The hive shook with alarm. The once steady hum of work had transformed into a sharp, urgent buzz that filled every resin-lined corridor. Harry clung to his bee companion, his pulse racing. He didn't need translation to understand what was happening—the ants had found the hive.
From the tunnel entrance came the scraping of mandibles, the faint clicking of chitin against resin walls. Harry's stomach knotted. He knew that sound. He remembered hiding behind a pebble while ants the size of his body marched past, relentless and hungry. Now those same predators were here, at the very gates of the hive.
"Here they come," Harry whispered, raising his crude spear.
The guards rushed forward, forming a living barricade at the tunnel mouth. Unlike honeybees, they had no stingers, no venom to drive the invaders back. But stingless bees were not defenseless. Harry's eyes widened as he watched them go to work.
Some carried blobs of sticky resin, clutched in their mandibles like weapons. As the first ant forced its way into the tunnel, jaws snapping, a bee darted in low and smeared the resin across its legs. The ant thrashed, screeching in frustration, its limbs glued together. Another bee flew over its back and plastered its antennae, blinding and confusing it. Within moments, the ant was immobilized, writhing helplessly on the floor.
More ants poured in—bigger, stronger, snapping their black pincers. The bees swarmed, clinging to their limbs, plastering them with resin, weighing them down until they toppled. The resin hardened quickly, sealing the ants in sticky prisons. Harry stared, stunned. So that's how they fight…
He didn't have resin, but he had to do something. He gripped his shield tighter and braced himself. When an ant broke past the first defensive line, Harry darted in. He swung his shield up just in time to block its jaws. The impact rattled his bones, the mandibles scraping loudly across the snail-shell surface. With a yell, Harry jabbed his spear forward. The point skidded off the ant's hard exoskeleton, barely scratching. He tried again, aiming higher. At last the spear dug into the soft gap near the eye. The ant screeched, jerking backward, and Harry stumbled away.
His chest heaved. He had hurt it, but only just. Compared to the bees' coordinated resin warfare, his attacks felt pitiful.
Then inspiration struck.
He looked at the clover pouch tied at his side. His water canteen. What if it didn't hold water anymore? He ripped it open, spilling the last of his dew onto the ground, and dashed toward a resin pot set against the wall. Workers glanced at him curiously but didn't stop him. He plunged the leaf pouch into the sticky mass, scooping it full until the soft green sagged with golden resin. With a twig he quickly tied it shut, leaving a small opening. A crude bomb.
"Let's see how you like this," Harry muttered.
He hurled the pouch at an ant that had broken through the front line. It burst on impact, splattering resin across its head and antennae. The ant shrieked, stumbling, blinded. Bees swarmed over it instantly, finishing the job.
Harry grinned despite himself. "That worked!"
He made another bomb, then another, filling them quickly with resin. He hurled them at advancing ants, each one slowing or confusing the enemy enough for the bees to swarm and trap them.
The battle raged in the tunnels. The air grew thick with buzzing, clicking, and the muffled screeches of ants glued to the floor. Resin splattered everywhere, sticking to Harry's hair, his arms, even his clothes. But he fought on, shielding blows and thrusting his spear whenever he could.
For the first time since shrinking, Harry didn't feel like just a lost boy. He was part of the hive's defense—small, weak, but contributing in his own way.
And as the ants screeched and the bees pressed forward, he realized something important. He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was fighting back.