The ant king lay motionless on the black stone, curled into a tight ball no larger than a newborn pup. His chitin had softened, losing its sharp edges. His six arms had reduced to two, and those two were tucked against his chest like a sleeping infant's. His mandibles were gone, replaced by small, human-like lips. Only his eyes—closed now, but still bearing faint flecks of gold—hinted at what he had been.
He had saved Ylva's life. And it had cost him everything.
Jason stared at the creature. His chest ached. Not from the fight—though his ribs were bruised and his cheek still bled—but from something heavier. Guilt.
*I would have let him die. If it meant saving her, I would have let him die.*
He looked away.
Mae moved quickly, her hooves clicking against the stone. She knelt beside Ylva, who was sitting up now, her green eyes blinking against the pale light. The wound in her stomach had closed completely—no scar, no blemish. The ant king's blood manipulation had done its work.
