CHAPTER 64: CHAPTER 63: STAND TALL BUZZ

THE ONE

Nobody moved at first.

Not the coalition.

Not the humans.

Not the newborn Queen.

Buzz stood there like something caught in a dream too sharp to wake from. His claws hovered just slightly away from Zza’s, like he was afraid that if he held on, something sacred would break. The newborn watched him with a calm that hurt to look at—like she already knew what he was going to say, do, regret.

Her wings didn’t flare.

Her posture didn’t threaten.

She didn’t *have* to.

Power didn’t always roar. Sometimes it just... existed.

Zza saw the glimmer crawling under Buzz’s shell again. Gold. Familiar, awful, slow-burning. But it wasn’t spreading fast like before. It pulsed. In rhythms.

**Her rhythms.**

The newborn’s voice didn’t ripple the clearing—no dramatic wave of sound, no psychic crash.

It just appeared. Like it was always there.

*"You called me."*

Buzz flinched. Not physically. In the way someone flinches when a memory breaks open. He lowered his gaze just a fraction. "I didn’t call you."

The newborn tilted her head—just slightly enough to let everyone know she disagreed.

*"You did. When you chose to live."*

Zza grabbed Buzz’s arm hard enough to hurt. "Don’t. Don’t listen to her. You know how she speaks—she twists things—"

He didn’t look away from the newborn.

"Why are you here?"

The newborn stepped once, the ground accepting her foot like the world had been waiting for that exact moment.

Behind her, several of the humans scrambled back, breath fast, hands shaking. One pointed a dart device. Another whispered something that sounded a lot like prayer trying to pretend it was science.

The newborn didn’t even glance at them.

*"Because the forest is changing faster than you are."*

That hit *too* close. Zza felt it in the way Buzz’s shoulders tightened.

He was falling toward her voice.

Even if he didn’t want to.

Even if he hated it.

And Zza—Zza felt something hot rise up her throat. Not fear. Anger. Sick, old, exhausted anger.

She stepped in front of Buzz.

"Don’t talk to him like you know him. You don’t know what we’ve crawled out of. You don’t know how hard he fought to stay—"

The newborn looked at her.

Just looked.

And Zza’s knees nearly gave out.

Not because of pain. Not because of fear.

Because the newborn *remembered* her.

*"You were the one who tried to cut my cocoon open before I was ready."*

Zza’s breath stopped.

Buzz’s head whipped toward her.

"You what."

Zza’s claws twisted at her side. "I— I didn’t know she would— I was— Buzz, I didn’t—"

She didn’t get to finish.

The humans took their chance.

Three dart shots—sharp hissing arcs—straight toward Buzz and the newborn both.

Everything snapped back into motion at once.

### *The clearing erupted.*

Buzz dragged Zza sideways, claws scraping bark and soil.

The newborn moved like water poured into a new shape.

The darts hit roots instead—roots that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The hybrid lunged, ripping one human to the dirt, knocking another’s weapon aside. Scarabs crashed forward with a sound like storm hail. Glowbeetles burst into light patterns that scrambled vision and shadows. Centipedes coiled like living traps around ankles and equipment.

But the newborn didn’t join the fight.

She just kept **watching Buzz**.

Like this wasn’t battle.

This was conversation.

Buzz shoved Zza behind him. His voice cracked. "You don’t get to rewrite what she did. You don’t get to rewrite who we were."

The newborn stepped closer again.

Slow.

Soft.

Inevitable.

*"I don’t need to rewrite anything. You came back to me all on your own."*

Zza’s breath tore out of her chest.

"Buzz—she’s *lying.* You didn’t *come back.* You barely survived. You barely held on. You held because of us. Because of me."

Buzz didn’t answer.

And that silence—

—that silence hurt more than anything the Queen had ever carved.

Zza grabbed his shell with both hands, claws digging. "Look at me. Buzz. Look at me. *Not her.* Me."

He looked.

And for a second—

she saw him.

Not the forest’s chosen.

Not the network’s echo.

Just Buzz.

Tired.

Bleeding.

Scared.

Trying.

His voice shook. "Zza... I don’t know how much of me is still mine."

She leaned her forehead to his. "Then borrow mine until you can find your own. I’ll share. I’ll give you every piece. Just—stay. With me."

His breath hitched.

The newborn watched.

Still.

Silent.

Reading every flicker of him.

Then she smiled.

Slow.

Soft.

Knowing.

*"He will. But only because I want him to."*

Buzz stepped back.

Like his body moved before his mind did.

Because **she** called.

Zza screamed and grabbed him—

—but roots surged up between them like a wall of ribs and knotted memory.

Buzz stumbled away, reaching—but not enough.

The newborn held out her hand.

Not forcefully.

Not commandingly.

Simply offering.

Buzz froze between them.

One step would decide everything.

Zza pressed both hands to the roots, voice breaking open:

"Buzz. Please. Choose *you.* Not her. Not the forest. Not fate. Just you."

Buzz’s claws trembled.

His wings shook.

Gold flickered along his shell.

Silver flickered along hers.

The space between them felt like a final breath held too long.

Then—

Buzz whispered something.

Too quiet to hear.

Too soft to claim.

And he reached—

**Not forward.**

**Not backward.**

He reached *up*.

Into the network itself.

The roots trembled.

The leaves shivered.

The whole forest inhaled.

The newborn’s eyes widened.

Buzz was not choosing her.

He was choosing **everyone**.

To burn the connection rather than be owned by it.

The newborn saw the choice a second before it happened.

*"Buzz. Don’t—"*

He **pulled**.

The clearing exploded with light.

Not gold.

Not silver.

White.

A light that seared thought and memory and identity.

When it cleared—

Buzz was gone.

Zza fell to her knees, claws empty.

The newborn stared at the empty air.

For the first time—

she looked afraid.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

The forest didn’t speak.

And the Chapter ends there.