pressing against his cheeks. Excitement filled his chest—but so did fear. The higher they rose, the tighter his arms clamped around the bee's back.
They wobbled in the air at first, but the bee adjusted, finding its balance. Harry realized, with a stunned laugh, that he weighed no more to the insect than a heavy load of pollen. To it, carrying him was just another day's work.
The world spread out beneath him. Blades of grass, once towering like trees, now looked like rolling hills. The shrubs loomed like green fortresses, and the scattered puddles gleamed like lakes. In the distance, his home came into view again. At this scale, it was impossible to imagine as a house—it was a mountain range, a vast structure stretching upward like a different planet.
Then came the sound—BOOM… BOOM… thunderous voices echoing from within the walls of the giant home. Harry froze. It was his parents.
Through the windows, he could just barely glimpse them moving, their gestures enormous, their faces tight with worry. Their voices shook the air, distant yet powerful, as they called his name again and again. Harry's throat tightened. He missed them so much it hurt. Tears pricked his eyes. This was his fault—his foolish curiosity had led to this.
Before he could dwell, the bee suddenly shifted. Without warning, it darted forward in a smooth, powerful surge. Harry yelped and nearly slipped, clinging to the bee's body with all his strength.
"Warn me next time!" he cried, his words lost in the rushing wind.
The bee flew swiftly toward the garden's far corner, weaving between towering stalks until the old log came into sight—the same log where Harry had so often sat before his accident. They swooped underneath, landing at the base of the log where a shadowy opening gaped like the entrance to a cave.
Harry slid his gaze to the hole. It was small—just large enough for the bee to squeeze inside, and by luck, just enough for him to fit as well. But what awaited inside?
Before he could ask, movement stirred. Figures emerged from the shadows—other stingless bees, smaller than the one carrying him, yet with an air of authority. Guards. Their antennae twitched, mandibles snapping as they buzzed in agitation.
Harry tensed, clutching his spear instinctively. But his bee companion raised its antennae and clicked its mandibles in a series of sharp, deliberate rhythms. A conversation unfolded between the insect guards and the bee carrying him. Harry couldn't understand the words, but the cadence felt serious, even tense.
He sat frozen, watching the exchange. Were they debating whether to let him in? Were they suspicious of this strange, hairless creature on their comrade's back?
The guards' compound eyes fixed on him, glittering with scrutiny. For a moment, Harry thought they might refuse.
Then, one guard stepped aside. The others followed, their antennae lowering slightly in what looked like reluctant acceptance.
Harry exhaled a shaky breath as his bee companion pressed forward. Together, they climbed up into the log's hollow opening. The sunlight faded. Shadows pressed in. The air grew thick with the hum of wings and the faint, sweet scent of wax and honey.
Darkness swallowed them whole as Harry was carried inside the hive.