Chrysalis

My father, and even at this early juncture I must apologise for every one of my writings circling back to the man who raised me, was the first to ever mention the fifth stratum to me.

He described it as a world of endless and profound noxiousness. A place where every particle of substance that filled it had been bio-engineered into a vehicle for death. A single breath could kill. A single touch, lethal. He spoke of rivers of poison that flowed through the air. He talked of lakes filled with bile so virulent that reality itself was infected by it.

At the time, we lived in the fourth, within the temple city of Artas, home to the grand cathedral of the path, as I'm sure you know, and the idea of such a place existing within such relative proximity had me waking in screaming fear every second night for months. I cursed that old man, (silently within the recesses of my mind, for I wholly lacked the fortitude to face him directly) for sharing such horrific visions with me, a mere child. For many years I resented him for, wondering why he had never watered down his experience for me, not made it more digestible for a youth.

When finally I decided to face my fears, one by one, as an adult, it eventually came time for me to visit the fifth. I needed to dispel the horrific image of my tormented childhood and replace it with the firm reality which could not possibly match the terrors conjured by the imagination of a child.

I was wrong. He kept so much from me, when I was child. What I saw was so, so much worse than anything I could have imagined. How could a good world possibly stand for such things to exist?

• Excerpt from "Recollections of my Father: Child of the Iron Fist" by Ingtin.

It's become something of a habit to poke into the gathered Will of the Colony whenever I want to know something about what my siblings are up to but I've started to think that might be considered something of an intrusion. I mean, it might not be the same thing as peering into their minds but it's adjacent! Instead of resorting to this more intrusive method of enquiry I prod one of the rushing workers with an antennae and fire off a quick question.

"What's going on? Why the rush?"

"Eldest! I didn't expect to see you there… resting."

is rather impressive now, over three metres at least. I

fought two battles back to back and hadn't slept in days! Are you suggesting

"Ah… no."

saying that torpor and

"No!"

my words the shadows within this stretch of tunnel darken precipitously as a cold wind blows against our antennae. The rush of ants continues past us, even quicker than before, every individual avoiding paying any attention to the unnatural darkness or the ant I now loom over. I eye

was the last time you had

strikes the poor worker in the heart and she physically recoils,

I - …

embrace her. In a blink, everything has returned to how it was before, the workers streaming down the trail, no ominous living shadows, no bitter cold wind, and no

sign to the

I poke another

"Hey, what's going on?"

there! I certainly didn't see

Why are there so many of us

the question. "I came in as part of the third wave an hour ago and received a short debrief before I was directed to the front. Apparently the south

Hang on… what?

main tunnel thirty minutes ago which eased the pressure but they had to pull back to avoid supply lines being cut by tunnelling forces. The counter tunnelling efforts are draining a huge amount of antpower, but if they keep the termites off of our carapace' then it's all worth it of course. Anyway, thanks for the chat Eldest, I