The sun burned gold above the grass as evening approached, casting long shadows across Rock Hollow. Inside the small outpost we had carved beneath the stone, the air hummed with scents of blood, iron, and anticipation.
Seventeen hardened ants — my surviving veterans — gathered around the spider fang I had planted upright in the center of the chamber. It had become our totem. Tonight it was also our table.
[Faction Status]
Followers: 17 Veteran Ants
Outpost: Rock Hollow
Morale: High
Known Enemies: Bitter-Scent Colony (Strength: Thousands)
My antennae traced patterns in the dirt, laying out a crude map of stalks and pebbles. Each mark represented enemy patrols we had observed. The rival colony was disciplined but predictable. That was their weakness.
I pulsed a series of scents: "We cannot meet them head-on. We must bleed them. We must grow."
Clicks of agreement echoed from the veterans.
Three of my followers stepped forward — the closest thing to named individuals our young faction had yet.
Stalk-Cutter, a lean, fast scout who had mapped enemy lines.
Iron-Mandible, the strongest among us, his jaws still stained from spider venom.
Leaf-Bearer, a quick thinker who had improvised our pit traps.
They formed a triangle around me. Their antennae brushed mine — a sign of commitment.
[Leadership Instinct +3]
[100% Drop: New Command Unlocked — War Council]
Through pulses and clicks, we crafted a plan. The rival colony had four foraging lanes. We would raid the farthest one at dawn, ambush their workers, and retreat before their soldiers could regroup. Each raid would bring food, materials, and captives — and spread fear.
The outpost would also need to grow. We would expand the hollow into a network of small chambers, hidden entrances, and escape tunnels. A nest, but a nest built for war.
When the plan was set, I stood on the spider fang. My pheromones rose, sharp and commanding.
"Tomorrow," the scent said, "we become more than survivors. Tomorrow, we fight not to live, but to rule."
My followers clicked their mandibles in rhythm, a low, rising beat. It echoed off the hollow's walls like a heartbeat. For the first time, I felt the shape of something larger than myself forming in the dark — not a colony born of instinct, but a force born of choice.
Outside, the wind shifted. The bitter scent of the rival colony was strong tonight. They were moving too. War was coming.
And I was ready.
Even an ant could become a lord.
But a lord who built his own army could become something greater —