The forest edge loomed like a wall of green silence, but Cinder-ant pressed on. Leaves taller than towers brushed against her antennae, and every shadow might’ve held a predator—or an ally.
She finally reached the Web Grove: a sacred place tangled in silk and mystery.
There, suspended between two ancient thorns, spun the Web Oracle—an old, silvery spider with eight gleaming eyes and a crown made from shed beetle shells.
“You seek truth, little ant,” the Oracle said, her voice like creaking silk. “But are you prepared for it?”
Cinder-ant nodded, though doubt wriggled in her thorax.
The Oracle weaved a glowing thread across her web. As it shimmered, an image formed: tunnels collapsing, beetles swarming, and wings—dozens of wings—rising in revolt.
“The Black Beetles have allied with the Fire Wasps. They march to enslave the root kingdoms. Their queen—Scarablade—is ruthless.”
Cinder-ant’s antennae drooped. “What can I do?”
The Oracle blinked slowly. “Gather the scattered. Rally the hidden. Even a single thread, when woven wisely, becomes unbreakable.”
Then she spun a silk sigil and placed it on Cinder-ant’s back. It glowed faintly: the mark of a chosen leader.
“Go. Your destiny has begun to spin.”
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