Chrysalis

Morrelia drew a deep breath, letting the spray rising from the lake wash over her. Stood at the bow, she had a perfect view of Freehill as it drew ever nearer. Home of the fearsome blademasters and legendary sword schools of the Folk who trained them, it was not a place she had expected to visit, especially in circumstances similar to these.

"We'll be docking in ten minutes," roared Commander Chyron. "I want every Legionary prepped for battle. We don't expect a fight, but that doesn't mean we won't get one! Tribune!"

"Here, Commander!" Morrellia turned and snapped out a crisp salute.

In one glance, the grizzled veteran took in every detail of her appearance. As always, Morrelia was prepared for a fight. Both swords had been cleaned and oiled, waiting in their sheaths. She wore full Legionary armour, even on the boat, and that too was in immaculate working order.

"I want you to head below decks and make sure our troops are prepared, then report back to me."

"At once."

No doubt a similar check would be performed on each of the ten ships that housed Chyron's legion, but she was only responsible for this one. Morrelia's armoured boots thudded against the wooden deck as she hastened to follow orders.

Under her command, Morrelia had quickly learned that her father was not the only officer in the Legion with a well-earned reputation for demanding perfection. Commander Chyron worked herself to the bone to ensure her Legion was operating as flawlessly as possible, and she expected the same effort from every Tribune, Centurion, right down to the individual soldiers themselves.

Below decks was cramped and stuffy, everything packed in as tightly as could possibly be managed. It reminded her of nothing so much as the nests of the Colony, where the ants were more than happy to climb over the top of each other to get from A to B. There was a flurry of activity as final checks were being performed by every squad, centurions marching back and forth barking orders at any laggards.

"Ten minutes until we hit the dock," she bellowed, cutting through the noise in an instant. "If you aren't on deck in parade-worthy kit in five, I'll make you wish the blademasters had you!"

There was one clear path down the centre of the ship, and she marched down it glaring in every direction as her troops raced to finish their preparations.

"Tighten your damn straps!" she roared at one soldier. "Your chestplate is loose!"

"You better pray that's muck and not rust. One spot of rust on that armour and you'll be buried up to your neck in the latrine, soldier!"

"WHY ARE YOU WEARING TWO LEFT BOOTS, LEGIONARY!? If your answer doesn't involve an unfortunate surgical mishap, then you are in for a bad day!"

Despite the occasional slip-up, these were well disciplined and professional troops, Legionaries one and all. In less than five minutes, they were lined up beside their bunks, weapons and armour gleaming while the officers prowled through the ranks, ensuring everything was perfect. When they were satisfied, they let Morrelia know and she nodded.

"Remember, we aren't here to fight any of the Folk. There will be zero tolerance shown to any Legionary who causes trouble on shore. Instant discharge. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Tribune!"

With one final glare, she signalled her approval to the officers and made her way back to the deck. Freehill loomed even closer now, the chaos of the dock clear to see.

"The troops are prepared, Commander."

The woman gave her a glance before she returned her focus to the shoreline.

"Good."

There was silence between them, the older Legionary radiating a tense energy, almost scowling at the sprawling city of the Folk rising before them.

"Bad memories, Commander?" Morrelia asked.

She grimaced, never taking her eyes from the figures on the dock.

"I've fought twice against the Folk, Tribune."

"I'm aware," Morrelia nodded.

Of course she examined the service history of her new Commander. Chyron huffed.

"They're terrors in a fight, but I'm not worried about them. I've fought against ants too, did you know that?"

"I did."

"You're well prepared. I suspect that's why I was given this command. I fought in the Solenopsis outbreak beneath the Tower."

"Fire ants," Morrelia shook her head. She'd read the reports, they were horrifying.

"They ravaged everything they could reach before the Legion arrived. I'll never forget what I saw on that campaign. Now we have a new ant outbreak, unlike anything that we've seen before. A tier seven mythic beast leading them. That's the highest evolved ant on record, Tribune, and if they can make one, they can make more."

Morrelia swallowed.

"I'm aware," she replied softly.

"The seers are certain it's here, part of this… trade mission," the Commander sneered. "The enemy has already laid claim to the beast. You know what that means, don't you Tribune."

"I do."

The Commander drummed her fingers against the railing at the bow, taking in everything she could see as Morrelia continued to think. It was Anthony they were talking about, it had to be. To think he'd reached all the way to such a high level of evolution, and drawn the gaze of the Ancients in the process. Perhaps she should have realised something like this was possible, perhaps she should have warned him, but it had never entered her mind.

He, and the Colony, had come so much further than anyone had expected in a much shorter time frame than anyone could have thought possible. With everyone busy dealing with the Waves, the world hadn't had time to deal with an ant outbreak, and now it was too late to deal with them simply.

"I think the monster has come to greet us," the Commander observed wryly, and Morrelia snapped her gaze to the dock. There, unbelievably, she saw a truly massive ant, carapace gleaming with a dark purple light.

He was immense, with mandibles as long as a person, antennae longer than that, standing tall over the smaller figures that ran between his legs and beneath his carapace. Was that really the same ant who she'd travelled to Liria with?

"Why does it look like it's waving at us?" Chyron wondered.

"I have no idea, Commander," Morrelia deadpanned.

On the shore, Anthony was vigorously waving an antenna at her, clacking his mandibles happily.

That was him, alright.

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