The Queen’s chamber was unnaturally still.
Where once the Braccari Queen had been imprisoned—within a conundrum cage—there was now only ash. The cage disintegrated and left faint trails of dust hanging in the chamber. However, the Braccari Queen remained.
A strange sound stirred, wet and rhythmic. From behind the central pillar, a circular hollow in the wall widened, its fleshy border peeled back like a flower bud. From within it, the Queen began to crawl.
Her movements were slow and deliberate. One long limb followed another as she emerged from the crevice. She dragged her slender luminous frame into the light of the chamber. Her skin shimmered faintly from the residue of spores and symbiotic algae. Her breath hitched as she steadied herself.
The silence intensified.
She could have crawled out and vanished through the tunnels long before they arrived. But she hadn’t. She had waited for them to return.
John took a step forward, weapon leveled, his breathing tight in his helmet. Samantha mirrored him, revolver raised. They had seen what the Braccari were capable of—what their Queen might still become. She had no chains, no failsafes. A decision had to be made.
To kill or not to kill.
John’s hand didn’t tremble, but his heart did; it wasn’t out of fear, but out of something he didn’t quite understand. The Queen, unarmed, unguarded, stood like an echo of something old and scared. Her presence no longer radiated command. It was laced with fatigue.
He glanced at Sasha’s holographic shimmer who stood beside him.
“She’s unbound,” John said. “What are my options?”
Sasha’s voice was quiet and clinical. “Your firearms are sufficient. A coordinated barrage would terminate her.”
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“What happens if we don’t?” Sam asked.
“Unknown,” Sasha replied.
The Queen raised her eyes. They were bright with sorrow, not rage. Her tendrils connected to the dead girl she had puppeted on the floor. When her voice came, it was soft. The dead girl raised her head and looked at them with glowing white calloused eyes.
“You chose not to strike,” the puppet girl said. “Even now. Why do you hesitate?”
John held her gaze. The memories of the swarm—their violence, their madness, the lives lost—pressed like weights behind his eyes. But something deeper spoke to him.
“I don’t know,” John said.
The Queen blinked once, a strangely human gesture. Then she nodded. “The others—those who obeyed Thariel—were poisoned in their spirit. They lost themselves to his will…the Idol corrupts. I…remember myself. Just barely. But I do. The memories are returning more vividly than before.”
Sasha’s voice interjected. “Her pheromones appear to be broadcasting a neutral transmission. There are no aggressive markers. She’s not issuing commands.”
The decision lingered in the air.
John lowered his Scorcher. “You’ll walk out of here,” he said. “Alive. Tell the others what happened here. Ensure they never make the same mistake.”
Samantha’s eyes remained locked on the Queen, her revolver held up and unwavering. But then, with a hiss of breath, she lowered her arm.
John connected to Rhea’s comms. “How’s the sweep going?”
Rhea chimed back. “You wouldn’t believe it…we found survivors. Hundreds of them. Dependency shuttles are enroute.”
The Queen slowly stepped forward. As she passed through the last remnants of her cage, the ash dispersed like breath. She stood tall, regal, and shimmered faintly with the energy still clinging to her flesh.
Her voice felt heavier with age. “I waited for you,” she said. “I could have fled. My body produces acid that dissolves uncharged conundrium. The energy in my cage stopped the moment you destroyed the Idol. I chose not to flee. In your actions, you are truly an Arbiter.”
John’s throat tightened.
“I will remember this,” she said. “When the last war begins. If Thariel makes his final move, when the world seems as if it's falling apart, and when all that was hidden reveals itself—your name will shine and my people will fight for you.”
