The tunnels of the colony were quiet, steeped in a reverent hush. The earthy scent of damp soil clung to the air, mingled with the faint aroma of moss and lichen growing along the walls. Phosphorescent fungi bathed the earthen corridors in a soft, bluish glow, their gentle light flickering like candle flames with every subtle draft.
Lieutenant Brooks walked with deliberate calm through the winding passageways. His heavy steps echoed softly off the walls, a rhythmic beat in the silence. A few soldiers passed by, offering quick salutes as they recognized his commanding figure. He returned each one with a silent nod, his face composed yet distant.
Deeper into the tunnels he walked, past the heart of the colony and into a secluded area rarely spoken of. Here, the ceiling opened slightly to the surface above, allowing thin beams of moonlight to mingle with the bioluminescent glow. Jagged stones stood upright in rows—each one shaped like a tombstone, weathered by time and etched with names long lost in the war. This was the burial site of the fallen—the ants' resting place.
Brooks made his way through the stone markers until he reached one near the center. The name carved into the gray slab read: Toran.
He knelt slowly, his knees sinking into the soft earth. With quiet reverence, he pulled a wide green leaf from his satchel and brushed away the layer of dust and dirt that clung to the grave. Once it was clean, he reached into a pouch and gently placed a bright red berry beside the marker, followed by a small, rounded container filled with clear water.
"Happy 28th birthday, my son," Brooks murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
But the smile didn't last.
His shoulders trembled slightly. His gaze, once firm, softened as sorrow welled up in his eyes. Tears formed, catching the light as they clung to his lashes.
"If only I was stronger…" he whispered, voice cracking. "I could've protected you…"
He closed his eyes and inhaled shakily, then began to hum—a tragic, familiar tune.
Petals in the wind,
Drifting so slow,
Carried on the breeze
To where no one knows.
The melody drifted through the stillness of the gravesite. As Brooks sang, memories came flooding back. He saw Toran again—not as the soldier he became, but as a newborn cradled in his arms. A tiny antling, barely able to lift his head, reaching up with trembling limbs. He remembered the laughter as the child sat in his lap, wide-eyed, listening to his stories about distant lands and dangerous missions.
Little soldier ant,
Come marching home.
Brave soldier ant,
Comes marching home.
Brooks' voice trembled. The tears now flowed freely down his cheeks, unchecked. His chest rose and fell in unsteady breaths as he rocked gently in place.
He remembered the training days. Toran, eager and stubborn, pushing himself to the limit just to keep up with his father. The pride in Brooks' eyes when his son finally passed the recruitment trials and stood proudly as a soldier.
Winds through the trees,
Whisper your name,
The sky weeps quietly,
Never quite the same.
His sobs grew heavier.
Toran becoming a Lieutenant, the youngest one at that—just like him. Brooks had been so proud. They had even joked about racing each other to the rank of Commander. Toran had promised, with that boyish grin, that he'd outrank his father one day.
Fungi grows dim,
Night's gentle call,
You stood so tall and strong—
Now shadows fall.
The memory of the battle with the grasshoppers clawed its way into his mind. The chaos. The fear. The final moments he saw Toran alive, fighting bravely at his side. And then… the silence that followed.
Mountains will bow,
Rivers will bend,
Time can't erase the path
You chose to defend.
His voice cracked on the next verse.
Little soldier ant,
Gone to the stars,
I carry your memory
Wherever we are.
His hand trembled as he reached forward, gently resting it against the stone as though to feel his son's presence one last time.
Petals in the wind ,
Softly they glide,
Your will walks with me,
Right by my side.
Little soldier ant,
Come marching home.
Brave soldier ant,
Comes marching home.
As the final note faded into the dim air, Brooks bowed his head. His sobs echoed faintly through the stone markers, his body wracked by grief too long carried in silence.
At the entrance to the grave site, Rory stood frozen, hidden in the shadows. He hadn't meant to intrude—but once he'd followed Brooks this far, he couldn't turn away.
He watched the grieving Lieutenant with wide, conflicted eyes. He had never seen Brooks like this before.
Not in the strategy chambers. Not even on the battlefield.
Brooks was always calm—unshakable. The kind of leader who stood tall when others fell apart.
But now, here he was, crumbling beneath the weight of a name carved in stone.
The sorrow radiating from Brooks felt suffocating. He clenched his fists—not out of anger, but from something deeper. Determination.
He understood now.
The weight Brooks carried wasn't just about loss—it was about legacy. Duty. Love. The unspoken vow to never let another fall the way Toran had.
Rory lowered his head in silent respect. He would carry that vow forward.
For Toran.
For Brooks.
For the colony.
Outside the outskirts of the colony, where the tunnels gave way to open wildlands, Lily stood alone beneath a dark, brooding sky. A cloak woven from thick green leaves clung to her shoulders, but the cold pierced through it all the same. Her breath fogged the air, visible with every shaky exhale. The ground was moist, the scent of damp bark and dead leaves filling her nose.
She stepped carefully through the undergrowth until she reached an old tree stump, its center long rotted out. Before it, two stone markers stood upright, slightly elevated on a mound of earth. Moss crawled up the sides, but the names etched into the stone were still visible. Time hadn't erased them.
She stared at the stones for a long while before kneeling.
"It's really cold, isn't it, Mom… Dad?" she said softly, voice barely above a whisper.
Her hands were trembling, though she didn't seem to notice. "I'm sorry I haven't visited in a few years. I got… busy with my corporal duties, and before I knew it, time just slipped away."
A faint, almost guilty laugh left her lips.
"Yeah, yeah, I know—it's surprising, right? Your troublemaker daughter actually takes her responsibilities seriously." She gave the stones a sideways glance. "I mean, remember when I used to sneak out of the colony just to watch you two collect berries? Dad was always so clumsy—he'd spot me hiding in the bushes, and try to chase me down like it was some great battle. Never caught me though. But Mom would scold me after, every time."
Lily chuckled again, the sound cutting through the still air. "Those were some great times…"
She hugged her arms tightly around herself, trying to trap the warmth in. Her eyes lingered on the stones.
"Hey, Mom… can you believe it? Your daughter—the one born with the destiny of a worker ant—joined the military. I broke the caste. I became a soldier. I even beat Gianna." She laughed, louder this time, almost incredulous. "Can you imagine? I actually beat Gianna. Never in your wildest dreams would you have pictured that, huh?"
But then the laughter died.
The wind stirred the dead leaves around her, and her eyes drifted to the snow gathering near the stones. Her breath caught in her throat. The memories surged forward, uninvited.
She had been eight years old. Small. Curious. Defiant.
That day was supposed to be ordinary—a routine food-gathering mission on the outskirts of the colony. A group of workers had gone out under military escort, her parents among them. She wasn't supposed to be there.
But she had followed them anyway.
Lily remembered hiding behind the tall grass, giggling quietly to herself as she watched her parents and the others gather berries from a thorny patch. Her father slipped and nearly fell into a puddle, grumbling something that made her mother laugh. She had been so close to bursting out in laughter too.
And then… the forest went still.
A rustle in the distance. Shadows moving between the trees.
The escort guards shouted something—but it was already too late.
From the underbrush emerged a towering figure. Broad, armored. Cold eyes gleaming.
Gianna.
She moved like a wraith, blindingly fast. Lily's heart had stopped in her chest. Her limbs wouldn't move. She couldn't scream.
Gianna seized her mother first—grabbing her by the throat and lifting her clean off the ground.
Lily watched, helpless, as her mother's legs kicked desperately in the air. She struggled, clawed—but Gianna's grip didn't budge.
Then—
Snap.
The sound cracked through the trees. Her mother's body went limp.
Lily covered her mouth, trying not to scream. Her eyes burned, wide and unblinking.
Her father tried to run to her, but Gianna turned without hesitation. With one brutal swing of her blade, she cleaved him in half—clean, effortless, as if he were made of paper.
His blood sprayed across the snow-dusted ground.
Lily had stayed there, frozen, heart pounding louder than the screams of the others. She had watched it all in silence, unable to move, to speak, to act.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot against her frostbitten skin. And yet—she smiled. A sad, broken smile.
"It's funny… I got my revenge. I killed her. But I still feel so much pain."
Her smile trembled now, threatening to collapse beneath the weight of her grief.
"I get it now. This pain… it's something I'll carry with me for the rest of my life."
Her hands moved to her face as the dam broke. "But one day… one day, I'll be able to heal from this," she said, voice dissolving into sobs.
And then she cried.
Really cried.
The kind of crying that echoed into the silence and shook the soul—guttural, shivering, and long overdue.
She collapsed unto the ground, sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, her body curled into itself like something fragile trying not to break any further. Her cloak was soaked. Her fingers had gone stiff and blue. Her lips trembled with every breath, and yet she didn't move. Not even when the first flakes of snow began to fall from the sky.
From the distance, hidden behind a thicket of frost-covered leaves under the tree, two figures stood watching.
Beatrice's eyes were steady—but not cold. Beneath the surface, they shimmered with a quiet ache. She had known Lily longer than most. They'd trained side by side as recruits, sweating through drills, laughing through late-night patrols, complaining about rations and bruises like sisters in arms. Back then, Lily had always been the louder one—sharp with her jokes, fearless in her ambition, always pulling Beatrice into mischief with a smirk and a wink.
To see her like this now—crumpled and small beneath the weight of grief—was like watching a mountain crumble.
She didn't have Lily's kind of pain. Her family was alive. She'd never watched someone she loved die in front of her. But that didn't stop the empathy from biting deep. She felt her friend's sorrow like a phantom wound, and the helplessness twisted something in her chest.
Beside her, Isla could barely keep from stepping forward. Her breathing was uneven, eyes wide with emotion as she took in the scene.
"She's hurting so much," Isla whispered, voice cracking with empathy. "I can feel it."
Beatrice gently reached out, placing a hand on her arm to stop her.
"That's not a wise decision," she said softly, her tone lacking its usual cool detachment. "This is what she needs right now. She's been carrying all of this since that day. Let her feel it. Let her grieve."
Isla hesitated, her lips trembling. "But… this isn't her. I mean—she's always the strong one. The calm one. I've never seen her break like this."
Memories surged unbidden. Training sessions where Lily would mock Isla's overly stiff stances, ruffle her antennae after a win, or lighten tense days with a perfectly timed joke. She had a gift for reading people—and an even greater one for lifting their spirits without making it obvious. No matter how scared Isla was before a battle, Lily always noticed. And always said the right thing.
"She used to tease me all the time," Isla said, almost laughing through the tears. "Said I looked like a dying leaf every time I panicked before a duel."
Beatrice smiled faintly at that.
Isla's fists tightened at her sides. "She held everyone of us together… and no one knew she was holding herself together too."
"She's not alone," Beatrice replied quietly. "Even if she feels like it."
They both stood in silence a moment longer, watching the snow settle around their grieving friend.
"Right…" Isla finally murmured. Her shoulders slumped, but she didn't resist when Beatrice gently turned her away.
The two walked slowly back toward the colony, their shadows vanishing into the cold. Behind them, the snowfall thickened, blanketing the terrain in white.
But Lily remained.
A lone figure in the storm, wrapped in sorrow and silence, mourning the ghosts of the past.