The night was quiet. Almost too quiet.
Above Earth, drifting past satellites and forgotten rocket junk, something ancient stirred. A pale fragment shaped like a branch carved from bone the White Branch.
It pulsed faintly, like a dying heartbeat. Inside it lingered the echo of an ancient colony, the psychic tether of a queen who once commanded armies that shook worlds. Though retired, her bond remained unbroken; queens of this kind never truly severed their hold. Even without a throne, they could call upon the strength of their living children until their final breath.
This was their race's secret legacy. And tonight, Earth would inherit it.
The relic entered the atmosphere without flames or thunder. Not a meteor screaming across the skies, but a whisper slipping past unnoticed. Cloaked from satellites, invisible to astronomers, it descended and fell with a dull thud in the corner of a cramped, dimly lit apartment.
Cris's apartment.
The "impact" was pathetic , a mug rattled, a spoon clinked to the floor. The relic cracked into shards that scattered across the kitchen tiles. Their faint glow dimmed until they looked nothing more than sugar crystals glistening in the dust.
Cris never noticed.
He was sprawled face-down on the couch, still wearing yesterday's office clothes, snoring into a pillow.
By morning, his half-dead body stumbled into the kitchen. Hair sticking in every direction, shirt wrinkled beyond salvation, one sock missing. He glared blearily at the kettle.
"Coffee. Now," he croaked, as if making demands of a hostage.
The ritual began: mug, spoon, instant coffee. He reached for the sugar jar, and promptly knocked it over. White grains spilled across the counter, mixing perfectly with the relic shards.
"Ugh, not again," Cris muttered, scooping the mess straight into his cup without a second thought.
The spoon stirred. The "sugar" dissolved instantly, leaving behind a faint shimmer that vanished before tired human eyes could notice.
Cris lifted the mug, took a sip, and froze.
"…Huh. That's… different."
The taste was strange. Too smooth, too rich, as if someone had upgraded his instant coffee overnight. Warmth spread down his throat, blooming in his chest. His pulse jumped once, hard, then settled into a rhythm that wasn't quite his own.
He frowned at the cup. "…Did I… buy organic?"
Shrugging, he drained it all in three gulps. The bond was sealed before he even put the mug down.
At first, nothing changed. Work was the usual grind: crowded commute, endless emails, managers mistaking yelling for leadership. But by late afternoon, something gnawed at him.
A sound.
Whispers.
At first, it was faint static in the back of his skull, but it sharpened as the hours passed. Chittering. Voices. Words that weren't his.
Cris pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I really need less caffeine."
But the voices didn't stop. They followed him onto the bus. Into the bathroom. Even through his manager's lecture about deadlines.
By evening, they were impossible to ignore.
And when Cris stepped back into his apartment, he nearly dropped his keys.
Because lined neatly beside the sugar jar were five ants.
They weren't scurrying like normal insects. They stood perfectly still. Perfectly aligned. Their black eyes locked on him with unnatural focus.
The keys clattered to the floor. His chest tightened.
Then the voices in his head clicked into clarity.
"Found you."
Cris's voice cracked. "Oh no. Nope. Absolutely not."
He grabbed a slipper. This was it. He was going to squash the hallucination before it unpacked its luggage. But his arm froze mid-swing, halted by something unseen. The slipper trembled in his grip like the air itself had caught his wrist.
The sugar jar lid lifted. Floated. Gently spun. Then clicked neatly back into place.
"Don't."
Cris's jaw dropped. "…You're kidding me."
The warmth in his chest pulsed harder. The voices grew louder. Clearer.
"You drank. You linked. Bound now."
Cris blinked at the ants, then down at his empty mug. His stomach twisted.
"Oh no. No, no, no. I didn't… I didn't just!" He gasped. "I drank bug juice?! Alien bug juice?!"
"Not bug. Not juice. Legacy."
His knees wobbled. He collapsed into a chair, burying his face in his hands. The connection thrummed in his chest, undeniable now.
He had become their host. Their chosen. The legacy's new bearer.
Cris groaned into his palms, voice breaking between despair and disbelief.
"…I just wanted coffee."