The climate was still warm, but the air was growing colder—a subtle shift, a quiet warning of the changing seasons. In a vast continent, deep within an ancient forest, a small yet thriving colony bustled beneath the roots of a towering tree.
The reddish ants moved tirelessly, a constant rhythm of life and labor. Workers scurried through the tunnels, managing resources, expanding chambers, and ensuring the colony's survival. Above ground, some ants crawled through the tall grasses, their bodies vanishing between the green stalks as they searched for food and useful materials. Others lurked in the shadows beneath the trees, hidden watchmen observing the forest beyond their home.
On small earthen hills, soldier ants stood guard, their antennae twitching as they scanned for threats. Scavengers moved with purpose, dragging whatever they could find back to the colony, mandibles clicking as they relayed information. The air was filled with the subtle sounds of ant communication—taps, vibrations, and gentle touches, a language of instinct and precision.
Deep underground, the mushroom farm flourished. The yellow mushrooms with white spots clung to the damp cave walls, their growth carefully maintained by diligent worker ants. Some ants harvested only those that threatened to overgrow, ensuring the farm's steady expansion. Others carried droplets of water from the nearby stream, keeping the chamber humid and suitable for cultivation.
Deep beneath the earth, within the heart of the colony, lay the main chamber, a vast, dark cavern where the air was thick with the scent of damp soil and the faint musk of life. The walls pulsed with movement—ants crawled in steady streams, carrying food, maintaining tunnels, and tending to the colony's needs.
And in the center of it all, a massive red ant lay dormant.
It was far larger than any other in the colony—the size of a dog, its powerful exoskeleton gleaming faintly in the dim light of bioluminescent fungi. Its mandibles twitched, its legs stirred slightly, then tensed. A quiet tremor ran through its body as it shifted, the stillness of sleep breaking apart like fragile glass.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, it woke up.
Gerhan's mind sharpened in an instant, the veil of sleep lifting as instincts and awareness flooded back. His many eyes opened, reflecting the faint glow of the underground chamber. The world around him was alive—ants moving, digging, working, surviving. His colony.
He stretched his mandibles wide, testing his limbs, feeling the strength in his body. Something had changed.
His rest had not been ordinary—it had been deep, consuming, something beyond simple exhaustion. A strange sensation hummed within him, a lingering effect of the meal he had eaten before drifting off.
The wolf meat.
Had it done something to him?
He focused inward, searching for any difference, any new power or ability that might have emerged from consuming the flesh of a predator. His control over the colony still felt the same, his connection to the ants as strong as ever—but there was something else, something subtle.