The sky dimmed, not from storm clouds—but from wings. Thousands of them. Each beat pulsed with an ancient fury. Scarablade had awakened the Chitin Wyrm, a prehistoric insectoid behemoth long thought fossilized in amber tombs.
From her perch, Cinder-ant saw it: a massive serpentine form with plated armor, kaleidoscope eyes, and a screech that turned sap to syrup. Its tail lashed through tree canopies, scattering bees and beetles alike.
Inside the Wasp Warrens, chaos erupted.
“Is that what he promised you?” Glowmoth shouted, as Queen Vespara’s guards scrambled.
Vespara’s wings fluttered, uncertain now. Her alliance was cracking, and Cinder-ant seized the moment.
She dropped in.
Slam—she landed in the center of the throne room, dust scattering.
“Queen Vespara,” she said, voice calm, mandibles tight. “Join us, or be the next carcass Scarablade leaves behind.”
A long pause.
Then: “What do you need?”
Cinder-ant narrowed her eyes.
“A swarm.”
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