The week following the Seeding Ritual and the laying of the eggs, Antares immersed himself in a handful of projects he had been quietly planning for days. News of Solara's transformation into a True Ant Queen had ripped through the underground settlement like a gale wind through the deepest caverns. For centuries, the Antmen had lived without the presence of a true queen ant. To hear that a Queen now walked among them — a living, breathing vessel of the old blood — was to hear that the gods had finally looked back down and decided to answer their prayers. The clan leaders descended upon the palace in a frenzy of tribute. They arrived with wagons groaning under gifts for Antares and Solara, but mostly for the Queen herself. Their faces were alight with an almost feverish enthusiasm that Antares found almost comical.
When they reached the throne room, he couldn't help but let out a dry laugh at their desperate requests to "witness the miracle."
"The Queen is occupied," Antares told them, his voice brooking no argument. "She is in the deep chambers tending to the future of this tribe. She is not to be disturbed by anyone — not even you, the Patriarchs, or me, her Lord husband."
Though visibly disappointed, the leaders didn't leave empty-handed. The news of the King's marriages had become a beacon of hope; silently, the tribe began to celebrate the idea of a Royal Heir in the years to come. Amidst the pleasantries and bowing, Yajin of the Ashfang clan saw his opening. The massive, scar-covered warrior stepped forward, his voice booming through the hall like distant thunder.
"Sire, when the Red Suns reach maturity, let them be fostered at Emberhive Castle. My clan has the fiercest warriors and trainers. We will forge them into the weapons you need."
Velas and Kael bristled, their eyes flashing with protest, but they remained silent. Antares offered Yajin a polite, cold smile.
"I appreciate the offer, Patriarch, but the Red Suns will remain under my direct supervision. I have… special plans for them."
Velas took the chance to regain ground. "Sire. I would like to take this chance to tell you that my mages are already showing great progress. Their mana control and output is sharpening; they will be ready for the surface when you call."
"And the forges are working nonstop, my King," Kael added, his face smudged with soot. "My men are working overtime. Every hammer is dedicated to the work you gave us."
Antares nodded. He didn't need their reports to know this; he had been monitoring their progress closely through the Tower's subtle sensory links. He stepped into his office, grabbed a rolled parchment he had been working on in private with the help of the System, and returned to thrust it into Kael's hands.
"This is a blueprint for a specialized set of armor. Can you make it?"
Kael unrolled it, his eyes widening in disbelief. "I can, Sire… but the workforce required…"
"You have one month," Antares said, a mischievous, almost villainous grin spreading across his face.
Kael's face went pale. His soul seemed to leave his body as he swayed on his feet. The massive Yajin caught him by the shoulders, shaking him like a ragdoll and shouting his name to bring him back to his senses, while Antares's dark laughter echoed through the hall.
Antares hadn't just been playing politics. A few days later, near the farming zones outside the main settlement, a new project reached completion. He had conscripted a group of regular Antmen to assist Kael's masons in excavating four massive, cuboid underground rooms lined with smooth stone.
"What is this for, Sire?" Kael had asked during the three-day construction.
"Food storage," Antares replied simply.
He called upon Velas and his mages to perform the final, most crucial step. Using a high-level spell called [Ice Mantle], the mages coated the stone walls in thick, shimmering sheets of frost. When Antares entered for the final inspection, even he needed a heavy fur coat. The air was biting, freezing the breath in his lungs. Standing inside with him was Yanrid, the "bastard son" of Yajin. The young man stood perfectly calm, seemingly unaffected by the sub-zero temperatures. Antares noticed again that Yanrid lacked the typical Ashfang bulk, but an icy, sharp aura emanated from him.
*The handsome bastard,* Antares thought as he looked at Yanrid.
"The ice will hold for a month before it even begins to show signs of melting, Sire," Velas reported, shivering.
Antares was pleased. He then ordered Kael to install rows of heavy meat hooks and large crates filled with glacier-ice broken down into small pebbles by the Ashfang warriors. Within hours, the rooms were filled with fresh fish and the meat of various beasts hunted on the surface. No more dry, salted strips; the tribe would now have the luxury of fresh meat and cold Midnight Flower juice at their disposal.
Antares contemplated how the use of magic had made his work easier. *If on Earth they had such abilities, a lot would have been easy for people.* He then appointed Lady Sira to manage the facility. The dark-brown-skinned beauty accepted the task with a graceful bow.
"I will ensure not a single scrap is wasted, my King."
That evening, the area surrounding the newly finished Cold Rooms was transformed. Torches were mounted on every pillar, their flames reflecting off the polished obsidian walls. The air, usually stagnant and warm in the farming zones, was now refreshed by a cool, crisp breeze flowing out from the open doors of the ice-mantled rooms. Long wooden tables were hauled in, groaning under the weight of the day's achievement. The atmosphere was electric. Clan pride usually kept the various families separate, but tonight the barriers were thin. Huge platters of meat from the surface beasts — hunted by Yanrid's scouts for this special occasion — were served. Thanks to the Cold Rooms, the meat was succulent and tender, lacking the tough, fibrous texture of the usual salted jerky. The highlight was the Midnight Flower juice. Barrels that had been sitting in the ice for only a few hours were cracked open. When the frost-covered wood was tapped, a mist of cold vapor erupted, drawing cheers from the thirsty laborers. The juice was sweet, thick, and bitingly cold — a sensation most of these underground dwellers had never experienced in their lives.
Antares didn't sit on a high throne tonight. He moved among the long tables, a cup of chilled juice in one hand. He sat with the masons, listening to their stories about the hardness of the rock and how they worked with it, and laughed with the mages who were still shivering from the effort of casting the Ice Mantle.
"To the future!" Antares shouted, raising his cup. "Today we conquered the heat. Tomorrow, we conquer the surface!"
The roar of "LONG LIVE THE KING!" that followed was deafening, shaking the very dust from the cavern ceiling. Even the stoic Yanrid was seen with a rare, faint smile as he sipped his drink, leaning against a crate of ice. He took the time to speak personally with the regular Antmen he had conscripted. These were men who had never seen the inside of the palace, yet here they were, clinking cups with the King. This small gesture did more for his popularity than any decree could. He was building more than just cold rooms; he was building a legend.
By the time the celebration wound down and the embers of the torches grew low, the bond between the clans had tightened. They weren't just Ashfang, Arcanis, or Tharvok anymore — they were the loyal subjects of the Ant King.
---
**Back to the present — Brood Chamber**
The week of construction and diplomacy was over. Now, Antares stood in the humid, amber-lit silence of the Brood Chamber alongside Solara. The air was thick with the scent of concentrated mana and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the Queen, who watched the cradles with an intensity that bordered on religious. Before them, the thirty crimson eggs began to tremble. Small cracks spider-webbed across the vibrant red shells. A low, wet squelching sound filled the room as the first of the Red Suns prepared to meet their King.
Antares felt a surge of pure excitement. These small creatures were the first step toward his conquest.
"They're coming," Solara whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she reached out to touch the nearest vibrating shell. The air in the Brood Chamber was thick, and the sweet, metallic tang of concentrated mana could be felt in every breath. The eggs could only be laid here because of the mana concentration in the Tower.
Antares stood at the edge of the central dais, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He felt strangely vulnerable. He had left his sword "Eos" resting against the desk in his office.
"I feel like I should be holding a cigar or something," Antares muttered, his voice echoing in the quiet chamber. "Instead, I'm just standing here in a very expensive tunic, waiting for thirty giant grubs to pop."
The System had notified him of the eggs being ready to hatch. As soon as he saw the message, he went directly to the Brood Chamber where he found Solara expecting him, but now he had been standing there for three hours.
Beside him, Solara was a different creature entirely. She was kneeling on the polished marble, her eyes wide and glowing with a soft, pulsing crimson light that matched the vibrations of the eggs.
"They're finally ready, Antares," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can feel the shells thinning. The boys are coming."
"I believe you," Antares replied, though he looked less like a proud father and more like a man waiting for a localized explosion. "Finally, but can they hurry it up? The squelching sounds are starting to give me the creeps," he thought.
As if on cue, the first of the thirty crimson eggs convulsed. A wet, tearing sound echoed through the chamber — not the sharp crack of a bird's egg, but the sound of heavy, waterlogged leather being ripped apart. Antares winced, instinctively wiping a stray drop of egg-fluid from his cheek.
"Oh, gods. That's… that's a lot of liquid." He held himself back from vomiting. Anyone who saw the same things he did would all throw up or even faint.
From the rupture, the first Red Sun slid out. It flopped onto the marble with a soft, wet thwack. Antares leaned in, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.
"Solara… it's a giant grain of rice. A giant, wiggling, pale grain of rice." He said as he was analysing the small creature. "I thought we were making elite warriors, not a collection of oversized marshmallows."
Just as he had this thought, Solara shot him a sharp look as if she could tell what he was thinking.
The larva was exactly the size of a human infant, curled in a soft 'C' shape. Its skin was translucent and milky-white, and it lacked legs or eyes. It was just a soft, segmented body with a head dominated by a pair of surprisingly sharp, clicking mandibles.
"Look at it jiggle!" Antares poked it. "Is it supposed to be that… squishy? It looks like a very unmotivated sausage."
Solara snapped her head around, her red eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous intensity. "Antares. Stop it."
The King froze, surprised by the venom in her voice.
"They are not 'sausages' or 'marshmallows,'" Solara said, her voice low and dangerously strict. "They are the future of our people. They are our family now, born of my effort and your will. They are a blessing from the Ant God himself. So you will show them the respect they deserve, or you can leave this chamber right now." She said it with the most innocent smile.
Antares blinked, clearing his throat and holding up his hands in surrender. "Right. Sorry. No more sausage jokes. I forgot who I was talking to for a second."
One by one, the other twenty-nine eggs continued to burst, filling the dais with pale, undulating forms. But Antares's gaze returned to the first-born. The larva had stopped wriggling and had turned its sightless head toward him. Its mandibles clicked softly, a tiny sound of recognition coming from the small creature recognizing Antares as its sovereign.
He felt a sudden, sharp pang of memory, not of this world, but of the Earth he had left behind. He remembered the stories of creation, of the first man brought forth from the earth to rule over the world.
"He's the first," Antares whispered, his voice losing its mocking edge. He used a soft tone now. He reached down, and for the first time, he didn't see a grub. He saw a beginning. "In the stories of creation, the first man was called Adam. He was the blueprint for everything that came after."
He reached out and gently touched the larva's pale, pulsing side. "You are Adam. The first of the Red Suns."
Solara's expression softened instantly. She reached over and placed her hand over Antares's. "Adam," she repeated, the name tasting like a prayer on her tongue. "It sounds right."
"WARDENS!" Solara's voice suddenly boomed, regaining its commanding edge. "Bring the food! Now!"
The Cradle-Wardens marched in, hauling massive crates from the newly established Cold Rooms. Inside was the prime, mana-saturated meat of the surface beasts. As the first chunks were tossed into the feeding troughs, the larvae underwent a terrifying transformation in behavior. They fell upon the meat with a voracity that made the stone floor shake. They weren't just eating; they were absorbing. As they consumed the mana-rich flesh, the larvae didn't just get "fat." The mana was being stripped from the meat and channeled directly into their internal structures. Their pale skin began to glow with a faint, pinkish-red hue. Antares could see their muscle fibers becoming denser and their internal chitin hardening.
"They're using the mana to reinforce their bodies before the cocoon stage," Antares noted. "They're forging themselves from the inside out."
Antares eventually sat down on the edge of the dais, letting his legs dangle. "So," he said, glancing at Solara as she nuzzled a feeding larva. "Parenthood. How are we feeling? You've been in this wet basement for a week, and these kids are currently eating their body weight and strengthening. Is this the royal life you dreamed of, taking care of blind, limbless giant marshmallows?"
Solara leaned her head against his shoulder, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. "It's draining, Antares. I can feel every bite they take. But when they're full… I feel this warmth. Like I'm finally doing what I was born for. It's exhausting indeed, but they are my family. I would die for them."
"I just feel the bill for the groceries," Antares joked, though he squeezed her hand. "Ian is going to have a heart attack when he sees the consumption rates these little guys will empty our storage. I'm going to have to change the date of the expedition to the surface soon, Solara. We need monsters to feed monsters."
Solara looked at him, her gaze softening. "Is it safe for you to go?"
"Always," Antares said casually. "But I've spent the last few nights swinging my sword until my arms felt like jelly. I'll be fine."
As they shared the moment of levity, a sharp, cold ping echoed in the back of Antares's mind. A bright blue window flashed in his vision.
**[URGENT NOTIFICATION]**
**[Scouting Party Detected: Proximal Alert]**
**[Location: Northern edge of the territory, Foot of the Godwall Mountain.]**
Antares's smile stayed on his face, but his eyes turned as cold as the ice. "What is it?" Solara asked, her voice turning sharp. She had felt the sudden spike in his pressure.
"Nothing much," Antares lied. "Just my intuition. But Solara… that expedition? It's going to be a bit sooner than I thought."
Solara's hand went to her stomach. "Why? Did something happen?"
"The scouting party searching for Kael's sons reached the base of the Godwall Mountain," Antares said, standing up. "I originally planned to start the expedition later because I had hoped they would delay a bit, but turns out the scouting party is more efficient than I thought."
Antares walked toward the door, Levi and Eli following him, his mind already shifting gears. "I have to go, Solara. I'm going to hold a meeting with the clan leaders to plan for what's coming." He planted a quick kiss on her forehead.
"Good luck, Antares," she called out as he stepped out of the chamber.