The path to the Broken Twig Range was perilous. Cinder-ant moved swiftly under fallen leaves, dodging raindrops that struck like falling boulders. She carried the Web Oracle’s sigil on her back—its glow faint but persistent.
At dusk, she arrived at a jagged clearing. There, perched like a statue of emerald blades, was the infamous Blade-Mantis: a loner, feared even by wasps.
“Speak, ant,” hissed the Mantis, tilting its head unnaturally. “Before my patience runs out.”
“I seek a pact,” Cinder-ant declared. “The Fire Wasps are coming. Scarablade rises.”
The Mantis’s eyes narrowed. “And why should I care about the wars of insects who hide beneath bark?”
Cinder-ant stood tall. “Because if the roots burn, your hunting grounds will burn with them. Even predators fall when balance breaks.”
For a long moment, silence.
Then the Mantis smiled—a terrifying arc of serrated calm. “Bold words for a groundling.”
He raised one blade-like foreleg and struck a nearby stone. Sparks flew. “You’ll need more than words. You’ll need steel.”
Cinder-ant didn’t flinch.
The Mantis turned. “Come at dawn. Bring courage. I’ll test your worth.”
As he vanished into the canopy, Cinder-ant whispered to herself, “One ally at a time…”
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