The house vanished, and the bond turned towards Styx.
Sight disappeared. Only heat, scent and the movement of air remained.
Beneath us lay a nest the size of a city, where millions of larvae rested in warm blood and never went hungry. Beyond the outer walls there were no people, cages or fire. Every captain was at its post and answered Styx before she had time to call.
Her body grew with the nest.
Six wings became hundreds. Her carapace covered the sky. Every beast in the Wildlands caught her scent and moved out of her path.
The Crown tempted Styx not with human power, but with the safety of her offspring.
After Kane's cage, the hungry broods and the thousands of deaths in the lizard's lightning, the Crown offered a world where no larva would ever again die because of someone else's decision. To have it, Styx had to hold every movement of the swarm within herself.
The captains delivered food in precisely measured amounts. The soldiers flew straight routes. No one made mistakes or refused.
One old captain injured a wing. He tried to stop on the nest wall, but the common rhythm demanded that he keep flying. His body lifted again and again until the wing tore off.
Styx felt his pain.
She tried to release one thread.
Thousands of others wavered with it. The Crown showed her hungry clutches, a breached wall and people bearing fire. The moment one captain was allowed to stop, the safe world began to fall apart.
"This is how the swarm lives," Kane's voice said. "One will. One body. No betrayal."
Styx touched the captain. Through her I felt his last wish: not freedom, not revenge, but a warm surface where he could fold his wings.
She stopped the common rhythm.
The nest shuddered. Several broods collided in the air, some of the food spilled, and the larvae screamed with hunger.
Styx did not restore the command.
The captain lay down on the wall.
Other creatures began changing course as well. Some carried on working. Some drew closer to the wounded captain. Several soldiers left the nest.
The Crown shrank Styx's body. Crimson armour fell from her wings. Her power over millions was vanishing along with their safety.
"Mine," she said.
The word came through the scent of the nest and the memory of every clutch.
Styx looked at the captains.
"Not me."
She remained their queen. But she no longer considered the swarm an extension of her own body.
The nest broke into separate circles. Some remained nearby; others went into the darkness. Styx did not know whether they would return.
I felt her fear.
Until then, I had been the one who mostly lost freedom within our bond: commands grew weaker, the swarm obeyed less readily, victory slipped further away. Now Styx had lost the thing her species survived for.
She released the captains anyway.
The Crown had no other reward to offer her.
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