The battlefield was quiet now. Too quiet.
Buzz lowered himself to the scorched soil, muscles trembling, body still leaking heat and blood. The air smelled of ash and ichor, a metallic tang that burned his mandibles when he breathed. Somewhere, a branch cracked, a leaf fell, but nothing dared move. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
Zza crawled beside him, silk hanging in frayed ropes from her claws. Her eyes scanned the ruins, but not for the newborn. Not yet. For a moment, she just let the silence press against them both. Her chest heaved in short, uneven bursts.
Buzz rested a claw on the ground, tasting the ash with the tip. Gold flecks shimmered in the dust, leftover essence from the Queen's collapse. His jaw clenched. He could feel it pulsing through him—burning, sharp, a ghost of her presence that refused to leave.
