"That's the dream," he murmured.
She glanced up. "Do the ants realize how extraordinary they are?"
"They don't think in ego," he said. "They just… do."
"Perhaps we could learn from that."
His smile softened. "You already do. Most days."
Color rose to her cheeks at the compliment. She turned quickly back to the feed, pretending to study shield angles, but her voice wavered with quiet gratitude. "Then let's not waste their gift."
Monkey chirped, rotating the viewpoint. Fresh tunnels filled the panorama—new angles, new wonders waiting.
Now Rodion appeared onscreen, trekking carefully up a steep incline of broken earth and coiled roots. His profile filled the projection like a traveling hero in a moving mural—each step measured, armor joints whisper-smooth. Around him, Scarab units buzzed in tight scout diamonds, etching faint turquoise glyphs in the air to mark safe footholds and unstable shale.
