Harry clung lightly to his bee companion as they moved deeper into the hive. His eyes darted everywhere, trying to take in all the details. It felt like stepping into another civilization—one that pulsed and breathed with purpose. Every bee here seemed to know exactly what to do.
His mother's words echoed in his mind, fragments from the biology books she loved to share with him: "In a colony, each bee has a role. Some work. Some guard. Some lead. And some are born for just one purpose alone."
Harry's gaze drifted to the large drone he had noticed earlier. Bigger than the workers, its movements were lazier, less precise. Its head was heavier, its wings broader but not beating as often. Harry remembered clearly—drones existed for one task only: to mate with queens. At first, the thought seemed silly, a whole existence reduced to a single act. But then, he understood. Without drones, the species could not survive. Perhaps the most important job of all was also the simplest.
His bee guide carried him further along resin-lined corridors, past more bustling chambers. Harry marveled as he watched the life cycle of the colony unfold before his eyes.
He saw pale, trembling figures crawl from freshly sealed brood pods. Newborn workers, soft and white, their bodies still fragile. They could not fly yet, could barely even walk—but they still mattered. Harry watched them totter weakly, guided gently by older bees toward tasks they could handle. They cleaned the hive floor, tended the brood, or helped shape resin into new pods.
Others, stronger but not yet foragers, labored over food storage. Harry leaned closer, fascinated. The workers mixed pollen with nectar and special enzymes from their own bodies, kneading the mixture carefully into the storage pods. It wasn't just food—it was preservation, fermentation, a recipe perfected by instinct and time. He realized that what he had eaten earlier, the sour-sweet pollen, had been the product of this hidden alchemy.
Older still were the guards—standing at the hive entrances, their bodies tense, antennae twitching for threats. And beyond them, the foragers, like the bee that had rescued him, who braved the dangers of the world to bring food home.
"That means you've seen a lot," Harry whispered to his companion. "You've lived long enough to help me."
The bee buzzed in answer, as though it understood.
Then the tunnel widened into the largest chamber yet. Harry's breath caught in his throat.
There she was.
The queen.
She dwarfed every other bee in the hive, her body three or four times their size. Her thorax glistened, her abdomen stretched long and elegant, her movements slow but regal. Around her, attendants clustered, feeding her and tending to her needs with tireless devotion.
Harry slid off his bee's back and stepped forward, his small hands trembling. The queen turned, her massive head tilting, and for a moment their eyes met. Despite her alien form, there was gentleness in her presence, a quiet weight that filled the chamber.
She approached slowly. To Harry's astonishment, she lowered her head toward him. He reached out, fingers brushing her smooth mandibles.
"Hello," he whispered.
Then, before his eyes, the queen performed a miracle.
Workers prepared a brood cell, carefully filling it with the golden mixture of nectar and pollen. The pod glistened in the dim light. Once it was ready, the queen stepped forward. With deliberate grace, she bent low and laid an egg within. Immediately, the workers sealed the pod shut, ensuring the new life was safe.
Harry's chest swelled. He had just witnessed the future of the colony being born.
A hum of peace settled through the hive. For a brief moment, Harry felt truly safe.
But then, the calm shattered.
A guard bee buzzed into the chamber, its wings ragged from flying hard. It twitched its antennae frantically, mandibles clacking with urgency.
Instantly, the hive erupted into alarm. The steady hum rose into a sharp, vibrating roar. Bees abandoned their tasks, rushing toward the tunnels.
Harry's companion nudged him roughly with its antennae, urging him back onto its back.
"What's happening?" Harry gasped.
Then he heard it—the faint scraping sound at the hive entrance. A low rumble. The scent of resin suddenly sharp with tension.
Ants.
The invaders had come.
The hive prepared for war.