The bees sat in the war room, including the tiny Wolfheze. Unfortunately for Ambassador Safir-Flavum, he was seated next to Wolfheze.
While King Ugric was giving a speech to his generals, the blonde nagged the fretted, 'Say, Sir Safir,' Wolfheze adjusted himself to face the ambassador, looking him in the eyes with a paranoid smile contorting his mouth, 'could you describe the giant thing you saw at the fireflies' place?'
The King shouted amidst their whispering, 'And yet, they thought we and our stingers are but playthings to boast about! . . .'
'Err. . . uh, well. . .' muttered the ambassador, 'It was a huge creature – like you! But it was different, uh. . . it looked mindless; not all well up there – oh! It had different colours for each eye; I glanced red and—'
Wolfheze's face turned pale at the mention of red, and he was about to jump the nervous bee.
'Black, and the hair, well, it is both bald and not bald. . .?' The ambassador continued.
The King yelled hysterically, pointing at a map of the firefly colony carved on beeswax, 'See, we should learn from our cousins, the hornets, and strike with vengeance,' he then flapped his wings and cried in euphoria, 'WE MUST KILL AND DESTROY ALL OF THEM!'
Wolfheze leaned back in his chair in disbelief. 'That's not her. . .' He thought, then eyed the King in frenzy, babbling to his yes-men. He took a deep breath and noticed a thing of annoyance within his many pockets. He reached to it and uncovered a piece of flat stone the size of half a hand. On it was carved the figures of seven people.
Wolfheze snuck out of the headache-inducing room and the King's hysteria to the edge of the hive, where the star had already set. In its position appeared a majestic green moon, larger in perception than the star, and its glow was powerful; you could almost smell the green.
The blonde gazed at the figures carved on the rock, and he saw himself carved next to the figure in the middle, a man with a fluff of hair that reached his shoulders. There was also a large man at the far left. They were faceless, for the area was already too small to carve more than the shape of the heads. Wolfheze looked up at the bright night, sparkly with colourful stars. Shooting stars were nonstop, in all directions. His throat felt lumpy, and he sobbed quietly but audible to anyone nearby. He covered his face with both hands, one holding the carved rock.
The only remedy for his previous torment is the fact of being alive. This state, being alive, eased all the pain he'd felt back in the old world, which was primarily mental. Shattering it was.
The bees were enough of a distraction, yet images of his past life in the Annulus kept flashing before his eyes. He could be having a conversation with a bee, and he would act attentive, but behind his eyes, there were faces of people he deared.
One of the younger bees, Zambūr, had heard the noise in the royal hive whilst flying to his, a dormitory for up-and-coming worker bees. Before attempting to head to the source of the hysterical yells of the King and his generals, he witnessed the lone Wolfheze, who was tiny still.
'Hey,' called the young bee. His voice was childish, almost squeaky, but filled with the true wit of a prodigal child. 'You're the biped who's the talk of the bees recently.' He landed in front of the blonde—finally, a creature of his size.
'Yes, I am. And you are?' Asked Wolfheze.
'Zambūr.' He answered. 'What is with the fuss in His Majesty's hive?'
'War on the fireflies has been declared.'
'So, the one-year truce has been broken. Great. We'll become the laughing stock for the other kingdoms.'
'Your king isn't the brightest, Zambūr.' Declared Wolfheze.
'I'm aware. That's why I want to take his place one day and lead the bees to unmatched prosperity.'
Wolfheze was startled and blinked once or twice, 'Now that's a mouthful from a younger bee. What if someone hears you? Isn't that. . . treacherous?'
'Bees ascend to the throne by treason; his majesty is bound to be stung and replaced when his time comes.'
'What happened to succession or public vote?'
'We are animals, newcomer!' The bee's face was bright.
Wolfheze was in disbelief, but the tone of this young bee was somehow convincing; he sounded like someone who'd climb up the ladder and knit a comprehensive narrative to ascend and get coronated. For a second, he envisioned the young bee up high on the throne with a face of malice and fulfilment.
The bee noticed the pebble in Wolfheze's hand, 'What is that in your hand?'
'A trinket of old times.'
'May I—'
'No.' Wolfheze firmly refused.
Zambūr smiled softly and hovered up, 'Well then, biped, I shall see you on the battlefield.'
And he flew up to his designated hive. 'How can a young bee like him get to fight in wars?' Thought Wolfheze.
"The day young boys will stop becoming soldiers,
and soldiers will stop playing war games,
we'll sing and cry and shout."
These were the words of Wolfheze's former friend from the old world, and somehow, it always felt inevitable, a conflict that is.
One of the King's courtiers approached the blonde, 'Sir Wolfheze, the King demands you to get some rest for the invasion will commence at dawn. He insisted you be ready to grow back to your size when the time comes. "Make it a surprise amidst the battle!" These were his words.'
Wolfheze nodded in a sigh and followed the courtier to the guest's room in a smaller hive next to the royal one. The bed was surprisingly comfortable and silky. Its silk was imported from the moth's colony, which were great allies with the bees, but they resided in trading their silk to whoever, strategically, to avoid conflict. Their rulers were known to be timid yet highly oppressive against conflicts that affected their kingdom, hence the dependence on silk.
Wolfheze laid down for the first time in such comfort. He couldn't recount some of his old memories, as he always used to, and succumbed to deep sleep in less than two minutes, thinking very little of the upcoming dawn of death between the Bees of the Hill and the Fireflies of the River.