The changeling general strode down the darkened hallway, her head held high. Her hooves clopped audibly against the ground, breaking the silence with every impact. In the distance a changeling coughed several times before falling silent, returning the quiet once more.

Despite the relative lack of noise, the hive was abuzz with activity, with drones running this way and that. They worked in almost complete quiet, each carrying out their task with a grim expression and a dark mood. The feeling of dread that hung over everything was palpable, and every changeling, the general included, could taste the fear that hung over everyone.

The general stopped and turned down a passageway before entering a small room. Here guards were posted, their spears shiny and their armor undamaged despite their participation in the invasion. They nodded, allowing the general to pass between them and into the larger space beyond.

As she moved past them, she got a whiff of their emotional state and could tell that there was a deep undercurrent of resentment there. There was also anger, depression, and anxiety which served as the uppermost layer, covering for the building hatred directed at their queen. The general nearly stopped and told them off, but she knew she couldn't really stop them from feeling the way they did.

After what happened, their emotions were not only understandable but they were also shared by the general herself. The only difference between them was that the general did a better job of pushing that further down and covering it with professionalism.

Glancing around the room, the changeling made a note of the dozens of empty pods that were arrayed on either wall. She had seen rooms like this all over the hive, the vast network of pods prepared for the presumed bounty now lying empty. Only a few of the available spots were filled, their occupants floating, blissfully asleep, and dreaming happy thoughts.

The sight of all those unoccupied spaces brought a scowl to the general’s face but she forced her expression to become neutral after a moment of quiet sulking. And just in time too, as she was approaching the back of the hall, where another guard waited, this one taller than the others she had passed. He, like the others, gave her a nod, but unlike the other two, carried a deep respect for her, much like the others who had worked closely with her did.

“General,” he offered.

“Centurion,” she replied, giving him a curt nod in return.

She passed him by, and entered the space beyond, stopping almost immediately after entering. Here the various organic pipes that moved liquid love converged to a central point, emerging from walls and floors to where a single vat waited. Here waited a tall, lanky changeling who lacked wings but compensated with a slightly longer horn. Staring down at a scrap of paper attached to a clipboard, the changeling didn't look up as the general entered the room.

“You seek to know how our stocks are doing,” she remarked tiredly.

“I do,” the general answered. “I have received reports from the other collection centers already. You are the last to chime in.”

“Then you know we do not have long,” murmured the other changeling, who paused and finally turned around, meeting the general’s fierce gaze with a tired, empty expression. “A month, or two if we cannibalize all the empty pods.”

“The harvesters will return shortly. I am sure our supply situation shall be improved,” the general replied hollowly.

“Then we aren't recycling the pods,” prodded the other changeling.

“Chrysalis has not decided on a course of action as yet,” the general replied, pausing to make sure she articulated her thoughts in a way that revealed as little as possible. “The panic started in Canterlot has extended to much of Equestria.”

“Give it a week and most of the world will follow in the pony’s wake. Soon everyone will be so terrified of us that it will be impossible to gather love,” muttered the changeling analyst darkly.

“That is not impossible, though I doubt more of the far-flung races will succumb to such fear,” the general replied.

“That doesn't mean much given our situation, now does it?” The analyst all but spat.

“That sounds an awful lot like an insult levied at the last queen of the changelings,” the general retorted, her gaze narrowing.

“If things continue, that title will become far more literal than anyone would like, but that will not come to pass,” the analyst rallied, standing a little straighter. “If our queen can rally the disparate tribes under one banner for the first time in millennia, I am sure she will be able to lead us through this dark time.”

“Careful analyst prime,” the general cautioned, detecting the true emptiness in the other changeling’s words. “You may not be easily replaced now, but that may change in the future.”

“If we have the love surplus to birth an analyst of my caliber I would be thrilled to end up recycled, but until that point comes to pass, I have a job to do and little time to entertain the prodding of our esteemed general,” the analyst spat back, meeting the general’s furious gaze head-on.

“Hmmm. As you were, analyst prime,” the general dismissed, turning back the way she came.

Now with a scowl on her face, the general departed, conflicting thoughts warring within her mind. A violent part of her wanted nothing more than to turn back around and strangle the brainy bug before dumping her corpse in the recycler. A thankfully bigger part of her knew that was foolish, not only because they could not replace her, but because of what that would do to morale.

They were on a razor’s edge at the moment, and the general knew that fear of the future could turn into revolutionary rage very quickly.

Trotting back into the hallway, the general was about to continue her inspections when a slightly short, rather wide changeling stumbled up to her.

“Sk-skitter,” the nursemaid panted, holding up a shaky hoof. “Wait, wait up.”

“This is unfortunate,” the general stated. “I had hoped you would still be lost in the lower levels.”

“I know…” The nurse paused to catch her breathe. “I know that you are not thrilled by my presence,” the nursemaid replied. “But the queen herself ordered me to. If I do not comply with her command I could-”

“You need not worry yourself, maid,” Skitter interrupted, holding up a hoof. “I will not send you away.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she blubbered, ducking into a deep if somewhat awkward bow.

“Yes, well. Was there something you need?” General Skitter asked.

“I was hoping you would allow me a moment to inspect you,” the nursemaid answered. “You refused to do this morning and I must do at least one such inspection every day.”

“I do not understand why mother insists on such a thing, but so long as you can do so while walking then you may carry out her order,” Skitter spat.

“Well, I- oh alright yes! Just slow down slightly!” The nursemaid shouted as she scrambled to catch up to the general.

“I have little time to deal with mother’s overprotectiveness,” Skitter retorted.

“You must understand her position, however. You are the only true general that the queen mother was able to birth. You are invaluable to the hive!” the nursemaid shouted after Skitter.

“I am very aware of this fact, maid,” Skitter spat.

“Yes, well. At least you seem quite lively,” murmured the maid.

Skitter ignored the short-legged female all but sprinting after her in a desperate to keep up with her longer gait.The difference between them was great, with the general being nearly as large as Chrysalis, lacking only the telltale crown, and longer horn. Despite these differences, the general was bulkier, wider in parts, her chitin barely able to contain the raw strength hidden beneath.

“You are physically able,” the maid remarked, her horn powering down. “No chitin rot, or any avoidable illnesses of that nature.”

“I don't suspect that it will be the rot that gets me in the end,” Skitter proclaimed.

“Yes I suppose it's more likely that Luna, or someone as powerful as her would be the one to erm, defeat you,” the nursemaid offered.

“Are you saying that I am destined to be killed by a princess?” Skitter asked, stopping dead in her tracks and staring down at the nursemaid.

“N-n-no of course not! I j-just thought that I should try to be more friendly with you. Talk how you talk?” the nursemaid replied, wincing prematurely and shrinking down until she was little more than a black blob on the ground.

“Well it's working,” Skitter remarked.

“I’m sorry… what?” the nursemaid called.

But Skitter didn't slow down, her long legs carrying her down the hall faster than the tiny hooves of her assistant could ever dream of. Unlike before, the general did not leave the other changeling completely behind, waiting around each corner, careful to not leave her guessing. She didn't slow completely, however, meaning the smaller changeling had to perpetually run after her charge, never gaining more than an inch or two at a time.

Their game of chase ended when Skitter reached the entrance to the room that housed the throne. Normally such a space would be called a throne room, but that was no longer a suitable name for what it had become. The gold that had adorned the walls, and ringed the door had been striped, melted down, and sold in an effort to finance the invasion. Any bit of useful metal had been reforged into weapons, or armor, while the chitinous building material that had made up the busts and statues had been recycled for the meager love present within it.

Now it was just a room that had two big doors leading into it, indents made for gems or precious jewels empty and barren. The only bit of artistic flare that remained were the carvings, though Skitter was certain her mother would melt those down too if such a thing were possible.

Waiting on either side were the largest and eldest of the praetorians, two massive female drones that lacked both horn and wing but made up for it in size and strength.

“Greetings, general,” one offered, her voice so deep it rumbled. “It is good that you have come.”

“The queen mother has been… perturbed recently and your presence would be…” The second one picked up, only to trail off as worlds failed him.

“A kindness,” offered the other praetorian.

The general looked up at the closest of the pair, unbothered by the vast size difference and the fact that they wore a full suit of blackened plate while she was completely unadorned. She felt something in their voices despite both speaking in the usual flat, monotone manner that the low-intelligence drones did. Despite their lack of higher-level thinking, they were not stupid, and even they could feel the tension that hung in the air.

“I hope I am able to dismiss this disquieting atmosphere that now hangs over us,” the general replied, carefully choosing her words.

“We have felt the respect the soldiers have for you and we find ourselves… moved by it,” rumbled the changeling to the right.

“Your actions at the south gate were… inspired,” added the other.

Skitter frowned, and weighed her response, feeling out the true reason for what they had said beneath the words they had spoken. Praetorians may not be the most quick-witted of individuals, but they were exceptionally empathetic. Their finely honed sense of empathy allowed them to feel the entire battlefield at once, while their dense web of instincts kept this information from becoming overwhelming. Thus they could feel the boisterous confidence of an individual attacking from behind, believing they had the advantage, and react accordingly. This also meant that particularly powerful emotions sometimes became their own.

“Revealing myself in such a manner may not have been advisable, but it was worth it to distract the defenders and allow the surrounded squad to slip away,” Skitter replied after a pause. “And it all worked out in the end I suppose.”

“Did it?” Asked one of the guards.

“It did,” Skitter stated firmly.

The pair exchanged a look before one of them reached for the door.

“Please, enter,” one offered.

“And put that confidence to use,” added the other.

Skitter ignored the undercurrents of disloyalty that traveled beneath the praetorian’s words. Like the others she had seen, they too harbored notions that some would consider treasonous. But like them, those thoughts would likely quiet if they simply went to bed with a full belly, and had a little confidence in their future.

Or at least, that's what the general hoped anyway.

“No, we can't do that. The love carriers are already overtaxed as they are,” murmured a voice. “The griffins are a possibility, but that would require a long-term investment that we simply can't muster.”

Skitter stood in the entrance and took in the room wherein her mother’s throne was located. Stripped of its finery, there was only the grand relief carved behind the seated queen muttering to herself. Depicting the thirteen triumphs she underwent to unite the disparate tribes of the changeling race under her banner, they were works of art. Like the pony’s stained glass windows, they glowed though not due to light shining through but due to a simple minor enchantment.

With its grandiose scale, and the majority of the room’s furniture either burnt for fuel, sold for funds, or recycled to recover love, there was little left. Only the throne that Chrysalis sat upon and the smaller secondary seat to her right. Not even the banners of the lesser tribes remained, their fabric having been tossed into the hive’s furnaces.

“Mother,” Skitter announced, stopping only a few short steps from the throne.

“Huh, who's there?” Chrysalis exclaimed, recoiling in shock and surprise only to sigh. “Oh, it's just you.”

“I am sorry to startle you,” Skitter offered.

“No, it is my own fault. I’ve been so absorbed in my thoughts and… no matter,” Chrysalis suddenly stated, rising from her chair and approaching the other changeling. “How goes your rounds, my daughter? Have you been successful in maintaining morale, for the moment?”

“More or less,” Skitter deadpanned.

“That is to be expected, I suppose,” Chrysalis muttered. “Uh is there something to report at least?”

The general considered mentioning the other changelings that she had met with and their almost treasonous distaste for their queen. For a moment, their names danced upon the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them quickly and shook her head.

“Nothing of note occurred, I’m afraid,” Skitter stated.

“Excellent, excellent,” Chrysalis murmured, mostly to herself.

“Mother, I…” Skitter paused and took a breath. “I am afraid I do not understand something.”

“And what would that be?” Chrysalis asked back, her eyes narrowing.

“I just. I don't know why we left,” Skitter pressed onwards, straightening her spine and standing a little taller. “Yes the death of Celestia was not part of the plan but we could have at least absconded with more captives than the meagre few we had already acquired.”

“You don't understand,” Chrysalis spat, turning from her daughter and walking over to the throne, her gaze pulled upward to the mural. “The princesses were integral to Project Skyfall. Without them, we could not create a large enough neural network to contain so many captives.”

“I understand that mother, but surely we could have at least acquired a few more. Some travelers on the road perhaps, or some of the air traffic we intercepted,” Skitter inquired.

“The death of Celestia had already soured their emotional state. They would hardly be useful to us at that point,” Chrysalis remarked, pausing and glancing over her shoulder. “You spent time infiltrating the griffins as part of your training, yes?”

“Yes mother,” Skitter stated.

“Then you know what tortured meat tastes like,” Chrysalis stated, glancing briefly over her shoulder. “The griffins are a cruel people and take much pleasure in befouling their meat with torture before indulging. They claim it ripens the flavors but their forays into the culinary world are sophomoric at best.”

“I didn't really notice,” Skitter admitted.

“Their emotional output would barely be worth the effort, is what I am saying,” Chrysalis concluded, climbing up onto her throne and sitting down. “They would have slowed us down and likely cost us more than a few lives in the process.”

“They would have gladly given their lives to secure a greater food source for the hive,” Skitter proclaimed.

“Yes yes,” Chrysalis dismissed, waving a hoof in the air. “Their loyalty was absolute and their eagerness obvious but just because they would throw themselves upon the pony’s spears does not mean I would make such an order.”

“I do not understand,” Skitter admitted blankly.

“Think of the conquests which united the tribes. They were not a completely bloodless affair though it was a struggle with very few deaths,” Chrysalis began, gesturing above her. “The various leaders needed only to be impressed, threatened, or coerced, with only two requiring lethal force.”

“I recall the stories,” Skitter stated.

“You hear them but you do not listen,” Chrysalis growled. “Death is something you deal sparingly. It ruins the meal, it unsettles one’s allies and it sows distrust.”

“I understand,” Skitter replied, her jaw clenched tight and her wings twitching angrily at her sides.

“I did not think this was a lesson I would need to teach you, but alas, here we are,” Chrysalis tired remarked, waving a hoof around and slumping further into her throne.

“Because you were to hand the crown down to a future princess and not me,” Skitter remarked bitterly.

“Of course, that was the plan,” Chrysalis growled. “You were born to lead armies, not manage finances, and oversee construction projects. That was not your purpose.”

Skitter opened her mouth to respond.

“But-” Chrysalis hastily added. “You are intelligent, and I believe that with time you may grow into a new role. Regardless, that is not a discussion we will have today.”

“And what will we be discussing today Mother?” Skitter pressed.

“I need you to oversee an expansion into the caverns,” Chrysalis began. “We require more space for the fungal farms.”

“And the soldiers we lose fighting the cave beasts will reduce the number of mouths there are to feed,” Skitter added.

“That is not the point of the expansion,” growled Chrysalis.

“You misunderstand. I approve,” the general retorted.

“Yes, well just… see to it would you? I must consider our next steps carefully,” Chrysalis murmured, defeated and deflated.

“It shall be done mother,” Skitter exclaimed, bowing her head before departing.

Chrysalis watched in silence as her general strode away, vanishing from sight after the doors slammed shut behind her. Alone with only her thoughts, and the faint echoes of her daughter’s departure, Chrysalis slumped on her throne. Her shoulders fell, a frown crossed her face, and her entire body became loose as if she were little more than a toy dropped atop a chair not her own.

“How could it have come to this?” Chrysalis murmured.

After several quiet moments, the queen, with great effort, picked herself up and trudged silently over to the now barren pillar holding up the ceiling that lay high above her head.

“The stone eater tribe,” she whispered to herself, gaze turning up to where the banner had once hung. “You are one of the most ancient, and powerful of tribes yet you should never lead lest you turn your teeth upon your children, your sisters, and your mother.”

Chrysalis sighed, running a hoof down the cold stone.

“Yet here I am, considering granting the mantle of leadership to one of the few of your line who yet live,” Chrysalis muttered. “I only hope that my blood has diluted whatever curse your progenitor took upon themselves the moment your tribe was born.”

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