The kitchen smelled faintly of butter and worry.
Rose stood at the stove, watching the egg whites bubble in the pan. Her mind wasn't on breakfast—or lunch, really—but on the letter folded neatly on the counter.Jimmy Reeds' neat, cruel handwriting stared back at her: FINAL NOTICE.
The eggs hissed. She didn't move until the sharp smell of burning reached her nose.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered, scraping at the pan. The yolk broke and ran like spilled gold. She sighed and reached for another egg, but her hand trembled. She cracked it too hard; shell fragments scattered across the counter.
"Pull yourself together, Rose Little," she whispered. "Panicking won't pay the lease."
She plated what was left of the meal and sat at the table. Sunlight poured through the window, pooling across the old wood and catching the edge of Oak's portrait hanging on the wall. His face smiled back at her—calm, steady, maddeningly certain.
"You always made everything sound so easy," she murmured. "You'd say, 'The world's full of treasure if you know where to look.' Well, I'm looking, Oak, but all I see are bills."
Her eyes burned. She blinked hard, pushing away the sting.
Two choices kept circling in her mind, relentless as a clock tick:Sell Oak's collections—his journals, his maps, his strange samples from all corners of the world—and maybe scrape together enough for a down payment on the lease.Or give up the house entirely and move somewhere smaller.But how could she? Every wall here still smelled faintly of him—of sap and tobacco and the faint sweetness of honey he used to bring home.
The clock ticked again.
Rose frowned. Noon already, and not a sound from upstairs.
"Noah?" she called, standing at the foot of the stairs. "Lunch is ready!"
No answer.
She climbed up, the boards creaking beneath her slippers. The door to his room was open, sunlight streaming across the unmade bed. His backpack sat on the chair, but the old journal—Oak's journal—was gone.
Her heartbeat quickened. "Noah?"
She searched the attic first. Empty. Then the porch. The chicken coop. The shed. Nothing.
By the time she reached the garden, her voice was hoarse from shouting. "Noah! Noah, this isn't funny!"
Rows of tomato plants swayed gently in the breeze, but no boy appeared. The only reply was the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves.
She wiped sweat from her brow, her chest tightening. He wouldn't have gone far. Maybe he's near the forest line.
At the edge of the property, the forest rose like a dark wall—tangled, deep, and endless. Her pulse quickened.
"Noah!" she called again, louder this time. "If you can hear me, answer!"
The wind caught her voice and carried it away.
She took a few hesitant steps forward, scanning the shadows between the trees. Nothing. The woods seemed to breathe in silence, heavy and still.
"Oh, Oak," she whispered, gripping the fence rail so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Don't let anything happen to him."
Somewhere in the distance, faint and strange, came a low hum—like the sound of countless wings beating in rhythm. Rose looked around sharply, but the garden lay still. She shook her head and hurried back toward the house, trying to steady her breathing.
Far below, at the scale of roots and stones, Noah wiped sweat from his brow. They had walked for hours, and now they stood before a massive tree trunk, rising like a mountain from the earth.
Its bark was dark and ridged, glossy where sap ran in slow amber streaks. Fern's eyes glimmered in awe. "This must be it," she whispered.
At the tree's base yawned a hollow—round, shadowed, humming softly with life.
Noah: "I've seen this tree before — near Grandma's fence. I didn't know anything lived inside it."
Fern (smiling): "Then your world and ours share deeper roots than you think."
Sprint (peering toward the hollow): "Or maybe your grandmother just has a very busy backyard."
A low, steady buzz drifted from the hollow. Then something blurred past Noah's ear — a rush of wind and the faint shimmer of silver wings.A stingless bee swept overhead, enormous compared to them — its glossy black body glinting in the dappled light, its wings like panes of living glass. The air rippled with the force of its passing.
It landed near the hollow entrance, antennae twitching, then crawled inside with deliberate grace.The sound of its wings lingered in the air like distant thunder.
Fern (softly): "Stingless bees… guardians of the hive."
Noah (curious): "They really don't sting?"
Sprint: "Not with venom, at least. But you wouldn't want to get glued by one. Their resin is stickier than sap."
From within the hollow came a growing hum—layered and rhythmic, like hundreds of heartbeats pulsing in harmony.
Noah turned to say something when the ground trembled faintly beneath his feet.
Thump.
He froze.
Another rumble rolled through the air, deep and far away. Thump. Thump.
Sprint glanced up. "Rain? The sky sounds strange."
The third sound was louder—a long, drawn-out vibration that didn't quite sound like thunder. It rose and fell, shaping itself into something almost like words.
Noaaah…
Noah's blood ran cold.
Noah (whispering): "That's not thunder. That's…"
He looked up toward the unseen sky, voice trembling. "Grandma. She's calling me."
Fern and Sprint exchanged uncertain glances. They didn't hear words—only the deep rumble of a storm that wasn't there.
Fern (gently): "You heard her?"
Noah (nodding): "She's looking for me. She must be so worried."
He gripped the hilt of the Sword of Roots at his side. "We have to hurry. The faster we find the rubies, the sooner I can go home."
The hum from the hollow deepened, echoing his words as if the bees themselves had heard.
The trio approached the hollow cautiously. A faint resin scent—sweet and woody—hung in the air. The walls of the entrance shimmered with layers of waxy coating, smooth as glass.
Then, movement.
Three bees emerged from the shadow—each one sleek and glimmering, their bodies dusted with fine pollen that glittered like gold. They hovered in formation, wings thrumming with perfect rhythm.
The front bee tilted its head, antennae twitching. When it spoke, its voice was strange—a layered vibration, part hum, part word.
Bee Sentry: "State your purpose."
Fern stepped forward, bowing slightly. "We are travelers from Rootvale, sent by King Amaranthus. We seek an audience with Queen Nela of the Stingless Hive. The corruption spreads faster each day. We need her help."
The bees exchanged glances. Their wings shifted, creating a soft harmonic tone—like a silent discussion in music.
Finally, the lead guard spoke again.
Bee Sentry: "Queen Nela awaits only those who bring respect. Follow. Do not stray. The Hive watches all."
The bees turned and flew back into the hollow, the hum deepening as the tunnel swallowed them.
Fern gestured for Noah and Sprint to follow.Noah glanced once more toward the distant sound of his grandmother's voice, now fading with the breeze.He whispered, "Hang on, Grandma. I'll be back."
Then he stepped into the darkness after the bees.
Sunlight flickered through the kitchen window once more. Rose sat at the table, the cold plate of eggs untouched before her. She rubbed her temples, trying not to cry.
Something—some faint instinct—made her look toward the garden again.
The air shimmered slightly, heat rising from the soil. At the far end of the yard, near the old gnome statue, a faint hum seemed to stir beneath the earth.For just an instant, she thought she saw a glimmer of silver light flicker through the cracks of the soil.
She blinked hard, and it was gone.
"Noah," she whispered. "Please come home soon."
The wind carried her words out the open window, across the bright grass, and down into the roots of the great tree—where, far below, her grandson walked deeper into the hive of the stingless bees.