The Queen Bee Among the Kingless Swarm
"Wake up."
The girl, Ella, heard a voice in her dream.
At the soft, whisper-like call, her deeply sunken consciousness began to rise, following the voice. Yet her eyes would not open, and the world remained dark.
"It's morning! Time to get up."
The voice tickled her ears again, but instead of opening her eyes, the girl merely mumbled something unintelligible and turned over.
"Are you really not getting up?"
Irritation crept into the voice. In her mind, she answered, I'm getting up, but the other could not hear her thoughts, and her movements remained sluggish.
Suddenly—splash!—a chill struck her face. Startled, she jerked upright. Her eyes snapped open. The morning sunlight dazzled her, forcing her to squint, while her face was damp with water.
"W-what was that?!"
"I told you to wake up."
Wiping her wet face with her right hand, the girl looked at the figure hovering before her.
It had the shape of a human, yet it was only slightly larger than her hand, translucent, and floating in midair despite having no wings.
A spirit—a being known as a servant of the gods.
"Are you awake now?"
The spirit, taking on a human-like form, puffed out its cheeks slightly and placed its hands on its hips in displeasure. Being so small and childlike in appearance, even its anger looked cute.
But its abilities were anything but cute. When the girl remained silent, the spirit suddenly raised both hands high above its head. Droplets of water began to gather in its palms.
Only then did the girl hurriedly shout,
"Wait!"
"I'm up! I'm awake, so put that away!"
The spirit narrowed its eyes suspiciously.
"Really? You're actually awake?"
"I said I am!"
At her shout, the spirit lowered its hands. The water droplets scattered into the air, and the girl let out a long sigh of relief.
"Why did you wake me?"
"Why do you think?"
At the question, the girl frowned.
It was obvious. Spirits were worse than children—simple, greedy beings. Knowing the answer, she said, "Wait here," and got out of bed, opening the drawer of the desk in the corner of her room.
"That! That's it!"
Seeing the small wooden box she took out, the spirit flew over, whining eagerly.
"If you wake me like that again, I won't give you any."
Inside the box were snacks she had stored away. The faint sweetness of dried fruit tickled the air, and the spirit stomped its feet midair impatiently.
"Okay! I won't do it again! I promise! Never again!"
Ella scoffed inwardly.
A promise? As if. In a few days, it'll come back and splash me again.
She shot it a sharp glare, but the spirit, completely absorbed in the snacks, didn't notice. It snatched one piece as if fishing it out and flew out the window.
Watching it go, the girl let out a long sigh. Though it was still early morning, sleep had already fled. She tied her damp hair back and left the bedroom.
***
When she went downstairs and entered the dining room, someone was already there.
It was her older brother—and eldest sibling—Valdemar. He sat at the empty table, his fingers interlaced, his forehead resting against them. His eyes were closed, his expression tense.
Lost in thought, he didn't even notice his sister entering. Only when she sat down did he lift his head. Though he was only twenty-four, deep lines had already formed between his brows.
"You're up early, Ella."
He relaxed slightly upon seeing her—then his expression hardened again.
"Was it them?"
"What?"
"Your hair's wet. Did they come again?"
"Yeah. They kept whining because they wanted sweets."
The lines between his brows deepened further.
"They treat you too carelessly."
He seemed about to continue, but hesitated and closed his mouth. Ella didn't need to hear the rest to know what he had swallowed.
You mustn't let spirits see you as easy.
You should be the one commanding them, not the one being commanded.
He had likely been about to say something like that.
But as he spoke, he must have realized he wasn't in a position to say such things—or perhaps felt it was too harsh for his younger sister—and stopped himself.
"I already gave them a piece of my mind."
Knowing this, Ella smiled faintly.
Her eldest brother was eight years older than her. Though they had once had many siblings between them, now only the two of them remained. Through everything that had happened, the fifteen-year-old girl had grown up quickly.
"Good. You did well."
Before long, the two shared an early breakfast. Silence hung between them as they ate—a silence shaped by the future drawing near.
We'll have to leave here soon.
She slowly looked around the dining room.
It was a sight she saw every day, yet now, knowing she would leave, it felt different.
The two of them lived in the largest mansion in the village. They were not nobles, yet they had lived their entire lives treated like nobility.
But that life was coming to an end.
Because neither my brother nor I have been recognized as spiritists.
What they had enjoyed had only been borrowed. It originally belonged to someone who held a certain position—their father had once held it, but his children had not inherited it.
Soon, the village would choose someone new to succeed their father's role. The moment that decision was made, Ella and Valdemar would have to leave the mansion.
She understood that.
But she could not help feeling a sense of regret.
***
In our world, there exist beings called spirits.
As Ella understood it, spirits were created long ago by the heavenly gods. When the gods extinguished the fires that once covered the world and made the land fertile, they created spirits to tend to every corner of it.
Spirits were workers who assisted the gods in nurturing the world, and even after the gods departed, they remained behind to continue their duties. However, they were not immortal, and as time passed, their numbers gradually dwindled.
It was right for them to uphold the duties given by the gods until the day their lives ended—but what should be made of the fact that those duties would vanish when the spirits died?
Many spirits came to ponder this, and so they chose to pass their duties on to others.
Ella's father had been one who inherited a duty.
The villagers called him a spiritist.
— A spiritist is one who governs spirits.
Her father had once told her that.
And it was true—he was a man who could command spirits at will, a man who possessed that authority.
He could summon rain through them, halt the snowfall, and turn over the earth. Though the range of his power was limited to the vicinity of the village, within it, a spiritist was like a god.
Then, one day, her father died suddenly.
— Did either of you inherit your father's power?
And no one had inherited his authority.
— No. Father did not perform the succession.
— Then who can command the spirits?
The one who possessed the power to command spirits was gone.
— There's no helping it. From now on, we'll have to ask them.
The servants created by the gods were freed from their chains.
Spirits were not malevolent beings, so even without the duties given by the gods, they did not bring chaos. Yet the village could not bear the loss. They refused to give up the prosperity the spirits had provided.
People began stepping forward, each claiming to be a spiritist. Even without true authority, if they could gain the favor of spirits, they could maintain prosperity—and claim the prestige of a spiritist.
Valdemar stood above the rest.
For the past few years, there had been no one better suited than him. Having spent much time beside their father, he was more familiar with spirits than anyone else and could more easily gain their favor.
But favor was something granted.
Even if my brother refused to admit it…
What if someone else formed a deeper bond with the spirits?
If someone closer to them than her brother appeared—and that person drew out their favor—wouldn't that make them a better spiritist than Valdemar?
And when such a person actually appeared, Valdemar lost his standing.
After their father's death, people had praised him without question—but within just a few months, they turned their backs on him. Without hesitation, they began insisting that the role be given to someone else.
"Where are you going?"
When Ella stood from her seat, Valdemar asked.
"I'm going to the shrine."
"The shrine? Ella, you don't have to worry about that too."
"I'm going because I want to. Not because of you."
She said it lightly, almost jokingly, and Valdemar replied with a bitter smile.
"…I see."
***
The shrine was located halfway up a mountain near the village.
There was a flat clearing midway up the slope, and for some unknown reason, long ago, a small building had been constructed there. Inside its single room stood a statue of a god.
It was a place honoring Keme—the god of earth and the forge, the one who created the bearded dwarves.
It was also a dwelling place for spirits.
The servants of the gods, longing for their creator, liked to gather at the shrine whenever they were not engaged in other activities, chattering endlessly among themselves.
When Ella climbed the long flight of steps and reached the entrance of the shrine, spirits gathered around her.
"Ella! Are you alone again today?"
"Where's Valdemar? Is he sulking because we teased him?"
"Did you bring snacks?"
The spirits here were smaller than the palm of her hand and nearly transparent—so faint they could easily be overlooked. Among spirits, they were of a lower order, lacking the ability to properly form bodies.
"He'll come later."
"Really?"
As she handed out the snacks she had brought from the mansion, Ella nodded.
"Yeah."
It was a lie, but she showed no sign of it.
The smaller the spirit, the more childlike its nature. They rejoiced over trivial things and were saddened just as easily.
If she told them that her brother—who had visited the shrine so often since childhood—would never come again, they would likely spend the entire day in sorrow. Even if she explained why, they would not understand.
There are fewer of them again…
She counted the spirits floating around her.
The number of spirits residing in the old shrine had been decreasing day by day.
Had they moved to the shrine below the mountain? The village had built a new shrine and offered tributes there in order to win the spirits' favor.
Drawn by the offerings, many spirits had left the old shrine—and most never returned.
The small, simple-minded spirits like those fluttering around her might go down to receive offerings and then quickly return, but those capable of even a little reasoning would settle there for good.
This place will be abandoned eventually too.
There was no need for two shrines, and the old one was inconveniently located. It had remained only because previous spiritists had insisted on maintaining it as part of tradition. Now that they were gone, there was no one left to uphold it.
Ella entered the shrine, offered a prayer before Keme's statue, and carefully cleaned the interior.
It was something her family had always done while her father was alive.
— We may not belong to the Holy Church, but we still serve the gods. This shrine is our temple, so it must not be entrusted to others.
He had been a strict man. That was also why he had left no successor.
People around him had urged him to prepare an heir early, but he had delayed again and again, saying no one met his standards. As a result, when he died suddenly, the succession was severed.
Ella lowered her gaze to the base of the statue.
The statue stood upon a pedestal about the height of her knees, and carved into its front were characters.
— These are letters the gods themselves once taught to those on earth. The script we use today has changed over time.
Ella could not read the ancient script.
Vinicius, Carmelo, Dante, Gallardo—
She only recited what her father had once read aloud.
Rosenburg, Demian, Cesar.
The ancient characters carved into the pedestal were names.
Why were names—so many names—engraved beneath the statue? And to her eyes, each seemed to have been carved by a different hand. Some were crude, others precise.
She had once asked her father about it.
He had not given her an answer. Only that they were important names.
He said I'd understand if I became a spiritist.
At the time, she had paid it little mind. She had been too young to take every word to heart, and she believed it had nothing to do with her.
Yet the memory had quietly taken root somewhere in her mind, and now, at last, it resurfaced.
— If someone bearing one of these names comes, take special notice.
Years had passed since she memorized those names.
Not a single person had ever claimed one of them.
Even when travelers from outside the village passed through, the answer was the same. On rare occasions, a few said they had heard the names—but the deeds they associated with them bore no connection to those carved into the pedestal.
What had her father meant?
"…Why?"
The spirits at her side suddenly vanished from sight.
That was unusual.
What could make beings more childlike than children hide themselves? And here, of all places—what could possibly be happening at a mountain shrine?
Tilting her head, Ella stepped outside.
The air was filled with the sound of insects, and down the steps, someone was climbing up.
There were three of them.
A woman in priestly robes, a young boy—
and a young man with jet-black hair and eyes.
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