CHAPTER 68: CHAPTER 67: THE FOREST AND THE CITY 2

The newborn Queen didn’t sleep.

She hadn’t learned how.

When the others rested, she stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes unfocused, wings low. Her breath stayed shallow, deliberate, as if she were counting every inhale to remind herself that breathing was still a thing her body had to do.

Zza woke before dawn.

The forest hadn’t moved yet, but the silence felt like it was thinking.

She stretched, quietly, careful not to jostle Buzz where he lay beside her. His chest rose and fell, faint and rhythmic. The gold pulse had faded to a dull shimmer under his shell. He looked less like a weapon now, more like something trying to become real again.

Zza glanced toward the newborn.

"You haven’t blinked in hours."

The Queen didn’t look over. "You count my blinks?"

"Somebody has to make sure you’re not plotting murder in your sleep cycle."

A long pause.

Then—

A soft sound, almost humorless. "If I were, I’d do it while awake."

Zza shrugged. "Fair."

Silence again.

The Queen’s wings lifted slightly, catching the thin blue morning light. "You asked me once what I was before this."

Zza didn’t remember asking that, but she didn’t argue.

The newborn’s voice shifted — quieter. "I wasn’t supposed to be born. I was built."

Zza’s breath caught. "Built?"

"Inside the labs. Before the forest, before the hives, before I was me." Her tone wasn’t angry, not yet. It sounded tired. "They were testing hybrid patterns — merging insect neural layouts with archived human memory strands. They wanted instinct with intellect. Obedience with comprehension."

Zza didn’t move. "So you were... someone’s mind. Before."

The newborn’s mandibles twitched. "Not exactly. More like... an echo of one. They called her ’Prototype Eleven.’ I remember flashes — glass, light, hands that didn’t belong to me. A voice saying *it’s working.* Then pain."

Zza listened. Not pitying. Just listening.

The Queen continued, "When I first woke here — in the hive — I thought it was rebirth. It wasn’t. It was a continuation of something broken. I wasn’t evolving. I was being replicated."

She looked at Buzz, asleep between them.

"He was the first to look at me and not see an experiment."

Zza’s chest tightened. "And you almost killed him anyway."

The newborn nodded once. "Because that’s what I was made to do."

Zza stared at her. "So what are you now?"

The Queen looked back, expression unreadable. "Trying to unlearn it."

Zza didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. She understood that kind of trying.

They stood in quiet for a long moment, until a faint tremor passed through the ground.

The Elder Weaverworm’s silk swayed. Its voice came slow, old, almost ritual:

"You were all built from stolen things."

Zza turned. "You mean her?"

The Elder’s eyes shimmered like tiny moons. "All of you. Even you, silk-weaver."

Zza frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

The Elder drifted closer, threads sliding across bark. "You were hatched under false command. Your markings were masked. They didn’t want another Queen."

Zza froze.

"That’s a lie."

The Elder tilted its head. "You think I weave lies?"

Zza’s throat went dry. "You think I wouldn’t know what I am?"

"You think he didn’t?" The Elder’s voice deepened, threads vibrating. "Buzz found you after the culling. You were still cocoon-wet. He carried you to the tunnels himself. He covered your scent with his blood."

Zza’s breath stopped.

She remembered the first day she met him — crawling through mud, shell cracked, no memory of how she got there. She had always thought it was survival. Luck.

It wasn’t luck.

He had saved her because she was a secret.

Zza whispered, "He knew."

The Elder nodded. "He always knew."

The newborn’s voice came softly. "Then you and I are the same."

Zza looked at her sharply. "We’re nothing alike."

The Queen didn’t argue. "You were born to rule. I was made to."

That distinction hung heavy between them.

Zza turned back to Buzz.

He looked peaceful, finally. His face, the tiny tension lines around his eyes, eased. His claws relaxed. For a heartbeat, he looked *young.*

Then his breathing hitched.

Zza bent instantly. "Buzz?"

He twitched once, muttered something too low to catch.

Then again — clearer.

"Street... light..."

The newborn leaned in. "He’s dreaming."

Zza’s voice was barely audible. "No. He’s remembering."

Buzz’s body jerked once more, and his mandibles opened.

The sound that came out wasn’t insect speech.

It was a gasp.

A human word.

Soft. Raw. Terrified.

"Kai."

The newborn stiffened. "What is that?"

Zza shook her head. "A name. I think it’s a name."

Buzz whispered again, the voice cracking.

"Run."

The word hit the clearing like a pulse.

And for a heartbeat, everything—

the forest, the coalition, the sky—

flashed **blue light.**

Like a memory replayed through the roots.

---

Buzz was human again.

At least, his mind was.

He was running.

City. Noise. Lights everywhere.

People shouting.

Sirens.

A sign flashing *LAB CLOSED / EVACUATION ORDER*.

He turned a corner — too fast — slammed into someone — their hands grabbed his jacket.

"Stop, Kai!"

He shook them off. "You’re insane, Lian! You can’t build minds out of pieces!"

"They’re not minds!" Lian shouted back. "They’re hosts! You’re the one who wanted to merge!"

Kai—Buzz—stumbled backward. "Not like this. Not with human cores."

"You said if it works, we’d never die!"

He froze.

And the world froze with him.

The argument blurred. The lights bled together.

And then a sound behind him—

metal tearing—

a flash of something golden spilling out of a containment tube—

a heat that felt like consciousness igniting—

He turned.

And saw **her.**

Prototype Eleven.

The newborn Queen, still half-human thought and half-chrysalis.

Their eyes met for the first time.

And everything burned white.

---

Buzz’s body arched off the ground.

Zza screamed and grabbed him. "Buzz! Hey— hey— stay with me!"

His voice came out in bursts between gasps.

"I remember— I remember the light— I remember the— experiment— the noise—"

Zza’s claws trembled. "You’re safe now. You’re here. That’s over."

He looked up at her. Eyes open. Wild. Too bright.

"It’s not over," he said.

The newborn leaned closer, mandibles shaking. "What did you see?"

Buzz’s breath steadied just enough for one sentence.

"They built us all."

The words dropped like stones into silence.

The Elder’s threads stopped moving.

Scarabs froze mid-step.

Even the air stilled.

Zza shook her head. "Built? You mean— the hives?"

Buzz turned his face toward the sky. "No. Everything. The forest. The network. The evolution. None of it’s natural. It’s— continuation. Artificial memory stitched into biology."

The newborn’s wings opened halfway. "So we were never born."

Buzz closed his eyes again. "We were copied."

Zza whispered, "Then what are we now?"

Buzz didn’t answer.

The forest did.

A ripple went through the ground — slow, deep, resonant.

The network pulsed.

And far to the south, past the valleys and rivers and ruins, the city’s lights flickered in perfect sync.

The connection wasn’t broken.

It had just been waiting.

---

Zza looked at Buzz, then the newborn, then the horizon.

"This isn’t over."

The newborn nodded. "No. This is where it starts."

Buzz opened his eyes again.

They weren’t gold this time.

They were blue.

Human blue.

And he whispered the same word he’d died with:

"Run."

Zza didn’t argue.

The coalition turned toward the city.

And the forest followed.

The city wasn’t far anymore.

They could see it now — a shimmer of glass and metal where the horizon should have been trees. The air smelled wrong, too clean and too sharp, like rain trying to wash blood off steel.

Buzz lay on a silk stretcher between two Scarabs. He was awake now, but barely. The glow under his shell flickered irregularly, like a dying heart that refused to pick a rhythm.

Zza walked beside him.

The newborn walked on his other side.

No words between them, not anymore. Words felt useless. Words had built the cages in the first place.

The Elder Weaverworm drifted above, silk unraveling through the trees, whispering to the network.

*They are coming home.*

Buzz’s mandibles twitched. "It’s not home."

Zza leaned close. "Then what is it?"

He didn’t look at her. "A reminder."

The newborn’s wings flexed once, tension rippling down her frame. "They’ll be waiting."

Buzz nodded. "I know."

He didn’t sound afraid. He sounded... tired. Like someone finally willing to see the ending.

---

When they reached the valley’s edge, the forest stopped.

Not in panic.

In anticipation.

The network pulsed once — slow, deliberate. The trees bent inward, clearing a path, roots tightening like woven muscle. The coalition watched the clearing widen until the last tree fell back.

Ahead:

Concrete.

Fences.

A skyline glowing with white fire.

Zza’s breath hitched. "How do we fight something that doesn’t bleed?"

Buzz looked at her — really looked. "You don’t. You make it remember that it can."

The newborn’s eyes narrowed. "And if it won’t?"

Buzz’s voice cracked in a half-smile. "Then we teach it pain."

He stood, staggering a little, silk tightening around his torso. His claws dragged across the dirt. The gold under his shell brightened — steady this time.

Zza grabbed his arm. "You can’t walk yet."

"I don’t have to," he said. "It’ll come to me."

The newborn tilted her head. "What will?"

Buzz looked toward the city lights.

"My other half."

---

#### *In the city*

Dr. Carian Holt hadn’t slept.

The footage was on loop. Buzz — Kai — running, falling, dying, waking again in another body.

He stared until the pixels stopped being images and started being guilt.

Behind him, the door hissed open. A woman stepped in — pale coat, tired face. She looked like she’d been crying but refused to admit it.

"Sir, the council wants you in the command tower. They say the network surge has reached perimeter range."

Carian didn’t answer.

"Sir?"

He turned slowly. "Do you believe in ghosts, Mira?"

She frowned. "No, sir."

He looked back at the screen. "You should start."

The forest was visible now, pressing against the surveillance lines like a living tide. Heat signatures — thousands — moving in formation.

Mira stepped closer. "It’s them."

Carian nodded. "And him."

She hesitated. "You... know him, don’t you?"

Carian’s jaw tightened. "Once. Before he broke everything."

"What did he do?"

Carian’s voice dropped low. "He tried to free us."

---

#### *Back in the forest edge*

Zza’s claws flexed as they reached the first line of concrete. The coalition spread out, silent but focused, moving like a single organism. Centipedes flattened against walls, Glowbeetles dimmed their light to a pulse, Scarabs positioned their claws like shields.

The newborn Queen lifted her head, scenting the air. "They’re watching."

Zza spat, "Let them."

Buzz knelt, pressing his claws into the dirt. His voice came hoarse. "There’s something under this. Old wiring. Sensors. I remember them. I helped build them."

Zza blinked. "You built this?"

He nodded. "Before I died."

The newborn frowned. "Then you know how to break it."

Buzz’s mandibles twitched in something that almost looked like a grin. "Yeah. I built it to collapse."

He drove his claw down.

The ground answered.

A pulse shot through the soil, rippling under the walls, spreading through concrete like lightning through water. The hum of machines faltered, lights flickered, alarms failed.

The first wall cracked.

Zza whispered, "Buzz..."

He exhaled slowly. "Let them hear it."

And then the city did.

---

In every building, every server, every camera feed — his voice appeared.

Not as language.

As code.

It spoke in pulses, in fragments, in rhythm.

And somehow, everyone understood it.

**I remember you.**

Carian froze in the control room. "He’s in the network."

Mira stammered, "That’s impossible — the system’s offline—"

"It’s not the system." Carian’s face had gone pale. "It’s him."

The monitors flickered. Buzz’s image filled every screen — not insect, not human, just something between, speaking in static.

**You built us to obey. You forgot we could learn.**

Mira whispered, "What does he want?"

Carian said nothing.

The lights dimmed.

Buzz’s voice grew quieter.

**You called me Kai. I was your experiment. Your failure. Your warning. You don’t get to call me that anymore.**

Then every light in the room died.

Outside, the forest moved.

---

Zza couldn’t see the city anymore — just shadow, flickering lights, shapes. The coalition surged forward, cutting through barriers, ripping through fences.

Humans screamed.

Floodlights shattered.

Sirens fell silent mid-blare.

Buzz stood in the middle of it all, still half-slumped but radiant. His wings spread, gold dripping from the cracks in his shell like molten sunlight.

Zza shouted, "Buzz! You’re burning yourself!"

He smiled. "Good."

The newborn stepped up beside him. "You can’t carry both networks."

He turned his head slightly toward her. "Watch me."

She reached for him — but stopped.

Because for the first time since she was created, she *understood* what he was doing.

He wasn’t destroying the city.

He was **connecting** it.

Bridging every mind — insect, human, machine — into one screaming chorus that could finally see itself.

Zza felt it hit her — like fire in her veins.

She saw humans in lab coats, panicking, crying.

She saw the newborn’s birth, the glass, the light, the voice saying *it’s working.*

She saw her own hatching, Buzz’s claws lifting her, the scent of his blood masking hers.

And she saw him — *Kai* — sprinting through the rain, shouting for freedom.

It wasn’t violence.

It was memory.

Buzz didn’t want war.

He wanted truth to echo.

---

In the control tower, Carian collapsed against the console. "He’s merging us. He’s merging— everything—"

Mira gasped. "What do we do?"

He looked up at the screens, at the golden light consuming the skyline.

"We listen."

---

Back outside, the glow was unbearable.

Zza shielded her eyes. "Buzz!"

He turned, barely visible now through the light. "Tell them—"

"What?"

He smiled weakly.

"Tell them it was worth it."

The light flared white.

Then silence.

---

When Zza could see again, the city was quiet.

No sirens.

No walls.

Just stillness.

Buzz was gone.

Only the gold streaks remained — running through the ruins like veins through stone.

The newborn stood beside her. "He did it."

Zza swallowed hard. "What did he do?"

The Queen looked toward the horizon. "He made them remember."

---

Days later, when the first vines began to grow through the streets and the people woke from dreamless sleep, they all remembered the same words:

"You built us to obey. You forgot we could learn."

And somewhere deep in the merged network — in every leaf, every circuit, every heartbeat — a faint voice whispered:

**"Zza."**

Her claws clenched, tears burning behind her eyes.

"Yeah," she whispered back. "I hear you."

And the city breathed.