The throne room buzzed with the clamor of armored feet as Queen Celeste summoned her attendants. "Send for Commander Anastasia," she ordered. "It is time we prepare the harvest. We will use it to bargain for Princess Tanya's return."
Moments passed. Then a pale-faced soldier returned, antennae twitching nervously.
"Your Majesty… the Commander cannot be found. Nor can her top officers—Corporal Beatrice and Lily, lieutenant Brooks, or even Lance Corporal Rory and Isla. They are gone."
Celeste's breath hitched. "Gone?" she echoed.
"They're not anywhere within the colony. Scouts are combing the outer chambers."
The Queen's gaze darkened. "Summon the Council. At once."
The great stone table of the Elder Council was soon filled. Their bodies were old and weathered and as the Queen sat the elder ants started murmuring.
"This is reckless!" barked Elder Junon, his shell dulled by time. "she has disobeyed royal command and taken our strongest warriors on a suicide mission. Hopper had already told us his demands and as long as we had met them the princess would have been returned safely."
Elder Lysias narrowed his eyes. "They mean to defeat Hopper themselves. It's treason by another name."
"Enough!" Celeste raised her voice, her wings slightly flaring. "Anastasia has never betrayed this colony. She has acted with courage where all of us cowered."
"She may have doomed us all," Junon muttered.
A long silence fell over the room.
Celeste's gaze hardened. "If they went to fight Hopper without waiting for royal command, it's because they believe there is no other choice. They have witnessed the devastation that Hopper brings. They know what's at stake."
The room remained still, the weight of the truth settling in.
Elder Lysias was the first to speak again. "And what if they fail, Your Majesty? What then?"
Celeste's voice was quiet, but firm. "If they fail, this colony will fall. Hopper will crush us, enslave what's left, and the harvest will be forfeit. But I choose to place my trust in them."
Junon's antennae twitched, clearly unconvinced. "Trust is a fragile thing."
"I know," Celeste replied, her wings fluttering slightly. "But in times of war, it is all we have left."
The elders exchanged wary glances.
Celeste stood taller, her voice regaining its strength. "Anastasia and her officers carry more than their mandibles into that fortress. They carry hope, the memory of the fallen, and the future of our kind. If they succeed… we may yet see a new dawn, an era without fear, free from Hopper's reign."
The elders fell into a thoughtful silence.
"Prepare for the worst," Celeste added softly, "but also, let us hope for the best. We will fight to the end, as we always have."
Junon nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Then we stand with them."
Seth stood alone in the dim corridor outside the meeting chamber. The murmurs of the elders were long gone, but their tension still clung to the walls. He leaned against the cold stone, fingers trembling, breath shallow.
He muttered to himself, voice low and tired.
"Anastasia really went out to fight Hopper, huh…"
The words tasted bitter. He stared down at his hands, watching the faint tremor in his fingers. They weren't the hands of a warrior anymore—not like hers.
"That kid's got guts… just like her father. Captain Terrence."
He swallowed hard, blinking as a memory pierced through his mind: Terrence standing tall on the battlefield, unwavering as Hopper descended. The scream Seth never let out. The moment he froze. The moment Terrence died.
"What does that make me, my Captain?" Seth whispered.
He didn't expect an answer. Just the silence.
"Just a lowly coward… who became Chief Warden after your death. Who'd rather stay safe in my quarters than join the battle."
His jaw clenched. Shame coiled in his chest like a thorned vine. Anastasia had charged into the fortress without hesitation, leading others with her. And he—he had chosen walls controlling prisoners over risk and sacrifice.
"I've got a title. But she's the one carrying your spirit," he murmured. "You'd be proud of her… and ashamed of me."
The corridor felt colder now.
He lowered his head.
"I'm sorry, Captain."
And with that, Seth turned from the wall, shoulders heavy, and disappeared further into the copony, haunted by the past, and unsure if he'd ever find the courage to face it.
The outer walls of the grasshopper fortress loomed like the teeth of a giant. Cold. Jagged.
Brooks moved like a phantom through the darkness, his breathing silent, his footwork smooth as silk on sand. Beside him, Rory matched pace, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Despite the anticipation, he didn't falter.
They had been traveling underground, weaving through abandoned corridors until they reached the surface, and now the two soldiers moved as one through the quiet terrain surrounding Hopper's domain.
We've covered so much ground," he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning every corner of the corridor. "And I haven't even seen Ari. Did he get himself killed? No... no, he wouldn't have chickened out. He faced Hopper by himself knowing he had no chance. He's alive. Somewhere in this place. We'll meet up soon. I know it."
"Stay focused," Brooks said beside him, voice like a low growl, solid and grounded. The Lieutenant's frame moved more like a wall than a shadow—slow but deliberate, exuding raw strength with every step.
"The heart of the fortress is just ahead," Brooks continued. "But I don't think we should go in alone. We wait for backup from Anastasia, the others… and Ari. If we take on Hopper and his generals without them, we're asking to die."
Rory nodded, but before he could speak, a rustling echo erupted ahead.
Ten grasshoppers burst from the shadows, surrounding them in a semicircle. Each of them wielded four curved mandibles—sword-like weapons held firmly in all four arms. Their faces were wild with anticipation.
"Ants, huh?" one sneered. "They're getting bold, thinking they can sneak this deep."
"Let's gut 'em and leave their limbs as a message," another hissed, rotating his twin upper mandibles with a flourish.
"Lieutenant, I count ten!" Rory said, shifting his stance.
"I can see that," Brooks replied calmly. "Let me handle the bulk. You focus and remember what I taught you."
The clash began in a storm of movement. The grasshoppers lunged, blades slicing through the stale air. Brooks met them head-on, muscles rippling as he swung his weapon in crushing arcs, knocking two aside in a single motion. His style was all power—brutal and efficient.
"Don't let them flank you!" Brooks shouted, throwing a punch into one's abdomen, sending the insect crashing into a wall. "Use their momentum against them!"
Rory grunted, blocking a pair of strikes and countering with a low sweep. He struggled—his movements weren't as fluid, his reflexes tested by the four-armed coordination of his opponents. Still, he held firm.
One grasshopper spun, striking low and then high with twin mandibles. Rory barely deflected in time, his legs buckling under pressure.
"Keep your footing!" Brooks barked, tossing aside another foe. "They'll overwhelm you if you lose balance!"
"I'm trying!" Rory shouted back, sweat flying from his brow.
Two more closed in on Rory's flank. He ducked and rolled, slicing one across the chest, then leapt to his feet to parry the other's follow-up strike.
Brooks crushed another with a hammering blow that sent cracks along the floor.
Brooks smashed one grasshopper's skull against the floor. "You've gotten faster," he muttered. "Good."
Rory twisted his mandibles into a crossed block, caught the next strike, and countered with a solid stab that sent the final grasshopper reeling. He stood panting, arms trembling.
"Did we get them?"
Brooks scanned the area, nodding. "That's all of them."
Just as Rory was about to relax, Brooks stiffened.
"…That aura," he muttered. "It's heavy."
Rory turned. "What?"
A figure emerged from the far corridor, massive and broad-shouldered. Spikes lined his forearms, longer and sharper than any they'd seen on a grasshopper. His walk was silent, but every step made the stone tremble faintly.
Baracko.
Brooks squared his stance, mandibles tightening in his grip, though he didn't raise them.
"I never expected us to encounter a general so soon…" he said grimly. "And Baracko, no less."
Rory's eyes widened. "What? One of Hopper's generals?!"
Baracko stopped ten paces away. His arms were folded, not a single weapon drawn.
"It can't be a coincidence I stumbled on you first," Baracko said, voice deep and unhurried. "I guess it was fate that we meet again like this, Brooks."
"I've thought about this battle every night. And I can't move on until we settle it."said Brooks.
Brooks didn't blink. "Rory," he said quietly. "He's not like the others. He doesn't use mandibles. Just his fists. And those fists are faster, stronger, and deadlier than any blade."
Rory tightened his grip on his mandibles. "Can we even take him?"
Brooks was silent a moment. "Our chances are… extremely low."
He took a slow breath. "I fought him once during the Great War, before Hopper had control over our colony. I wasn't alone then. My son, Toran, stood with me. He paid the price of my failure—with his life."
Rory swallowed hard. "Your son… died to him?"
Brooks nodded, jaw tense. "So understand, this isn't a spar. It's not a training session. If we fight him, we fight for our lives. Don't let a single punch land. One is all it takes."
Baracko unfolded his arms slowly. His eyes locked onto Brooks with deadly calm.
"But not yet," Brooks muttered. "Not now."
The three stood in silence, tension drawn tight in the air.
"Rory," Brooks said, never taking his eyes off Baracko. "We don't strike first. Not this time."