The Cuckoo Child

Chapters

Chapter One: Face The New Day
Chapter Two: Gambling With Half-Truths
Chapter Three: Laying The Groundwork
Chapter Four: A Momentous Occasion
Chapter Five: Delve Into Dreaming
Chapter Six: Enter Academia
Chapter Seven: The State Of Things
Chapter Eight: An Unusual Alliance
Chapter Nine: Machinations
Chapter Ten: First Impressions

Chapter One: Face The New Day

As Black Hat stirred, the first thing he grew dimly aware of was the feeling of floating in something liquid, warm and gel-like – he was sure he hadn't fallen asleep like that, but it was somehow comfortable. His eyes slowly sliding open, he peered muzzily at the softly-lit amber substance all around him, able to feel some form of solid boundary as he shifted and stretched. At first, it was oddly restful, slumbering suspended in his capsule of goo, the walls of it somehow reassuring. He was safe. Nothing could get to him in there. Gradually, though, he began to recall that he wasn't supposed to be there, growing both more uneasy and more lucid. He knew who he was – that much was reassuring – but how he, Black Hat, could have come to be trapped in such a receptacle without his notice was both unknown and alarming. More disturbing still, he could feel some kind of presence against his mind – a connection, though barely developed. If it hadn't felt so disturbingly inherent and vital, he'd have tried to snap it entirely, though he wasn't actually sure how he'd do so. As it was, even the thought of such a thing was painful, in a manner he didn't care to prod at. Instead, he focused his efforts on flailing in his shell, a flare of triumph in his mind as he managed to rupture it – only to spill onto the ground in an unnervingly limb-bereft slump.

This was distinctly less comfortable, and he flailed again, trying to get a good look at himself and his surroundings to see what was going on. Disturbingly, his vision was somewhat fuzzy, and there was something odd about it, but it was enough to take a look at what had become of him. His indignant, horrified squawk at the revelation of his new pale and squishy larval form, while distinctly squeakier than he'd have liked, was quite strident. In fact, it was sufficiently louder than the oodles of other larvae that it drew the notice of what seemed to be an adult. Colossal and grey, with solidly yellow eyes, the somehow feminine creature was an otherworldly attempt by something not quite an insect to mimic something already not quite an equine. Besides the obvious fangs, horn and buglike wings, she was coated in velveted carapace, save for some bands of reflective orange chitin around her barrel, and short membranes in the same hue for mane and tail. Changeling, some part of his mind whispered, both from vague recollection and something else, as he was lifted in an acid-green field of magic from her upcurled horn and carefully examined. He could have appreciated the aesthetic, if he hadn't been so busy shrieking his displeasure to the world at large and her in particular.

Was this some form of nursemaid? Somehow, despite her being the first non-larva he'd seen, he felt oddly certain that she wasn't mother to any of the spawn around him. His eyes widened at the sight of another changeling approaching – that was what had been so strange! It felt so odd to have binocular vision again, and he paused in his attempt to snarl a demand for an explanation, blinking and attempting to get used to the sensation of having both eyes intact. The second figure was far more willowy than the nursemaid, and even larger. There were basic similarities in hue and body plan, but her eyes were catlike and slit-pupilled, her membranous-looking mane and tail long and flowing, horn like a curved-back blade and far longer than the other changeling's. Even without the strangely compelling presence she had, which he thought had to be linked to that tickling in his mind, the crownlike structure on her brow and resemblance to the sole example of her type he had knowledge of removed all doubt. This was the Queen of the black-lacquered hive he found himself in – and that little voice inside loudly insisted that this was his mother.

Staring, slack-jawed, he realised that the two figures had been conversing for a little while now without his notice. He tried to listen in, mentally cursing his apparently unfinished ears, but neither they nor the nascent hivemind connection he seemed to have were yet up to the job. At the very least, he could work some things out from tone and his attempts at lip-reading. Before he could gather more than information on his current – tiny – measurements, though, the Queen took aim at him with her green-glowing horn. Thinking himself revealed as an imposter among her young, he squeaked his defiance, whatever equivalent of adrenaline he possessed surging – only to find himself enveloped in a somewhat euphoric sensation, blotting out all but that feeling. He found himself drinking it in, and in a far more literal sense than he'd have thought. He was dazed and giddy by the time she ceased feeding him, a tiny belch escaping as he was first nuzzled – a disorienting but pleasant experience – then gently set down into what seemed to be a gel and larva-filled nest. He fought to stay awake, so as to try to escape once the adult changelings were gone, but he was warm, full, and in a newborn form – slumber was swift in claiming him.

The Queen was absent when he awoke, though there appeared to be plenty of caretakers around, and other larvae pressed in against him from all sides. It was comfier than he'd given it credit for, and he had to admit, so much nonviolent physical contact felt quite a pleasant change. However, being squished and kind of trapped beneath the rest of his clutch was less so. Not to mention, the more alert he grew, the more he was freaking out about this being real and not some bizarre hallucination. No legs, no arms, no phenomenal cosmic power, no sensation of a hat on his brow – his distress keened sharp and incoherently loud through his developing hivemind link, causing his clutchmates to bawl. It took him until caretakers were scooping them up to realise this, however, as his blind panic had somewhat blocked out the input of his senses while he was wrapped so tightly in it. While they fretfully checked the larvae over, he tried to get a handle on his breathing, to calm himself. Okay, so he was trapped in the form of an infant bughorse. So he couldn't access his power, or feel his hat. He was still alive, and that was what mattered. He could work his way up from this, he had to.

With his infant body, he couldn't do much more than feed, sleep and throw tantrums – not that he'd call them that – but as his time awake gradually increased, so too did both his understanding of the situation and his acceptance that he would have to adapt to it. If he recalled correctly, the last video he'd put out before he'd hatched here had concerned a particularly chaotic inhabitant of this world – ironically, he'd intended to roast Chrysalis briefly in the next, among others – therefore it had likely been Discordian revenge that landed him there. Joy. Well, as boilingly furious as he was, he did relish a challenge, which it seemed he'd been provided with. What he needed to do now was absorb as much knowledge as he could in order to unlock his power, even if that meant taking the long way around.

For her part, in spite of the stress and time constraints of ruling a hive burrowed into the Ghastly Gorge, Queen Sclerite of Crag Hold Hive did her best to make time for her newest children, visiting the most recent larvae in the hatchery. Of course, not all of the hive's larvae were hers, she wasn't the sort of Queen who would forbid her subjects reproduction, but those that weren't hers were generally her grandlarvae anyway. Of her latest brood, she had to admit she'd been worried – for the first week or so, they'd been unusually panicked, and broadcasting that state loud and clear. What had caused this, neither she nor the caretakers knew. As their check-ups had revealed nothing unusual. They had been able to identify the source – one unusually testy and bite-prone larva – but not why the infant was so agitated.

Despite the worry and aggravation, Sclerite was proud of this little one's force of will and sharp aim with those tiny jaws. A Warrior in the making? Perhaps, but it was too soon to tell, despite her Patrol Leader consort's proud claims that it was his heritage showing through. Aedeagus had long been prone to seeing what he wanted to see in his larvae. Whatever they ended up becoming, though, it was a comfort to take the time out to simply hold her young, to feel their soft, warm little forms snuggling in against her. It was a welcome relief from feeling the links of those devoured by Quarry Eels snap, and from allocating the distribution of their meagre stores of love. Hers was not a hive in close proximity to ponykind, despite the rich deposits of useful and in some cases valuable materials that had drawn her ancestors to Ghastly Gorge in the first place.

On top of that, the presence of the ravenous predators made the gauntlet any changeling venturing to or from the hive had to run all the deadlier, in addition to having to cross such distances with little backup. The further someling had to travel, particularly if they had to use a lot of magic or energy, the more of the love they collected they'd have to absorb to make it back. It had been different in her grandmother Spinneret's time, when miners had been more plentiful, their worktowns nearby, but those days had long since passed. What she needed, she was sure, was some form of plan, some scheme to assure her hive's future somewhere more prosperous. Then, she and whatever heirs she had could truly thrive, rather than merely surviving. Holding her larvae close to her, she gave them a nuzzle with her silent vow to win them a better future.

Author's Note

A look at Queen Sclerite for you guys.

Chapter Two: Gambling With Half-Truths

As he and his clutchmates shed their first skin, Black Hat ran through a mental litany of cursing that would have turned the air blue if he'd had full access to his voice and powers. It itched like nettles all over, he felt painfully pressed against his too-small skin, and thrashing only seemed to get a piece off at a time. It was infuriating. Thankfully, he'd discovered during his first instar – larvahood – that while the main hivemind was still a blurry cacophony, he could connect to and exert influence over the others in his clutch, being the most developed mind. Thus, after some pointed mental prodding, the entire nestful began to gnaw at one another's skins gently, scraping off the outgrown layer. The sense of relief once it was over was palpable, a chorus of tiny sighs rising from the nest. As grubs rather than larvae, though they looked very similar, they had grown to almost the size of a newborn foal and, to Black Hat's exultation, they had developed a set of four stubby limbs, like the legs of a caterpillar. Finally he could approximate walking, no matter that he stumbled! Finally, he could gesticulate!

It was actually the sharp burst of emotion he emitted that alerted the caretakers to the end of the clutch's moulting, and it wasn't long before he and the others were being congratulated by not only the caretakers, but also the mental presence of the Queen. Words were still not coming through clearly, with the broadcast aimed for all of them, but the sense of love and pride in them most definitely did, and Black Hat was caught off guard by how touching it was. He honestly didn't know how to process it, and in such a very young body, he found himself reacting as many babies would to being overwhelmed. To his utter embarrassment, his body burst into quite uncontrolled sobs, while his mind frantically railed against it. From the soothing being broadcast, it seemed that the caretakers understood at least partially, though this didn't keep him from his mortification. At least, he mused as he drifted into weary slumber, the others were unlikely to remember this.

The next time he woke, he turned his attention immediately to the task of exploring. If he was going to be stuck in a hive, he wanted to know the lay of the land. To this end, he badgered the other grubs in his clutch into keeping watch as he unsteadily wiggle-walked out of the nest to attempt some sneakery. His new legs sorely needed the exercise, and his curiosity was insatiable. He didn't get far, though, as while his clutchmates did warn him, he had neither the speed nor the agility to evade the caretakers' horn magic. Peeping indignantly at the top of his little lungs, he flailed his limbs at them, doing his best to ignore their indulgent chuckles, and stuck his tongue out at them as he was settled back into the nest. One of the others gave him a sympathetic pap, which he ~~appreciated~~ tolerated, as he grumbled in incoherent baby noises.

His legs were too tired for another attempt, so it was time for plan B – trying to exert his mental influence across the hatchery. Little by little, he worked to increase his range, focusing as he mentally demanded that the other grubs and larvae show him what they could see. Pushing himself like this was taxing and disorienting, contributing to a vicious migraine pounding at his head like anvils. He was, however, nothing if not stubborn, and no stranger to pushing through pain. Though he couldn't keep his squishy little body from whimpering and crying under the strain, not yet, he remained focused, gathering information. That is, until he passed out.

Sclerite could already tell, this grub was going to give her ulcers. Her poor, frantic caretakers hadn't been prepared for a single bullheadedly stubborn new grub to work themself into exhaustion apparently trying to draw information from the entire hatchery. Nor, for that matter, had said entire hatchery bursting into tears in the aftermath helped in any way. Certainly, this obvious precociousness was a clear sign of potential, but it was also something of a nightmare to deal with in practise. How did one persuade a pre-verbal infant to take it easy? They were meant to be taking it easy already! The grub in question stirred in her forelegs as she held them close, puzzled amber eyes sliding slowly open.

Once the nictitating membranes had slid back after the lids, there was a startling amount of intelligence in those eyes, realisation and what looked like exasperation dawning quite visibly. Her curiosity piqued by this, Sclerite gently probed the grub's developing node of the hivemind. What she found was eye-wideningly astonishing – not only were there indeed complex emotions present, but coherent thoughts. The truth was too odd and too well-guarded for her to discern, her cuckoo child's past memories hidden from her, but she thought she knew what this was. Such things were rare, but when a grub displayed such precocious self-awareness, it was believed that the spirit of a deceased changeling had returned to serve their hive once more.

It was, she hoped, a good omen – and perhaps hope that her recalcitrant child could be reasoned with. She couldn't treat them like a tiny adult, with how small, fragile and easily overwhelmed a grub was, but perhaps she could converse with them. “You need to have more patience, dear one. Your faculties will obey you in time – some things can't be rushed.” Her child blinked, clearly startled, and pulled a face – further confirmation that they understood her mind-speech when broadcast directly to them one-to-one. Gently, she aided them as they tried to respond, guiding their broadcast. Predictably enough, it was a somewhat petulant assertion that they – he, seemingly – wanted an end to the tedium as soon as possible. He... that he already had a pronoun in mind fit with her supposition.

“What supposition?” Ah, had the cheeky little grub been gleaning her surface thoughts? Deciding to oblige him, and to see how he would react, she explained what her mind had tumbled to, to his thoughtful humming. “I did have a life before this one.” He admitted slowly, after a full minute's contemplation. Her heart pumped a little faster in her chest at this eerily verbose confirmation, and both a flutter of thrill and a touch of hope danced in her eyes, tempered by the uncertainty about how to handle rearing a reincarnate child – particularly not knowing how much he remembered. Unbeknownst to her, he was filled with a considerable amount of tension as well, quite aware that he was taking a gamble with this, and one that could well blow up in his face just as easily as failing to pass for a true child might.

More hesitance in her tone than she would usually allow her subjects to hear, she asked softly whether he had been one of her children before this, and something akin to sympathy flickered in his eyes and mental presence as he shook his head. “I first hatched long before your time.” He responded softly, and while it was a disappointment to know she hadn’t been granted back one of her lost little ones, it was also a relief to both not be left trying to work out who, and to realise that she would still have much to teach him. The world had changed a lot, the changelings with them – and after so much time and this rebirth, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d forgotten a lot.

Her tone gentle, she asked if he remembered his caste, and he blinked quizzically for a moment. After that moment, though, he smiled at her. “I was a ruler, long used to being able to make my own decisions and handle myself and others… I have no memories of being dependent on others.” A ruler… that both explained his stubborn force of will and sent another frisson of thrill through her. On the one hoof, she had been longing for an heir, and she could hardly do better than one who had already ruled in a past life. On the other hoof, it would be harder for such a grub to look to her for the guidance he’d need – and easier for resentment to build.

“Thank you for telling me, little one… While you must heed your now-elders in your new youth, I will bear in mind that you have an older mind than your peers. I will do what I can to provide for your needs, but you must be responsible with this.” She replied at length, projecting an air of unflappable calm – in contrast to the turmoil she truly felt. “I can nurture you into a ruler once more, but you need to accept that many things have changed. You are small, vulnerable, and far from your full strength. Proceeding as though this was otherwise will only get you hurt or cut your return short.”

He was silent for a while, a sour expression spread across his features. For any of the Royal caste, accepting another’s rule was… difficult at best, she knew – though it rarely began so early – so his acquiescing nod came as a relief. “Very well. You speak with sense, and you are the reigning Queen… and my new mother.” His mental voice was tinged with something akin to wonder at that last phrase, an endearing note to it, and she favoured him with a warm smile, giving him an affectionate nuzzle. Even if he was once a long-dead Royal, and presently unnervingly precocious, he was still her infant son.

The conversation with Queen Sclerite had been somewhat fraught on Black Hat’s end as well, as he’d tried to calculate on the fly how to handle the situation without being squished as an imposter. Being able to read what the Queen was projecting had been a great boon, but that was nothing to the cover story she gave him practically giftwrapped. He couldn’t be sure whether that was something that ever truly happened or not, but it was a huge relief to not have to spend his second childhood attempting to pass as a normal sprog. He only knew the bare minimum about these beings, even if such a prolonged facade wouldn’t have been taxing anyway. As for establishing himself as a once and future ruler, that was both icing on the cake and a good cover for his intended level of independence in this hive society.

Following his debuting conversation, he focused on trying to coach his mouth and voice to form words rather than babbled syllables, so that he wouldn’t have to rely on apparent telepathy alone. That was limited enough as it was, so far. Having regular meetings with his new mother, as profoundly odd a feeling as it was to have one of those, helped to give him something to look forward to. Both her stories, which he was quite sure were intended to give him an introduction modern times, and her softly-sung lullabies played a role in calming him, giving him something to ground himself with. As this caused his tantrums to gradually subside, he was increasingly aware that it was a relief to both the caretakers and the other young. That amused him, and he planned to undertake at least some pranks when he had greater control over his faculties, to keep them on their metaphorical toes.

He was, at least, making progress with his toddling, with regular practise. The effort required to do this very simple thing was far more than simply frustrating, but he was nothing if not stubborn, and slogging away at that had been something to do while his time had no other demands on it. From time to time, he tried coaching his clutchmates in toddling too, for something more to occupy himself with, and, well, because they were his. It was still sinking in that he had a family now – and if he was honest with himself, he’d been isolated for far too long for that to not be a good feeling, however weird the situation. Not only that, but a feeling he didn’t want to lose. An important distinction, in a world heavily favouring the defeat of designated villains, to which category his new species was generally considered to belong.

From what the Queen had been telling him so far, he’d been able to work out that Equestria was still bereft of a Moon Princess, though he as yet had no idea when that might change. He had time to grow and to plan before that perforated poser Chrysalis threw discretion and secrecy for her entire species under the Harmony bus. Wary of the gaudily cutesy friendship railgun, he resolved to pay close attention to whatever he was taught, and learn to read changeling script as soon as possible, the better to absorb as much information as possible. If he was to be among those dear Chryssie flung into the awareness of the local incarnate deities, he needed to be able to figure out damage control ahead of time.

Author's Note

A look at Black Hat as a grub.

Chapter Three: Laying The Groundwork

An unexpected but fascinating revelation he gained access to as he made his first forays into investigation was that apparently, since anyling could remember, hives had been adapting new generations using traits stolen from their prey. His own hive, he learned, had gleaned portions of earth pony and diamond dog affinity for ground and stone for their Builder caste, allowing the hive to be dug into the gorge with greater ease. That had potential. Already, his mind was whirling with ideas, but as a grub, there wasn’t much more he could do than plot, and try to bring Queen Sclerite into it. Not the most ideal situation, but considering that he had to adapt to living under her authority now, so he had to think about what would happen if he was discovered acting covertly by even one changeling. They were a hivemind society – one was all it would take, and said one wouldn’t even need to go anywhere in order to ‘tattle’ to the Queen. If he wanted to actually be able to conduct his business, and not have to deal with the stumbling blocks of active interference from well-meaning ‘older’ changelings, he had to make sure he had some level of approval, as irritating as that was.

His long-term plan of course involved regaining his lost power and the means to return, but he couldn’t tell her that. What he did tell her was that he had some project ideas for when he was able to act more freely, hoping that she would be willing to aid in preparation while he was indisposed. Obviously, the fact that he couldn’t even suggest that he was trying to give her orders made matters more difficult, but he had always been persistent. He had to give his approach a lot of rather more careful thought than he would usually dedicate to talking to someone else, but he was sure it would be worth the effort. Fortunately, while he was still not allowed to so much as visit the requisite equipment, she was willing to indulge him where raw materials were concerned – but only so long as it would present a clear advantage for the hive. Apparently, young Royals undertook some form of biomagical project anyway, as a form of rite of passage. He was in no way capable of making a proper start at this stage, but any groundwork he could wheedle from Sclerite was worth something, at least, even if he had to chew on his pride to get it.

What he requested wasn’t even all that out of the ordinary – genetic samples for the hive’s bank. The main difference was the targeting, thanks to the admittedly limited foreknowledge he was disguising as past recollections of certain pony lineages. To his frustration, they had no agents in Ponyville to collect the specific Apple genes he wanted, nor potentially the Belle line – he forgot if they lived there yet. However, as it turned out, most well-established hives had a presence among the hairdressers, spa staff and medical personnel of major settlements such as Canterlot and Cloudsdale. Citing that the Twilight line was prone to producing powerful magic users, he was able to convince Sclerite – eventually – that gathering samples from the family for potential adaptation would be advantageous. Likewise with a certain chromatic pegasus line for strong fliers, though he decided to leave the Shys out of it for now – he had no evidence yet about that Stare ability, and he saw no need to draw down on those without it.

It was, unfortunately, a waiting game. The undercover changelings couldn’t simply compel anypony to visit their infiltrated establishments right away, for all that they could influence who got which customer. He had also mentioned the Pie family for their tendency to turn out ponies who could rapidly chip away huge falling boulders, which he figured would line up with intended upgrades to the Builder caste – but nobuggy yet actually knew where to find them, and he had no idea where their rock farm was. What he really wanted was access to the pink one’s ludicrous and apparently chaotic magic, in the hopes it would aid him in freeing himself, but it seemed he’d have to wait for them to be discovered. At least the pink Princess was already a target, though from what he was told, it seemed alicorn biomagic was fiendishly difficult to make any sense of, much less get anything useful out of. If only he had Flug to decipher it for him, instead of very likely having to pound the relevant knowledge into his head from scratch. He liked science, but he’d never studied it. Actually, he’d never had much in the way of structured schooling, given that he pre-existed it somewhat. Instead, he’d mostly picked things up as he went along, over the centuries. Somehow, he just knew it would be an obnoxious endeavour to cram everything into his head, hivemind or not.

At least he had more things to occupy himself with while waiting to be able to do something about his plotting besides sitting on his plot – if a relatively maggoty behind could be called a plot anyway. Saying one’s first word was, it seemed, just as momentous an occasion among changelings as it was among Earth sapients, despite the milestone of one’s first clear hivemind broadcast preceding it. His clutchmates had been weaving true words in among the concepts of their broadcasts for a while as they’d all grown within the limits of their carapaces’ stretch capacity, something that had delighted the adult changelings who frequented the nest. These smiles of delight and attempts to get the grubs to mimic them returned in force when some of those words made it out into their audible babble. He had been expecting that, and thus didn’t startle when his chosen simple proclamation of “Hat!” saw him scooped up in eager hooves for praise and nuzzling, despite how profoundly ~~pleasant~~ strange it felt to receive this. The others, though, had no such expectations, and their stunned expressions and squeaks were hilarious. He blew raspberries at them and laughed, allowing himself to enjoy the moment.

Walking was getting easier as well, though he still wasn’t allowed out of the hatchery. He’d come to be quite familiar with the premises – and the numerous little hiding places dug out by generations of mischievous grubs. Now that he and the others of his nest could scuttle around, he wasted no time in marshalling them into sneaking little things into these hidey holes, tiny hoards of dropped objects. They weren’t ready for outright theft from adults, but Black Hat figured that teaching them to scavenge and hide objects would be useful training for them – and a boredom buster for him. The fact that they squeaked at him so ~~adorably~~ amusingly when they brought him something didn’t hurt either, though he’d have denied it. More than once, they managed to find something a caretaker dropped – not quite a prank, but mildly amusing anyway.

Once he deemed that they’d gathered enough, he urged them to converge around him, their eager faces shining with enthusiasm for whatever game he’d thought up for them. He let the suspense build for a moment, grinning at them with a gleam in his eye, before outlining his plan in hushed, intent tones. He was mostly using his mental voice, reinforcing the words with images and impressions, but he used as many spoken words as he could while enthralling his audience. Splitting them into teams, he urged each team to guard their hoards and send raiders to steal trinkets from the others while he watched. The team with the most trinkets at the end of the game, he declared, would be the winners.

It was, as expected, a total shambles. Some left their hoard totally unguarded in their charge for more treasure, while others defended to the exclusion of all else – it was utter chaos, and Black Hat cackled with abandon as he watched it unfurl. There did end up being a winning team, beaming at him so brightly as he proclaimed it, but he could see they had a long way to go. Well, perhaps he could take guiding them along that way as a hobby. Also predictably, there were some sore losers, hissing and nipping, but a caretaker stepped in to handle that before he could. All in all, he thought that had gone rather well, despite the confiscation of the trinkets that actually had owners.

Chapter Four: A Momentous Occasion

As time crawled on, Black Hat noticed that he was more hungry, more often – and that his was not the only appetite growing significantly – did that mean they’d be shedding again soon? He hoped so – as abominably itchy as the process was, he wanted very much to no longer be reduced to waddling as his primary source of locomotion. It was clumsy, it was undignified, and it was tiring – he missed the smooth gait he’d enjoyed before all this, one he’d cultivated over the years. While he had wondered what starting out fresh would be like from time to time, it had always been under the assumption that he’d still have his legs. Really, this was quite ridiculous, and he was fed up. He had to keep a lid on it, though, as the more he stewed, the more of that stewing leaked out into the others – and the more inexplicably frustrated the others became, the more likely it was that he’d have to sit through yet another lecture about responsibility and patience.

Sure enough, thankfully, it wasn’t long before the dreadful itching and the sensation of being uncomfortably compressed began again in force. The clutch were better prepared this time, knowing from experience what they need to do, and started gnawing at one another almost as soon as they noticed it beginning. Their teeth and jaws were stronger now, as a few careless bites proved kind of painfully, but it was worth it to finally slump stretched out, nymphs at last. No longer grublike, they were changelings in miniature, around the size of a young post-toddling foal and complete with their brand new tiny wings still crumpled and damp.

Just as they had with the last moult, the caretakers greeted this new instar with celebration and much affection, helping them to get used to their new forms and legs. This time, though, there was a bittersweet note to it that he and the others could sense more easily now but didn’t quite grasp, which had him wondering. That was, until they were arranged into their nest groups, each paired with a caretaker, and bade to follow. Clearly, something of significance was happening. For all that he’d been in many, many more thrilling situations before, Black Hat found that whatever equivalent of a heart he possessed was pumping harder as he realised that they were being led out of the hatchery. “Keep up, Nest Joro, that’s it.” Their caretaker called, when the unsteadiest of them fell behind. “Not far now.” It wasn’t far at all, before they were led into a space very like the hatchery, but filled with other nymphs. Now he thought he understood – they weren’t being sent into a test or culling, as he’d thought might explain the bittersweet tang to the caretakers’ emotions, but simply being handed over to a different set of caretakers – or was it hoofed over?

The Queen herself was there, which likely kept the others from noticing and bawling when their familiar caretakers slipped out. There were other caretakers present, and the wide-staring eyes of many, many other nymphs of varying size, waiting in the cavernous, softly lit chamber. An air of ceremony and significance had settled into the air, and nervousness rippled through their ranks – but the Queen was smiling. Black Hat took that as an encouraging sign, and gave the nymph in front a pointed mental shove to get them moving, since it seemed their nest was first to whatever this was. As he and the others watched, the nymph drifted towards the Queen with wide, wondering eyes, pausing just a caretaker’s length from her as she smiled down at them. “Hello, my little changeling.” She crooned, giving the nymph a little caress on the cheek. They chirped up to her, giving her a bright smile, and she chuckled warmly. “As you take your first steps in nymphhood, the time has come for you to be named. Little bright one, I name you Firefly of Joro.”

There was an extra pulse through the hivemind at the uttering of that name, and nymphs and caretakers alike echoed it to the beaming nymph, who squeaked their new name all the way as they were guided to one side. A quiet nymph was next named, Silk of Joro, followed by bold Chitin, acquisitive Aphid, rambunctious Dragonfly, creative Honey, protective Elytron and, last of his nest, the horror himself. He told himself, as he strode closer, that he was not tense – but the truth was quite the opposite. The only name he recalled truly possessing, he had given to himself, bereft of any that might have been given to him as a true child. So, as much as he’d deny it, his pulse was racing, audible in his ears as he stopped and peered up at Sclerite, eyes just as wide as the others. He’d been given a name once, he was almost sure, but it was long lost to time, and another had been lost to him before he could even learn it, but now – now he was being granted an entirely new one.

Sclerite caressed him gently, just as she had for those who’d stepped up before him, and he leaned into it just slightly, a little more swept up in the moment than he’d have liked to admit – he planned to blame the whole being a nascent empath in an emotionally-charged room thing. “Hello, my little changeling. You’ve had quite an eventful wait for this, haven’t you?” She began, with affection in her tone, in her eyes as she gazed down at his rapt expression. “As you take your first steps in nymphhood, the time has come for you to be named. Little fierce one, I name you Sparrowbee of Joro.” The name resonated through his mind like a gong, with the brush of its meaning from the Queen – she’d named him for an Neighponese giant hornet, one whose Earth counterpart he certainly knew of, and one he rather liked the comparison to. His nest’s name, too, he learned the meaning of – a golden orb-weaver spider, thought in folklore to become a beautiful false love and devour lovesick victims. Fitting, though without quite the same emotional impact as the personal name still reverberating through his being.

Pride and warmth bubbled up in his small frame as his new name was chanted, filling him so full he thought he’d burst from it, an odd little squeaking noise in his throat as he gave the Queen the brightest smile he’d yet had in this form. He hadn’t considered how much it would affect him to be given a name by a parental figure, but it was… somewhat intense. At least he had the excuse of his youthful form to cover for the emotional reaction every empath in the room could feel – or so he told himself as he fought to keep from welling up. His new wings would have given it away even if everybuggy present had been mindblind, though, buzzing frenetically as he was guided over to where the rest of his nest waited, still giddy while they watched the other nests receive their names.

Once the ceremony was over, the caretakers distracted them from the Queen’s departure with the unveiling of an array of succulent and wonderfully fragrant dishes. Actual food! They licked their lips at the sight of the assorted insects, rodents and birds, each either crystallised, fried or otherwise smothered in a sauce that proved upon tasting to be infused with love. As he dined, relishing the discovery that he could still consume flesh, the horror decided that although he would of course not discard his chosen name, he would gladly bear his new given name as a changeling. A name was not a gift to lightly discard, and he felt that this one fit him rather well.

As with many parties, the food was gone rather sooner than the participants might have liked – but the older nymphs were eager to teach them some games. Sparrowbee suspected that, in the case of charades, they meant to enjoy the little newbies not being able to guess much, but he’d no qualms with playing to the best of his ability – and showing his nestmates how to ‘cheat’ by querying the hivemind for clues or answers. He rather suspected, too, that this was one of the roles of this game – to teach nymphs to turn to the hivemind for answers, and how to do so effectively. Silk was one of those best at the game so far, of his nest, and he made a mental note of these observational skills. They might, he mused, prove useful at a later date. Finally, quite pleased with how the day had gone and still filled with a heady breath of elation, he bedded down in his clutch’s new nest site, closing his eyes. The feel of the others snuggled in around him was familiar now, and it wasn’t long before he was drifting into the realm of dreams – which was precisely where he wanted to be.

Author's Note

An attempt at Firefly.

Chapter Five: Delve Into Dreaming

Things were vaguer in dreams, the flow of time fuzzier, but Sparrowbee was quite aware of what he wanted to do. Leaping into the air like a frog, he began to swim – it made sense to him at the time. His wings were only new, after all, and the night sky did look particularly like an expanse of deep dark liquid, intermittently bedazzled. It was a relaxing swim, and he was tempted to slow down to enjoy it, and sing with the stars. He pressed on, though, despite enjoying the increased vividness to dreams this realm offered in this case. Soon enough, far too soon to be realistic, he touched down on the soft lunar surface. It was so tempting to take a delicious nougat bite, or bounce-bounce-bounce, but… wasn’t there something he’d come for? What was it again… Ah, yes, that was it.

“Priiiiiiiinceeeeeeessssss!” He hollered, cupping his mouth with appendages that didn’t seem to know whether they were hands, hooves, or possibly tentacles. “Wheeeeeerrrrre aaaarrrrrre yoooooouuuu?” It was getting woollier, harder to grasp the substance of the dream, and he dimly realised that his awareness was fading. If he didn’t find his quarry soon, he’d have to chalk this one up as a failure, and he didn’t like having to do that. Maybe calling her name would be more effective? Didn’t she have two? Which one should he call, and what were they again? “Nnnnniiiiiightmmmooooonnn Wooooonnnnaaaa!” It struck him faintly that something about his attempt at her name was garbled, but his mind was somewhat too sleep-fogged to grasp precisely how. He could barely see the moon any more, and the stars not at all – but as he sank deeper into Morpheus’ embrace, he just about perceived a snort, and a dark shadow. Not having the wherewithal to remain, he lapsed into unconscious blankness.

Within her lunar prison, Nightmare Moon stared at the spot the ‘young’ dreamer had melted from. While it had been both amusingly and embarrassingly distorted, it was clear to her that the apparent child’s utterance had been meant to be her name. While she’d certainly sown nightmares among the slumberers during her exile, never once had one sought her out so blatantly. What could he possibly have wanted with her? What had he even been? His shape had hardly been what she’d call stable… Then again, considering his mode of addressing her, perhaps it had been a consequence of his fatigue? In any case, it had been an interesting break in the monotony of her seemingly-endless incarceration, and quite pleasing to have a petitioner of any sort. He’d seemed youthful, too – perhaps she could coach him, teach him to revere her night and prepare for her return? Oh, she definitely hoped he’d emerge into her domain again – preferably well enough rested for intelligent conversation.

Upon waking, Sparrowbee suppressed a groan – both as he was somewhat too comfy to want to get up, and as he recalled how little he’d achieved the previous night. Clearly, his first day of nymphhood had been more tiring than he’d anticipated. His cheeks heated a little as he recalled just what manner of foolery he’d wound up spouting, and he hoped that wouldn’t set him back in his preparations. Having an alicorn even loosely on side could be invaluable, and right now she was in the sort of mental frame for him to make his approach. It was yet another big risk, but she was neutralised at best for now, he figured, and the payoff could be very much worth it. Besides, she was currently a villain, and he knew villains. If anyone could get something out of the Mare in the Moon, surely it would be him, right?

Yes, he knew she would be redeemed during her triumphant return, but he could use that, too. From what he knew of her character, she was a forthright sort, and quite likely enamoured with old-fashioned ideals of things such as honour. If he could get her to uphold an arrangement regardless of the outcome of her return, surely her redeemed self might well feel honour-bound to uphold her end of the deal – so long as it didn’t seem too unpalatable. It was definitely a roll of the dice, and not one he’d have rushed into taking if Chrysalis hadn’t been a factor – starting slow and not involving major players so soon would have made his enforced quest more satisfying, but dear Chryssie just had to botch an operation that would have most if not all major powers in the area in likely vendetta against any and all changelings. That would, in combination with this world’s obvious Good bias, make love gathering and infiltration ludicrously perilous, and even hives themselves could be smoked out.

That was not a workable situation if he wanted to both avoid starvation and work towards freeing himself – not to mention, hives under threat would contain vulnerable maggoty-looking young, not all even possessing the means to get away under their own steam. There was no way ‘harmony’ could guarantee their safety from xenophobic stomping, something cutting altogether too close to home. Therefore, he had to curry the favour of the Princess he thought he’d be able to make any form of meaningful connection with. The one Princess, in fact, who was slated to be absent for the majority of the wedding fiasco. If he played his cards right, whatever she’d have been doing instead of attending a fellow Princess’ wedding – which would surely be significant enough for even a nocturnal ruler to wake for – could end up protecting other hives from backlash. Crucially, including his own, and thus also his project.

True, she probably wouldn’t be all that sympathetic to changelings right off the bat, but he thought he knew just what carrot to dangle – one that could serve both as insurance and rite of passage at the same time. He’d likely need help pulling it off, to his chagrin, but – his train of thought was fractured as his face slammed into Chitin’s butt, the other nymph having stopped in their tracks. While he’d been immersed in his plotting, he’d barely paid attention to his surroundings as he and the others were led to breakfast. An older nymph guffawed, not bothering to subside at his acid glare, and Sparrowbee made a mental note of the other’s face and scent. Who even was that? As was becoming habit by now, he pinged the hivemind for information on this other nymph, making a mental note as he did to try not to become dependent on the hivemind for everything. His observational skills clearly needed sharpening anyway, and dulling them further would not be at all of use.

Chapter Six: Enter Academia

At its most basic and oversimplified, the hivemind was akin to an archive of accumulated information, stored in living minds, some of whom devoted their time to fact-checking and transcription to hard copy. A changeling could hold information back from access, but any that was not thus restricted could be accessed fairly easily without any need for the minds storing that information to even be bothered. If he had to describe it, Sparrowbee would have said that dipping into that information was more like zipping through an odd network of tubes connected to key words and concepts in search of the understanding he sought than searching something up in a file directory, but he had no way of knowing yet if this was normal for a surface-level ping. It could simply have been an individual thing, or one of inexperience. In any case, while it was immersive, it didn’t prevent him from eating or perceiving what was around him any more than a daydream would. It actually felt right, and somewhat fun besides, which was kind of disconcerting when he compared it to the panic he’d felt when he first noticed that he had a connection in his mind, but he set that aside as something to worry about another time.

As it turned out, the nymph who’d sneered at him over their love and rat soup – if one could even call it a sneer – was a fellow by the name of Sternite, who was apparently his nest’s full brother. As he sipped, he pondered how to proceed. If he’d been a true child in this situation, he could imagine having felt the first stirrings of rivalry – but with him as he was, it would hardly be more than toying with someone less equipped for a battle of wits. Well, it would be beneath him to take it too far, but if Sternite wanted to start something, he wouldn’t be averse to playful mischief here and there… by his standards – but unless Sternite acted, neither would he.

Setting his bowl aside, Sparrowbee glanced across at the rest of his clutchmates. Noticing that they were already being herded in a new direction, he moved to join them. If they were actually getting to leave the nursery, he didn’t want to be left behind. Though this time he was careful not to run into anybuggy’s rear, he drank in as much of their surroundings as he could while they followed the caretakers. Drawing nearer, hooves clacking against the smooth floor, a realisation dawned on him as the air filled with the chatter of many young changelings. He could see what looked like some kind of playground just outside what seemed to be a child-oriented structure he’d have called a building if he was sure whether it would even count as such when it was already a part of the hive. Was a hive a building if it was dug into rock? Not a question for right then, he decided, instead focusing on what all this meant. After untold centuries of picking things up as he went along, he was ending up in a school after all. Joy. Well, he mused as he trooped in with the others, perhaps this would be interesting.

Before too long, he and the others found themselves sat in a little swarm on a rather fluffy carpet of moss with three other nest groups, in a cheerfully decorated classroom softly illuminated by the same dangling amber lights as the rest of the hive so far. The lighting would probably have been a tad too dim for a pony student, but it seemed their eyes were adapted for this, as Sparrowbee could make out all the colours in the posters and the clearly nymph-drawn or painted art. Tucked away in little nooks around the room, boxes of toys were also visible – well, they were just out of grubhood. Was this… a kindergarten? The teacher, sat in front of them on the moss, was of round the same basic appearance as the caretakers they knew, but androgynous of feature and glasses-clad, while a slightly timid male assistant with pale purple accents hoofed them a box of something. Both of them smiled warmly at the assembled nymphs, and the teacher began to speak and broadcast. “Good morning, class – my name is Mx Cricket, and I’ll be your teacher this year, with my assistant Mr Scarab.” The aforementioned Scarab gave them a little wave, prompting some of the nymphs to wave back, Honey among them. “We hope that you’ll enjoy learning from us.”

As it turned out, the first activity after a brief round of introductions involved the alphabet – not too strenuous, but they weren’t allowed to crib from the hivemind, and the glyphs were unfamiliar to even the most advanced of them. Sparrowbee had learned new languages before, though, so he was hardly worried. Mx Cricket introduced them to a new game, in which they had to identify the letters being shown to them on flashcards from the box Mr Scarab had fetched, and make the associated sound. It was fairly basic fun, but fun nonetheless, which would hopefully aid in absorbing the information. Sparrowbee hadn’t realised that he and the other young ones had restricted access to the hivemind’s information, but it made sense to him. After all, if they tried to get by solely on what the hivemind could tell them, they would be lost if they were somehow separated, or had to try to learn something new for the hive.

Then, it was storytime, Mx Cricket beginning to read the story of a nymph’s many early transformation mishaps to them from a picture book while Mr Scarab went to fetch something. They held the book open towards the nymphs in their magic, pointing along the words being read with a hoof as they did. Again, it was somewhat basic for Sparrowbee’s taste, but it was amusing anyway, and possibly a useful preview of things to come. Mr Scarab, upon his return at the end of the story, passed snacks around – sippy cups of love-infused syrup and caramelised mice, which the class gleefully partook of while Mx Cricket told them what was next. Basic maths, it seemed, which Sparrowbee found interminably boring, except for the unfamiliar numerals. It seemed to take forever, just learning the numbers up to ten and the difference between odd and even. He could tell that it presented genuine difficulty to others in the class, including his nestmates, but he couldn’t help being frustrated. In an effort to keep that frustration from leaking and drawing attention, he focused on trying to memorise the numerals – but he was nonetheless relieved when playtime was announced, joining in with the general excited clamour for the toyboxes being passed around. He wasn’t as genuinely excited about it as the others, but his current youth gave him the excuse for exuberance and he took it.

There were dolls, both plush and solid, many carved from wood or stone. He suspected, as he seized one of what seemed to be a particularly soft dragon, that many of these had been stolen or bought in disguise. Then again, he didn’t know how changelings were with toymaking. He idly played with his selection for a moment or two, before bringing it over to terrorise a pretend pony village some nymphs from a different nest were playing with. They giggled as they made the ponies flee, with mock cries of alarm, and retorted with a carved warrior pegasus they claimed to be a disguised changeling. Chuckling somewhat himself, he indulged in the dramatic pitched battle of fabric and wood, before having his dragon lead the changeling out of sight of the village. Then, he seized a plush changeling and switched it with the dragon. “So the dragon was a changeling all along, tricking the ponies so the other ‘ling could get more love pretending to’ve saved the town.” He declared, careful not to make his speech too eloquent. The others seemed pleased with this, having their changeling hoofbump his, before pressing some wooden ponies into his hooves and dragging him into the massive celebration party.

It was actually kind of fun, in an indulging-kids kind of way, but he returned to his place readily enough when playtime was declared over. From the gleam in Mx Cricket’s eyes, he got the impression it would be something fun. His eager anticipation was soon rewarded when, once they were all sat comfortably, the teacher began to talk them through the basics of finding their magic. “That’s right, slow your breathing and relax. Allow your thoughts to drift, picture a warm glow inside you, one that you’re drifting towards. When you find it, try to reach out and touch it.” Their mental presence was gentle as they soothed the fretful ones, helped to relax those still thrumming with too many busy-buzzing thoughts. Sparrowbee, used to calling on his magic automatically, actually wasn’t the first – that was a chubby-cheeked nymph named Chirp, whose horn began to glow a faint green that flickered out when they and their nest celebrated. He did, however, manage to be the next to light his horn, sinking blissfully into the welcoming warmth of his magic. He had to be shaken out of it by his nestmates’ celebration before he was responsive again, a giddy glee clear in his features. After all that time spent without access to it, the feeling of reconnecting to it was quite a rush.

They spent a while longer getting a handle on it, figuring out how to turn the glow of their horns on and off, before being told to line up by the door for lunch. After a few false starts and re-organisations by the adults, the nymphs were trooped towards a spacious chamber with an array of tables and seats, joining the queue for the trays. Once he had his tray, Sparrowbee followed the flow of the line up to the dinner distributor, who deposited a sippy cup of what seemed to be some kind of love cordial onto his tray, alongside a plate of unidentified meat chunks in a gravy he assumed to be partially love syrup. Seating himself with Elytron and Silk on either side, he pondered the lack of cutlery. Well, nobuggy else seemed to expect the new nymphs to use them, so he took his cue from the others and leaned his head down to greedily devour the delectable dish. It did taste like some kind of love, but while he was beginning to learn that love came in myriad flavours, he couldn’t yet identify them. No matter, he was sure he’d soon be a connoisseur. Over lunch, he listened to the others’ idle conversations, weighing in from time to time, but for the most part his focus lay in the consumption of his meal.

It wasn’t too long before his class finished eating, whereupon they hit upon the idea of checking out the playground. Once they were out there amidst the play equipment, it was chaos, tiny changelings scattering through the place in a frenetic attempt to try everything. It reminded him of that game with the mini hoards, actually, and he grinned to himself as he gathered some of the playground toys into groups. His own nest, when he pinged them with a general impression of his intentions, were eager enough, and some of the others were curious enough to join in. This, he thought, was a great way to establish himself to the rest of the younger nymphs as a leader. The older ones would probably take more persuading, but that could wait. At least this time there seemed to be less confusion over what made an effective strategy.

After a while, an unmistakeable mental call pierced their focus like a whistle – at first, they didn’t really know what to do, but with both Silk and Sparrowbee pointing out what the older nymphs were doing, it wasn’t too long before they were lined up once more and trooping back into their classroom. It took a few minutes for the adults to get them settled down again – threatening to remove minutes from the next day’s break helped. Then, once they were sure they had everybuggy’s attention, Mx Cricket began to outline some wing exercises they wanted the class to run through. Both they and Mr Scarab demonstrated, coaching the little ones on each distinct movement. Stretch – up, down, out, forward, back. Buzz – slow, fast, in between. Varying the pitch of the buzz – apparently messages could be conveyed that way without relying on the hivemind.

All in all, it was progress, but it was tiring, and it was a relief to most of them when they were turned loose on the chalks and slates for art. At the very least, it was fun, but it was also valuable practise in the skill of gripping things in what seemed to be a magic field upon their forehooves. By the end of the class – and, it seemed, the school day – Sparrowbee had managed a single almost mediocre depiction of the teacher. Well, he considered it such, but considering he’d spent the entire lesson trying to get it right – and art had been a centuries-long hobby of his before – he supposed he oughtn’t be surprised it was one of the ones Mx Cricket liked particularly. All but the pictures the nymphs didn’t want to bring back to the nests were hung up, after Mr Scarab applied a preserving layer of translucent resin to all of them to prevent the chalk smearing off. The caretakers having arrived, the nymphs were lined up once more and led tired but cheerful back to the nursery to relax a while before dinner.

Author's Note

Here's Dragonfly - they're a bit paler than most of the hive as they have some recessive genes reducing pigment in the main sections. Relative to some hives, like Chrysalis', the entire hive is reduced in main carapace pigment.

Chapter Seven: The State Of Things

While Sparrowbee and his fellow nymphs settled in for dinner, a significant portion of the hive was occupied with a different form of pressing matter. Queen Sclerite, her unflappable regal mask firmly in place, stood in attendance at the fore of a dais, overlooking a sea of sombre and worried changelings. One of these, the relevant district’s head of operations, had only just retaken her place following a speech she’d delivered. It was all too obvious to the Queen that everyling present knew what was coming, but her regret couldn’t change the facts. Due to the steady march of time and the difficulty of acquisition, the district no longer had even one pod pony to sustain them, and it was unclear when any new ones could be brought in. The pickings were rather slim, after all, and the risks associated with venturing out had certainly not lessened. The necessary course of action, therefore, was clear as glass.

While she gazed out at them all, delivering a consoling speech of her own, she located their presences in the hivemind. Without disconnecting them from one another, she gently prised them loose from the main hivemind, giving each mind a faintly apologetic brush of emotion. Not one of them resisted, nor requested to be transferred to another district, their gazes resolute, unwavering. “I am so proud of you.” She confided, in a murmur that reached every changeling in the chamber, and they smiled up at her with a trust that stung at her heart as she sank their minds into the enveloping blankness of hibernation. Without the love to sustain them, she couldn’t justify having them active and consuming resources – but living in Quarry Eel territory, there was no guarantee they’d wake.

Unlike the larvae, grubs and nymphs gathered in their sanctuaries in the core, these hive members lived near the edge of Crag Hold, and they wouldn’t be the first hibernating district to be lost if it all did go wrong, whether by outright destruction or less direct damage caused by disturbances elsewhere in the hive. She’d post guards, of course, but there was only so much they could do against Quarry Eels. If only mature changelings could feed on the love of their own kind, as the young could, things might have been different... As it stood, however, it was this or send them out to try to catch a new loving creature – and very few of this district were Infiltrators and the like. Most, in fact, were of the Builder caste – great for hive upkeep when it was so often damaged, but far from the subtlest of changelings when it came to disguises or weaving a believable role. She watched as a team of Workers stowed the hibernating changelings in longsleep pods for as much insulation from the outside world as that could afford, her thoughts circling around the scene, and she only strode out once all were tucked away and under guard. They were her people, many of them her own children, and it was her responsibility to see them off into the dark.

She was tempted to take her mind off such weighty things and visit the young ones again, to at least get some mental breathing space, but one of her advisors had alerted her to a problem with the podded puppies they’d been trying to stretch supplies with. Apparently, she was told when she made her way over to inspect them, figuring out the right goo composition to keep them both healthy and happily dreaming was somewhat finicky and time-consuming. It was, the pod managers informed her, a lot of effort for relatively low-grade love. It wasn’t that the puppies weren’t loving – they were simply somewhat lossy to extract that love from, not being quite as sentient as a pony or other creature with civilisation. The decision she had to make was this: was it worth the effort to keep this project running for the low-grade but still consumable love, or would the hive be better served if she reassigned the pod managers to pony pods to maximise staffing and concentration of effort there?

She considered the issue for a while, consulting the available reports, before electing to continue the project. Any source of love was vital, especially if she had a young Royal to nurture. As soon as any nymph began to show the signs of developing into the Royal caste, their love requirement began drastically increasing – and changeling love could only take them so far. Royals developed quite rarely, and a typical hive could only sustain one growing nymph of the caste at a time, especially during adolescence – partly as adolescent Royals in close proximity were prone to competition and outright conflict. Knowing that one was waiting in the wings would at least give her some time to prepare, but the issue was still thornier than she’d have liked. It came quite naturally to a Royal to desire Royal heirs, but when that desire came into conflict with the situation, it could be quite stressful.

What if she sent out some of her Warriors out to intercept love-carrying changelings from other hives? A desperate move, and a risky course of action – perhaps it would be best to see if another pony or so could be acquired first, but sooner or later they’d have to get aggressive in their tactics. Aedeagus had said it before, and in this case, she had to admit that he was right. While getting into conflict with other hives or the Equestrians was far from ideal, she could not allow her hive to starve. If he’d been there, she’d have turned to him to aid her in working this out, but he and his patrol were otherwise occupied, retaking some of the lower tunnels from the nesting eels that had taken up residence there. Withdrawing to her chambers, she began drawing up plans, suppressing a slight shake in her hoof. She was the Queen. She was resolute. It was her duty.

Chapter Eight: An Unusual Alliance

When he sank into slumber this time around, Sparrowbee had elected to turn in early, both because it had been a long day and because he wanted to avoid embarrassing himself again. The others were still sending mental images to one another, but it wasn’t too hard to block that out and sink once more into dreaming. He was more lucid than the previous night, and less unhurried – rather than take a leisurely swim, he dreamed himself up a jetpack. Cackling to himself as he fired up the pack, he launched himself into the skies at improbable speeds, bouncing between the stars like a pinball until he collided with the surface of the moon with a pomph sound. Sure, space didn’t really work like that, but who cared? It was a dream, after all.

No longer needed, the jetpack melted away, his form stabilising a bit more towards his nymph appearance in its absence. Right. He was in roughly the right place and still coherent – that was good progress. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his posture and projected his voice – but not his hivemind presence, as the person he sought was no changeling. “Princess! Are you there?” He called, swivelling his head as he searched the horizon. No sign yet, but he wasn’t going to just stand around like a lemon and wait for something to happen. Setting off at a trot, he continued to call out, growing increasingly frustrated.

He was just wondering whether this would be another bust – when the sound of another, louder pomph from behind him had him whirling around, a big grin splitting his features as he beheld the immense equine regarding him with amused catlike eyes, one brow raised. “Who seeks Nightmare Moon?” She enquired in regal – and somewhat loud - tones, clearly giving him a close examination. Had she ever seen a changeling before? He didn’t know if Chrysalis had ever clashed with the Royal Sisters before, but there was something in the Princess’ eyes, and he couldn’t help wondering if he’d overplayed his hand. Well, nothing to do but press on, he supposed.

“Sparrowbee, your highness.” He began, maintaining eye contact as he gave her a small but apparently respectful bow. Etiquette was vital when first conversing with either royalty or a mark, and certainly for both. “I’m aware that I’m not one of your little ponies, but I am an admirer of your night sky, and I wanted to greet you.” Her brows lifted at this unexpected eloquence, but something in her expression had shifted, a hint of gratification amidst the suspicion. After so long alone, he was reasonably hopeful that she’d take the chance – but the moment of silent consideration remained somewhat tense.

“Did thy Queen send thee?” Came her arch response – not the warmest of tones, but far from an outright dismissal. Still, he wasn’t best pleased to discover that she already knew something of changelings. He shook his head, to what seemed to be her pleased surprise, though it was muffled. Peering up at her with the most earnest expression he could manage, he explained that after hearing her legend, he’d decided himself to seek her out. “Why? What is there for thee in this endeavour?” Hints of genuine curiosity were clear enough for him to discern, and he gave her a bright smile and a buzz of his wings to both disguise his relieved glee and turn up the cute.

“More than one reason, really.” He piped up, careful not to let the cuteness lapse. If the bear back home could manage it, surely so could he. “I wanted to see for myself that you were real, first – and now I know you are, I want to make a deal.” Smiling at her in what he hoped was a disarming way, he watched bemused incredulity dance across her features. A lone child of any sort proposing a deal was odd enough, but a changeling not even Queen-sent? It came as no surprise to him that she asked just what kind of deal he had in mind. “Well, from the story, what you really wanted was ponies who’d be awake to admire your night, right?” He began in seeming earnestness, to her querying nod. She was clearly wondering what he was getting at. “My point is this – not only can changelings adapt our sleep schedule, we have the ability to customise ourselves – and, by extension, create customised ponies. By the time you break free, I will be either in command of my own hive, or working towards that position. With that authority, I will be able to have nocturnal versions of your little ponies created and raised to appreciate the splendour of your night.”

That was a bold claim, and there was no hiding her astonishment – but was this too good to be true? Narrowing her eyes, she leaned down to peer suspiciously at the brazen little bugfoal. “Thy intention is to usurp Chrysalis?” She doubted very much that the self-proclaimed Queen of the changelings was the sort to groom a successor, not when she might rule indefinitely. It seemed this was a meeting filled with surprises, though, as he scowled and shook his head, explaining that Chrysalis was Queen of only one hive. That the changelings were a scattered assemblance of city-states, each young Royal either setting out to found their own or inheriting their Royal predecessor’s.

The idea of even more changelings than she’d thought was somewhat disconcerting, if she was honest with herself – Chrysalis’ alone had devastated both Trot and Timbucktu in their day – but… it was telling that in all this time, there had been no clashes with those other hives. “What is in this for thee, striding meals? We will have no part in an arrangement that would see our new subjects drained to husks.” She proclaimed, arching a brow at her little petitioner. He’d presented quite a carrot, but she suspected a stick to go with it – or perhaps that this carrot was a stick painted orange, so to speak.

“A pony drained cannot give love again, your highness – I propose a more renewable, symbiotic arrangement. We would raise and care for the night ponies, who in turn would love us – which we could feed from less aggressively than if it were not freely given. Nopony would be a slave, and noling would starve.” Sparrowbee explained, keeping his tone earnest and level. The subject of feeding mechanics hadn’t technically been explained in class yet, but he had badgered a caretaker into giving him an overview of the basics, the better to plan ahead. He was aware that his speech pattern was well above the expected level for his supposed age, but he was banking on Nightmare Moon not knowing how a changeling child was supposed to develop.

“What I desire is your forbearance where my hive is concerned, that whatever the outcome of your return, my hive will be vouched for by your royal highness and exempt from retributions provoked by any other hive. You would be a welcomed guest at my hive, should you choose to visit, and noling would hide the night ponies from your sight.” He realised as he took a breath that he was no less lucid than before – more, in fact. A consequence of the Moon Princess’ power? He hoped it meant that she wished to give his offer more than cursory consideration.

It took a few moments for the oddly loquacious nymph’s plan to sink in, the royal mare giving the idea considerable thought as she tried to figure out whether there was a catch. “Would they be educated, free to pursue their careers?” She demanded, trying to catch him out – but he nodded, well aware that she’d never tolerate anypony she called her own being treated as a pet or farmed creature. While he didn’t inform her of the extent to which he intended it to be so, he claimed that the night ponies would be considered as much a part of his hive as any of the changelings. Her expression gradually eased from its suspicious severity, and she smiled slightly. Between that and the assurance that she could see her new subjects at any time, the offer was sounding too good to pass up, and his reasoning understandable in its self-preservational tactics. “How wouldst thou like to seal this arrangement? No treaty paper signed in dream can be read outside of it.”

This, Sparrowbee had to admit, was a valid point – and he wasn’t about to assume that anything written in a dream would remain the same, even if he could have read it. His expression of careful thought was pleasing to see, from what he could tell of her expression – Nightmare Moon detested fools, and had he given the matter little thought, she would have considered him not worth striking any form of deal with. “A verbal agreement to abide by the arrangement, to be put onto page following your return.” He suggested, an idea occurring to him. “I’ve heard of a pony form of oath called a Pinkie Promise – would that be amenable?” Her features assumed a faintly puzzled mien, as she hadn’t heard of any such thing. A modern custom, perhaps? It didn’t strike her as odd that a changeling would be aware of such a thing, though, given how easily they could blend in among ponies.

After giving it some thought, she asked to hear the words of the oath. ...Was that… some form of playground vow? She had almost forgotten that she was dealing with a foal, and a foreign one at that. To look at him, it seemed that he truly believed this childish string of words to be a binding agreement. That was… kind of endearing, actually. With an indulgent smile, she began to regally intone the words with as much dignity as she could infuse them with. “I, the Princess of the night, do swear to uphold the agreement made this night with the changeling Sparrowbee – cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” Performing the actions he had described was almost a step too far, but when she saw how he lit up with a bright smile just for her, she felt warmed and did not regret it.

In turn, Sparrowbee assumed a seemingly childish attempt at a dignified posture to deliver his own version of the same oath. “I, heir to Queen Sclerite, do swear to uphold the agreement made this night with the Princess of the night – cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” He repeated, the motions making a return appearance. Unbeknownst to either, a tiny pink filly stirred in her sleep, somewhere on a rock farm many miles from either of them. A Pinkie Promise had been made and sealed – no take-backsies.

Chapter Nine: Machinations

As time rolled along, Sparrowbee thought he was getting the hang of kindergarten. The routine grew ever more familiar, as did the glyphs and numerals that had been so puzzling before. More problematic was learning to grasp things with magic – a task that had many nymphs scrunching their faces and sticking out their tongues in effort – but it was definitely worth it. Alongside the clear mental imagery required, it was another opportunity to dip into the warm pool of his magic. It felt odd at first, actually wrapping his magic around something, but he and the others were quickly getting the hang of it. This was key, as one of the ways they had to practise writing and drawing was with their horns. Unfortunately, as not everypony they might disguise themselves as were unicorns they also had to practise it with their mouths. Not the most pleasant of prospects, but it did mean that those whose magic grip gave out still had a way to take part in the lessons.

Wing exercises, tiring as they were, had definite benefits too, and Dragonfly had even managed to reach the ceiling a few times. Seeing their whooping classmate take to the air spurred the others on all the more, but Elytron had noticed something that had them all concerned. “Why’re the grown ups getting as tired as we are? They’re s’pposed to be big an’ strong.” They murmured to the rest of their nest one lunchtime, to Silk’s wary agreement. Firefly thought aloud that maybe they’d been having epic night-time dance parties, to Honey and Chitin’s amusement. Unsure what to think, Elytron and Silk peer at Sparrowbee for his take on the issue.

Likewise amused by Firefly’s idea, but concerned that those in charge of their education were growing listless easily, he turned his attention out into the hivemind, feeling for Mx Cricket and Mr Scarab’s presences. He was careful not to poke them upon discovery, but he absorbed as much information as he could passively while he observed them. Upon returning his focus outwards, he took a slow breath and fixed his nestmates with a serious expression, hooves pressed together as if he were steepling fingers. The others leaned in a touch, and he wasted no more time. “They’re not partied out, they’re hungry.” He explained simply, to which Dragonfly immediately began to ask why they didn’t just eat already. Holding one hoof up, he shook his head. “I can’t tell for sure without them noticing that I’m peeking – it’s not out in the open. Look at the other adults, though… Do you see anyling who isn’t tired like that?” There was a pregnant pause, the assembled nymph taking a long look around them, realising with a rising sense of apprehension that it was true. Every single adult in sight looked worn around the eyes, droop-winged and dull-carapaced. Whatever it meant, it surely couldn’t be anything good.

In their startled focus, even Silk failed to notice that they had company until an unexpected wry chuckle made most of them jump. “So you noticed too, huh lil sprouts?” The older nymph who’d spoken showed some signs of developing female traits, along with the wirier frame and more specialised wings of somebuggy in the process of becoming a Scout. They didn’t yet know what that meant, nor her name, but they recognised her as part of Polyergus nest – which Sparrowbee idly recalled to be Sternite’s. “I heard most’ve the hive’s on half rations or less by now – not enough ponies in pods, not enough love to go around. I reckon it won’t be long before some’ve those grown ups’re too worn down and hungry to even show up – maybe not ever again.”

From her tone, it sounded very much as though she was trying to scare them, perhaps to distract herself from her own fear. Before she could move onto more detail, though, Honey decided to prevent her from waxing more eloquent and maybe upsetting all of them further. To do this, they employed a skill honed through grubhood practise – bursting into tears on cue. Playing it up like a consummate little actor, the diminutive nymph managed to both drown out whatever else their visitor had to say and attract quite a bit of attention. From there, it was practically grub’s play to implicate and thus drive off the older nymph. This time, anyway. Though they outwardly maintained their sniffles, Honey projected a sense of satisfaction to the rest of Joro as they were ‘consoled’. While it wasn’t the sort of skill that could weather overuse, it was cunning, and Sparrowbee decided to send Honey a faint sense of approval, drawing a little smile.

From a different table, another older nymph watched them. He’d been the one to send his nestmate over to spook Joro nest, though not simply out of petty spite. He’d noticed the clear leadership that nest possessed, the way they already confidently expected nymphs their own age and slightly above to join in with games they ran. He’d had his eye on them since that first game of charades, when they’d seemed to have altogether too much of a clue about what was going on for being such new nymphs. It was distinctly worrying. Not only because, as one of his more fretful nestmates pointed out, nymphs in stories who seemed to understand too much were often what they seemed, but more because it meant he had competition. True, as the older nymph, he had time on his side, but Sternite had no intention of taking that for granted. If he wanted to secure his coveted place in life, he had to be proactive.

Much like a pony’s cutie mark, a changeling’s caste wasn’t set in stone from the start – it was something that developed over time, influenced by a nymph’s preferences and proficiencies and could be redirected partway. In that regard, it was a little like a nymph’s developing gender, but much more important from Sternite’s perspective. After all, while many of those with an aptitude for command could easily find themselves as Warriors with command positions, somebuggy as precocious as Joro’s dominant mind needed careful watching, and maybe more active intervention. Especially with love shortages a factor, he needed to secure his place if he was going to become a Prince. He already knew how to handle much of the youthful population, but with the younger ones, he wasn’t yet sure which buttons to press.

Brushing his mind against the others of his nest, he sought ideas, unwilling to leave planning for later. Then, as one suggestion ghosted across their thoughts, he smirked. Yes… Introducing them to a cluster of the Caste Questers could throw enough monkey wrenches into the works. Royal caste was something that usually took specific and continued effort to attain, and the chaos of the club who’d try anything at least once as they tried to find themselves ought to muddy the waters before this Sparrowbee realised what race he was falling behind in.

Author's Note

Sparrowbee's clutch are currently about Pipsqueak's height, while Sternite here is closer to Snails' height.

Chapter Ten: First Impressions

It was a weekend afternoon in the nursery, and Sparrowbee drifted back to awareness of his surroundings after a mental meeting with the Queen in a somewhat distracted mood. Apparently, there was indeed a serious love shortage – just as that nymph in the cafeteria had implied – and one that would be problematic at best for his goal of becoming a Royal, if he’d need as much love as her majesty claimed. Should he confide more in her about his plan? It could help cement his position, to give her the hope it might provide – but with the hive in such dire straits, she might simply pod all the resulting foals and not bother with any customising or the free roaming he’d promised Nightmare Moon…

He was startled out of his reverie by a glomp from Chitin, who seemed somewhat excited. “Naptime’s over, sleepy! Come on, we’ve got some new friends!” Puzzled and still adjusting to the situation, he allowed Chitin to guide him towards the rest of the nest, who were listening rapt to a trio of slightly older nymphs wearing yellow scarves. When they noticed their audience had grown, they each struck a pose and introduced themselves. They were, apparently, Chitter, Scurry and Bluebottle of the Caste Questers – a longstanding, multi-nest club dedicated to having fun while trying to figure out what path in life truly fit them. If Sparrowbee had researched the Cutie Mark Crusaders before getting stuck in this world, he’d have known to be wary. As it was, though, he was more bemused than anything.

He’d never been part of a club as a true child, and he wasn’t entirely sure how they were supposed to work. Not to mention, he already knew what caste he was aiming for. He was reluctant, but… the rest of his nest really wanted this, and he doubted he could afford a split in the nest at this stage if he wanted to maintain and expand on his rule. Besides, maybe he could use this to gain influence with more nymphs, rather than his time simply being wasted? He’d have to stay on the ball, make sure he took charge in as many activities as he could without being obnoxious. Lovely – another commitment to juggle.

With his course set, he began to ask questions. “Does the club explore the hive?” The others perked up at this, their eyes sparkling, and Scurry nodded – after all, as they explained gleeful, there was no better way to investigate all the castes. Now that had promise… Perhaps, now he could better comprehend changeling script, he could check out whatever library there might be? Slyly, he pointed out that there could be books about the castes in a place like that, maybe more knowhow than they could find on the hivemind yet. There were, as expected, a couple of dissenters – mostly due to the difficulty of reading at their stage of development – but the prospect of picture books was persuasive enough.

While it wasn’t quite the sort of quest the CQs had imagined, they latched onto it with an enthusiastic shout of ‘Caste Questers forever!’ As they began to lead the way, Sparrowbee noticed with bemused unease that he could hear some kind of music starting up, despite the lack of any visible instrument – and nobuggy seemed to see anything unusual about that. Not only that, but the CQs had broken into song, perfectly in time and with enviable harmony.

“We are the Caste Questers, a band of nymphs in need -
of a path to purpose, through every song and deed.
In the hive’s grand scheme, we’re sure to be a hit -
but first we have to work out just how we’re gonna fit!
Could we be Builders, big and tough and strong?
Maybe keeping our hive running is where we’ll belong!
Or will we be Infiltrators, deceiving ponykind?
We’d don a face and steal their love, while to our schemes they’d be blind!”

Okay, so he could kind of remember there being a lot of songs in the show, even from the limited amount of episodes he’d skimmed, but now the others of his nest were chiming in on cue – without any hivemind networking. This was distinctly weird – even he was bounding in step with the music as they ventured out of the nursery. He’d zoned out for a considerable portion of the song, unsettled, but he was rallying. If he just lagged behind in this song thing, which seemed to come so naturally to everybuggy, how could he convince them to follow him? As he dwelt on his intent to rule, words swam into his head, unbidden but his own. The others left him an opening automatically, and he took the plunge.

“Or perhaps I have a lofty goal, to reach the greatest height -
a wish to rule a hive someday, a quest for which I’ll fight!
If you support me on my way, I’ll make it worth your while -
for my hive won’t go hungry, my plan will make you smile!”

It seemed his solo had concluded the musical number, and with it their journey, the little group finding themselves stood in the doorway of a well-illuminated cavern lined with books as far as the eye could see. With a grin of anticipation, he rushed in at a gallop to find a table, wings buzzing enough that his gait wouldn’t have been out of place on the moon. It wasn’t too long before the entire group of them were gathered around a table piled with books – but after a moment, Sparrowbee realised that he was the only one actually trying to read. Ah. Right. His solo. With a distinctly awkward smile, he lowered the tome he’d been trying to get into and met the glittering, wide eyes of the other nymphs.

“Do you really want to be a Royal?” Chitter asked breathlessly, in tones very much like their namesake, and he nodded slowly, glancing around to check whether they were being observed. Nobuggy had seemed to really notice the musical number for some reason, but now that that particular piece of madness was over, there was no reason not to be cautious. At his confirmation, the excitement he could feel wafting from the others spiked, though the feel of it differed between his nestmates and the CQs. Wings buzzing, the club members exchanged glances, grins wide enough that he began to wonder if he ought to be concerned. “We’ve never had a Royal Caste Quester before – we could be the very first to have one in the club!” Well, at least they seemed enthusiastic about helping him to achieve his goal, but he had the distinct feeling that he was in a little out of his depth with these nymphs. Not to mention, from the impressions he was picking up from the others, he had some explaining to do to his nestmates before the day was up. Hopefully, this wouldn’t all go to the dogs.