Chrysalis

Granin sighed and scratched at the solid granite covering his leg. He could feel his hands against the stone as if it were a part of his own body, a product of the fusion process he'd experienced in his youth. He'd never regretted choosing the humble ore that now coated his body. Granite was common as mud, resistant to weathering and hard to grind down. It was the same kind of stubborn that he was and he liked how much it suited him just as much as he liked the message it sent.

Too many flaunted their wealth and connections, using the sacred tradition of bonding to the stone as a means to differentiate themselves from their fellow golgari. He found it distasteful. It was another sign of the degradation, the rot, that had sunk into the Empire of Stone through the centuries. Whenever they saw him, whenever those elites were forced to turn their gaze on his skin, he was slapping them in the face. He could see the distaste in their eyes, see the sneer that was born in the corner of their lips. Though he wouldn't admit it, certainly not at his advanced age, he took a childlike glee in rubbing their faces in it. In forcing them to look at how the rest of them lived.

Which was why, when summoned to stand before the High Blade, he took particular pleasure in scratching his leg and making no effort to conceal the boredom that he felt at being forced to stand and wait for his 'betters' to notice him. At least it gave him a little time to reflect.

He'd had to admit that he'd been right to trust his instincts with Anthony. That boy showed tremendous promise for a monster and had overcome everything Pangera had thrown at him so far. What he'd seen of the Colony so far from this conflict had impressed him to no end. There was clearly great potential in the ant-strain of monsters that had gone unexplored all this time. Granin couldn't fault the researchers who'd gone before him though, he himself had overlooked them despite dedicating his research within the Cult of the Worm to other sidelined species.

If Anthony managed to survive and evolve another two or three times, his true potential would be unveiled. Thinking about it, the ambitions that Granin had thought buried with his youth ignited within him once again. The dream of every cult member was to create or mentor the final ancient and complete the circle. This had been their mission since the mission had been handed down to them by the Great Worm itself. Like all new cult members, Granin had yearned for that glory and devoted long hours to scouring books and roaming the Dungeon in search of overlooked, under-researched or unseen specimens. Whilst he'd contributed well above the average for a cult member and experienced many great successes, the dream had eventually died out in him.

Only for a strange ant to stumble into his path and open his eyes to new possibilities and a future that he had given up on seeing within his lifetime. At times he regretted not going with his younger Triad members when Anthony had escaped. He had decided at the time that he would rather stand alongside his people for the trials that were to come, but every day his people seemed to find a new way to let him know that they didn't want him there.

A few metres away, the warrior caste muttered amongst themselves in a loose circle around the High Blade. Their glorious leader listened to all of it with a pensive frown on his face, as if anything that was being said was in any way relevant. Granin doubted they had anything to say that hadn't already been chewed over a hundred times. Despite spending golgari blood like water, they were no closer to achieving their goal and they were running out of time. All for the pride of the clans.

"Shaper Lazus, the High Blade wishes to speak with you."

Finally they have time for him. He still isn't sure why they insist on speaking to him at all. They have their own clan aligned Shapers, loyal to the house of Balta, why call on someone like him? Because of Anthony, obviously, but he wasn't sure what it was about his connection to Anthony that interested them so much.

making a point of openly displaying his granite skin as he saluted. "What is your

High Blade stared hard at him, disgust and contempt clear on his face for all to see. Granin nearly laughed out loud but managed to stifle it in his chest. If he only knew Granin felt the exact same about him, how would

expedition," Kooranon Balta intoned in the needlessly formal

survive in situations that don't allow us control. The Dungeon does not bend

the implied insult to their caste. Every citizen of the Empire hopped when the warriors said jump. They truly were coddled from the day they were born. Though usually Granin would put some effort into concealing his

Blade raised a hand and silenced those around him in

he observed, "perhaps

old. One tends to

the same. Perhaps I would be

a rush, placing it behind the noble and inviting him to sit with a quiet "by your will". With his eyes still on Granin, Kooranon sat, placing his sheathed blade across his knees. The Shaper noted wryly

the reincarnated creature, do you not? He was under your care during his

was. I wouldn't say we had a relationship, but we

The noble’s eyes glittered.

for as much. You may

a bad

of service will be?" he asked, not