Ocellate

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m not sure, Thorax,” snapped Pharynx. “No one knows how this thing works. It’s already taken so much longer than a drone would.”

Thorax leaned forward on his throne, hooves grinding nervously against the vines enveloping it. “But you think it’s time?”

“As best as we can figure. It’s been more active than ever over the last couple of weeks, and one of the caretakers said he heard a crack this morning. We ran a few tests, and as far as we know, yes. She’s hatching.”

Thorax’s heart jumped a little. All this time, dwelling on what he and Chrysalis had done, weeks spent staring into the egg’s misty surface and wondering if his deal had been worth it or if this was just another of her tricks.

Either way, Thorax would finally have his answer.

“Then what in Tartarus are we waiting for?” Thorax asked, jumping to his hooves and striding off towards the egg chamber. Pharynx was quick to follow, marching smartly beside his brother, and for once Thorax was glad for his militaristic tendencies. They had no idea what was going to come crawling out of that egg, and if anyone could be counted on to take care of a threat to the hive, it was Pharynx.

The corridors stretched out before them, twisting and turning as they strode through the winding paths with well-trodden ease. Thorax had walked this route so many times, almost daily since they’d moved the egg down into the depths for safety, and by now it was second-nature. Soon they were well below the living areas, and into what was ostensibly the dungeon, although Thorax didn’t like to think of that way anymore. Certainly it was close to where they had kept Chrysalis during her incarceration, but that was an extreme circumstance. Desperate times, and all that.

The memories flew up again at the thought – flashes of glistening fangs, green eyes in the darkness. Glinting, rattling chains, the feel of her around him as he plunged into her and gave her exactly what she wanted. He shook the images away. Not now. Not ever.

Pharynx’s scouts had no knowledge of Chrysalis’ activities since her escape, and equally little idea where she’d ended up. She was a ghost again, and Thorax hoped it would stay that way. He wasn’t naive enough to believe it, though; Chrysalis never gave up. He didn’t think she knew how.

They arrived at a large, onyx doorway, flanked either side by hoof-picked guards, well-trained and sworn to utmost secrecy. They saluted as Thorax approached, and as he went to open the door he noticed that Pharynx was holding back.

“What’s the matter?”

“Quarantine,” Pharynx said. “Minimal personnel inside reduces the risk of a breach. If it comes to it, we can seal the chamber and the only casualties will be anyone inside.”

“So, me?”

Pharynx at least had the decency to look a little sheepish. “You know it’s the right thing to do. I don’t want it to come to that, of course I don’t, but if whatever’s inside the egg is dangerous…”

Monarchs have to make sacrifices for the good of their subjects.

“If it’s dangerous, then you do whatever needs to be done,” Thorax said, resting his hoof on Pharynx’s shoulder. “I’m entrusting the hive’s safety to you.”

Pharynx nodded slowly. “I will,” he agreed, reluctantly.

“I’ll be fine,” Thorax assured him. “I promise.”

Thorax had no idea if it was a promise he’d be able to keep, but he certainly hoped so. The false confidence made him feel a little better, at least.

He stepped through the door, and it was quickly shut behind him again with a boom of colliding stone. The egg chamber was large, circular, and mostly empty. The egg itself rested on a rough stone pedestal in the centre, glowing ominously as Thorax approached ever so carefully, as if the egg might be listening.

For all he knew, it was.

Inside, through the murky green mist, Thorax could make out the same dark shape as always. Already it was much larger, bigger than any newly hatched drone, and almost as big as the egg’s shell would allow for. If he peered close enough he could just about make out the form of four legs, but that was all. Hardly anything to go off.

The shape squirmed and wriggled, even more than usual, and Thorax flinched a little. It really was time. He dropped down to his haunches beside the egg, watching, waiting. And then, closing his eyes, he began to feed it.

Love emanated out of every inch of him as he directed it towards the egg. Let it taste him, feed on him, let every feeling of goodwill flow forth. You are loved, you are welcome, you are our saviour. You are our queen. All these thoughts and more, distilled into raw love and shared with the egg.

And the egg ate.

No matter how much Thorax gave, it ate, it devoured, swallowing up every ounce of love. Too much, more than Thorax could ever spare. And, just as he was about to give up, exhausted, he heard it. So quiet that at first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but then another one, louder. A cracking sound, the sound of splitting shell.

A thin fracture began to spear down the front of the egg, lancing downwards in a jagged, uneven line. Thorax held his breath. Please don’t be a trap. Please let my hunch be right, for the changelings’ sake. Let them live.

With a horrific crunch, the egg splintered and shattered, pieces sent flying as it broke apart, showering Thorax with fragments of shell and slime from inside as it exploded outwards. Another difference from drone eggs, he thought, wiping the ooze off his carapace. And then Thorax’s gaze was drawn inexorably to the pedestal, or more accurately to what was now lying on top of it.

He stepped forward tentatively, better to see the small being that lay there, still damp from the egg’s innards, drawing the first real breaths of its life. It was unmistakable.

A queen.

Chrysalis had been telling the truth. Whatever her motivation, whatever her reasons, she had kept her word. The changeling before him now was more slender than drone hatchlings, but taller, almost lanky, in the same way Chrysalis herself was. And, most importantly, it was female. A new queen, embodying all the hope for the changelings’ continued existence. A clean slate.

No longer scared, Thorax gently lifted the newborn into his hooves, holding her close and smiling as she gazed up at him in that kind of awed wonder that only fresh hatchlings were capable of.

“Hi there,” he murmured, and the little changeling squeaked in approval. “My daughter,” he said. “My queen. You’re going to do great things, you know that?”

The hatchling burbled happily, reaching up a tiny hoof to try and bop his snout.

“I have a name for you,” he told her, and the hatchling giggled in response. “Do you want to hear it?”

She stared up at him, so innocent, so unassuming. He couldn’t imagine why he’d ever been scared – she was his daughter, and she was beautiful. “Ocellus,” he said, a lump in his throat. “Your name is Ocellus, and you are going to save us all.”

***

If there was one thing Ocellus hated, it was responsibility.

Well, hated was a strong word. ‘Terrified of’ may have been closer. For all her life, for always, she’d had Responsibility to worry about, with a capital R. Most parents would tell their kids they were going to be special when they grew up. Certainly all her friends had agreed it was the case, so she had evidence to prove it.

Most parents did not tell their daughters they were going to single-hoofedly save their entire species. That was Responsibility. That was terrifying.

Ocellus never asked to be born a queen. If she’d been offered the choice, she was pretty sure she’d have turned it down. Her father constantly told her what an honour it was, how special she was, how she was going to do great things. Her father also consistently had acid reflux from the stress of ruling, which somewhat undermined his assertions.

And he didn’t even have half of the expectations that she had on her shoulders. Yes, he had to be a good king, yes, he had to lead the changelings through their tumultuous new identity, but she would have to do all that when she ascended to the throne, too, and she’d still have all the extra Responsibility of being a queen to worry about. Queens, as it turned out, had quite a reputation among changelings.

Thorax had never hidden the truth of her mother from Ocellus. She appreciated that, at least; he could have lied about it or glossed over Chrysalis’ actions, it wouldn’t have been hard. But knowing that you were the offspring of a tyrant queen was still a hard thing to come to terms with. Ocellus often wondered if that’s what queens were supposed to be like, if one day she would just wake up and… be evil. She’d discussed that with her friends, too, and they’d laughed and said she had nothing to worry about, that they’d snap her out of it if it happened.

Ocellus was still scared it might.

She didn’t want to be a tyrant, any more than she wanted to be a queen in the first place. Sometimes she wondered how in Equestria Thorax had even ended up with Chrysalis. All the rumours and stories she’d heard had painted the old monarch in such a fearsome light, and everything she knew about her father painted him in… Well, the opposite. She never asked, though. It wasn’t the sort of thing a daughter could really ask her father, and she certainly didn’t want the squicky details.

And so she simply accepted the truth and tried not to think about it. Tried as hard as she could to not become her mother. She’d sworn that to herself. By all accounts, Chrysalis was a monster, and Ocellus didn’t think she could bear to become one herself.

But tyrant or no, she was still queen, and that meant things that other changelings didn’t have to worry about. There had been her sharing ceremony, for starters. Having to stand in front of her entire hive as she got her colours, sharing her love for the first time. A huge event, a great moment. She’d been so young, and she’d stumbled over her lines as she stared out at the enraptured crowd. And then she hadn’t even been able to share at first. It had been so much harder than her father told her it would be. He made it sound so easy. She supposed it was, now she was used to it, but for her first time to be in front of hundreds of staring changelings? It had been anything but easy. When she’d finally felt her love pour forth and fill the chamber, when the sheer energy of it had lifted her high up above the gathered crowd as her carapace morphed and shifted from jet black to pale blue, she knew she was supposed to feel joy. It was supposed to be a moment she would treasure and fondly reminisce about for the rest of her life.

But in the moment, she’d only felt relief. She hadn’t messed up. She hadn’t let everyone down.

She’d met her Responsibilities.

And then there’d been Ponyville and the School of Friendship. Although Ocellus had made friends there that would last a lifetime, at first she couldn’t help but feel like a political bargaining chip, an offering of value to appease the ponies. Here is our queen, she is in your care. You’ll trust us now, right? See how much we trust you? It had taken a long time to forgive her father for that one. As far as he knew, she was still mad at him for it.

She still kinda was.

But then that was what being Queen of the Changelings was, wasn’t it? Responsibility. Duty. The worst thing about being Queen was that it came before everything else she was allowed to be. Even in her name: Queen Ocellus. The title came first, it always came first. Be whoever you want to be, as long as you always do the things you need to do. As long as you’re always ready to live up to your Responsibility, as long as you’re Queen first and Ocellus second.

And now Responsibility had brought her back to the hive, although Thorax hadn’t yet told her why. That worried her – he was normally so forthright, even when he knew she wouldn’t like it. But when the changelings had come to pick her up from Ponyville with no warning, Thorax hadn’t even been among them. Uncle Pharynx had, but he wouldn’t tell her anything either, and trying to persuade Pharynx to do anything against orders was an exercise in futility. Ocellus knew that as well as anyone. Maybe when she actually took the throne he’d listen to her, but, until Thorax abdicated, Pharynx would be his brother’s changeling through and through.

It was even worse once they arrived at the hive. Thorax hadn’t even come to greet her, and she wasn’t permitted to visit him. Her own father, and he was hiding from her. This wasn’t like him either, and it only made that deep unease even worse. Something important was happening, and for some reason (almost certainly because she wouldn’t like it) they were keeping her out of it.

Or at least they had been, because today Pharynx had arrived in her quarters and informed her she had an audience with ‘the king’. And now here she was, standing outside the throne room and wondering just what her Responsibility was supposed to be this time, just what had made Thorax so concerned he couldn’t even visit his daughter to say hello before dropping this on her.

The doors opened, and with a nervous swallow she stepped through. The soft clop of her hooves against stone was the only sound as she approached the throne, painfully aware of all the changelings that lined the sides of the shattered chamber, watching her in fraught anticipation. It was the sharing ceremony all over again – worse, because she didn’t even know what they were here to see this time.

The great throne loomed at the far side of the open hall, Thorax himself seated upon it as he waited for her. It always seemed too big for him, and today even more so somehow. Ocellus gave him a nervous smile as she reached it, but he didn’t return it.

“My Queen,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

“Hi, Dad.”

Beside the throne, Pharynx winced a little at her words, and a small flare of righteous rebellion struck up in her chest at the sight. He always hated it when she wasn’t ‘proper’, when she wasn’t formal enough. When she didn’t call her father ‘King’.

“Thanks for coming,” Thorax said. “I’m sorry we had to bring you back here, but I’m afraid this couldn’t wait.”

“It’s okay,” she said, feeling the stare of the gathered changelings burning into the back of her head. “What is it?”

“We have-” Thorax caught himself. “I have decided that it’s time you began your true duties as queen.”

Ocellus blinked. “Wait, you mean…?”

“It’s been too long since we had new hatchlings. The hive’s nurseries are empty.”

“Dad, I-”

“And so we’ve- I’ve decided that it’s time for your coming of age ceremony. It’s time for your maiden flight.”

A weight dropped out through Ocellus’ stomach at Thorax’s words. “But Dad, you said it wouldn’t be-”

“You’re our queen,” Thorax interrupted again, shifting uncomfortably on the throne. “The changelings need you, and the hive needs new drones.”

“But-”

“Ocellus, please.” There was an almost begging note to his voice. “We’ve talked about this.”

Everything was falling horribly into place. No wonder he hadn’t told her why he’d brought her back to the hive, no wonder he’d hidden from her. Thorax knew exactly what he was asking of his daughter, and knew just as well as she did that it wasn’t fair. “I know we have,” she said, “but it wasn’t supposed to happen until I was ready.”

“You are ready.” The corners of Thorax’s mouth twitched as he said it. “And the hive needs its queen.”

“No, you promised,” said Ocellus, and she could feel a lump rise in her throat, her eyes starting to sting a little at the corners. “You promised I’d get to say when. You promised I’d get to choose.”

“I know I did,” her father said, and there was a terrible pity in his voice. He couldn’t even look at her now. “But we need-”

“You promised,” Ocellus repeated, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now. It was all she had to fall back on, the only argument she had.

“Ocellus, I-”

She didn’t let him finish. There was nothing he could say, nothing that would make this betrayal of his daughter okay. It would just have been more empty words, more talk of duty, of Responsibility. And so rather than let him speak, Ocellus turned and fled the throne room, ignoring Thorax’s calls after her as she scrunched her eyes shut to try and hold in the tears.

***

The Maiden Flight.

She’d always known it would come, one day. It was another Responsibility – the only one, really. Everything else was just a build-up to this, the one thing a queen was supposed to do: make more changelings.

It had hung over her like an encroaching storm cloud her entire life, the knowledge that it was her role, her duty, her purpose. She was a changeling queen, and a changeling queen laid eggs. That was what they did. That was what she was supposed to do, and the maiden flight was the beginning of all of that.

She would pick a mate out of all the changeling drones, they would fly together, and then he would-

Ocellus shuddered. Don’t even think about it. She wasn’t a prude or anything, but the idea was all too much right now. She wouldn’t even know where to start with picking a mate. There were hundreds of drones, and all would be eager to bed the new queen first, to rut her and give Ocellus her first brood.

No, you’re still thinking about it.

But how was she ever supposed to choose? At random? That wasn’t very queenly; she was supposed to ensure that her offspring would be the strongest, most successful changelings possible. That meant picking the best drone she could, somehow finding one out of the entire hive.

Yeah, right.

And even if she did find a mate, even if she did go on her maiden flight with him, she would have to let him fuck her and breed her, and Ocellus definitely wasn’t ready for that. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for that, responsibility be damned. She didn’t know what it felt like to have a bellyful of fertilised eggs, or what it felt like to lay them, but she doubted it was pleasant.

Then there was the act itself. Sometimes she’d caught peeks of drones when they’d been… exposed. Out of their sheath. It just seemed to happen sometimes, and she knew she was supposed to ignore it like everyone else did. But she’d seen them, and she knew what it was for, where it was supposed to go, and that knowledge was terrifying.

She wasn’t even sure how it would fit.

Ocellus sighed and buried her face further into her pillow, and wished for the millionth time that she’d just been born a drone so she wouldn’t have to worry about it. A soft knock at the door startled her out of her reverie, but her surprise was quickly replaced by disappointment as she heard who was there.

“Ocellus, can I come in?” Thorax’s voice came through the door, muffled by the stone.

“No.”

Of all the changelings, Thorax was the one she wanted to see the least right now. Her father had always been so supportive, so understanding, until today. Yes, he pushed her towards her Responsibilities, yes, he would guide her and teach her to be a queen, but it still always felt like he was on her side, like things were still her choice and in her control. She did the sharing ceremony because he told her she should, went to Ponyville because he told her she should, but Ocellus had still always felt like she could have refused and he would have respected her wishes. That illusion – so carefully shaped by Thorax – had been thoroughly shattered now.

“If you don’t let me in I’m just going to talk to you through the door anyway,” he said. “And neither of us want that.”

It was better than having to look at him.

Then again, if her father was going to try and justify himself to her, maybe it was getting off too easy if he didn’t have to look her in the eye as he said it. If he was going to be this awful, she at least wanted him to feel as guilty as he should.

“Fine,” she said, pulling herself upright so she could glower appropriately at him as he pushed open the door.

“Hi,” he said, lamely.

Ocellus said nothing, content to watch him squirm for the right words.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eventually. “I shouldn’t have dropped all this on you with no warning, that wasn’t fair. I just… I didn’t know how else to tell you.”

“Any other way at all?” Ocellus asked, pointedly, and Thorax winced.

“I know, I messed up. I’m sorry.”

There was a pregnant

STOP THINKING ABOUT IT

pause. As the silence stretched on, Ocellus realised that was it. That was Thorax’s grand apology, or what he thought amounted to one. There was nothing else forthcoming.

“And?” she asked.

He gave her a quizzical look. “And what?”

“And I don’t have to do it, right?”

“Oh.”

Ocellus could tell from that single syllable what was coming next.

“Look, honey, I-”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. He didn’t get to use pet names right now.

Thorax flinched again, then took a long breath. “I don’t have a choice here, Ocellus. The changelings are scared, and I have to take action. They need their queen. We all need you.”

“You need me to bend over for a drone and get impregnated,” she said, bluntly, enjoying the instant grimace on her father’s face.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? It’s true. That’s all they want from me.”

Thorax shook his head. “There’s more to it than that.”

“No, there’s not,” she insisted. “You like to imagine there is because then you don’t have to think about what you’re asking me to do. But you’re not the one who has to get rutted. You’re not the one who has to lay eggs and become a… a… broodmare just because of who you were born.”

“But I would,” Thorax said. “If there was any way I could take that burden from you, I’d do it in a wingbeat. You know I would.”

“It’s easy to say when it’s impossible,” muttered Ocellus, rolling over so she didn’t have to look at him anymore. Seeing Thorax justify himself didn’t bring any of the satisfaction she’d hoped it would. It just made her feel hollow – he was the one changeling who should have been on her side, and he didn’t care.

She felt the end of the bed sink down as Thorax rested himself against it, but she didn’t turn over. He could sit there and think of anything under Celestia’s sun to try and convince her, but they both knew he was wrong. He didn’t get the privilege of lying to her face.

“A long while back, I had to make a choice,” he said. “The changelings were on the brink of civil war. We were queenless, we were alone, and we were facing our own extinction. Lots of us wanted to surrender to Chrysalis again, but even more of us knew she’d never take us back. Not after we’d changed.”

This wasn’t what Ocellus had expected. She’d been waiting for cajoling, pleading, bargaining. Not whatever this was. Thorax’s voice was dull, contemplative. Sad.

“And then we caught the old queen out in the snow, just beyond the Crystal Empire. She didn’t come quietly. Not everyone we sent out to capture her came back.” He paused a moment, and Ocellus didn’t want to know what he was remembering. “We brought her back,” he continued eventually, “and we kept her here, in the dungeons. I tried everything I could think of to persuade her to save us. I tried everything to show her that our way of life was better, that we didn’t need to be aggressive, that we could share love instead of ripping it out of the ponies by force. She disagreed.

“I almost gave up, but eventually I was able to make a deal with her. Chrysalis would give us a new queen, as part of an exchange. A fair trade.”

“What did she want?” Ocellus asked.

“Me,” Thorax replied, calmly. “In return for a new queen, she wanted to kill me. Revenge, for taking her hive from her in the first place.”

“And you said yes?”

Thorax nodded. “I shouldn’t have, but we were desperate. I was desperate. Funnily enough, if Chrysalis had been more trusting she would have gotten exactly what she wanted. Instead, she waited until I’d- Well, until she had the eggs she needed, and then she took advantage of the moment to hypnotise me and flee, assuming that I’d go back on my word.” He turned to her and gave her a strange smile. “But, as we found out later, she’d left an egg behind. Whatever her reasons, she’d given us a queen after all. She’d given us you.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that story?” Ocellus asked, frowning.

Her father shrugged. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you. It’s hard enough to be queen. So much responsibility already, you didn’t need to know what it cost.”

“But now I do?”

“Now I think it might help to know what’s at stake.”

There was a long silence. “Okay,” she said, eventually. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

Thorax seemed completely taken by surprise by her acquiescence, but Ocellus simply nodded.

He rested a hoof on her shoulder, and she resisted the urge to flinch away. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll gather up some possible suitors, and you can choose whomever you want.”

She nodded again, and was even able to manage a smile this time, because she knew the truth. It didn’t matter who she picked, now; none of it mattered. Ocellus had made her decision, and she wasn’t going to be the queen Thorax wanted her to be.

Forget the throne, forget all of this – Ocellus was going to leave it all behind. Thorax’s story may have been an attempt to convince her, but all it had done was give her a plan.

***

“The Maiden Flight,” Thorax announced to the gathered changelings crowding the throne room once more. “Traditionally undertaken by matured queens looking to start a new hive, flying out into the world with a drone beside them, searching for a new home.” He gave Ocellus a proud smile, and she did everything she could to seem genuinely pleased.

Her selected ‘mate’ stood beside her, his chest puffed out with pride, head held high. He was tall, well-built, his chitin pale yellow, eyes striking red. Ocellus had already forgotten his name. It started with a T, she was pretty sure. Or was it a P?

“Tonight we honour that tradition with a new maiden flight, as my daughter, Ocellus, and her chosen mate, Thrips-”

That was it.

“-undertake a flight together to celebrate our survival. And when the queen returns, our hive will be stronger than ever.”

There were loud cheers at that, and a little surge of guilt rose up inside Ocellus at the sound. They were all so hopeful, so relieved, and she was going to stomp all over that. But then that guilt was replaced by cold anger, as she chided herself for even feeling that way. It was their fault, not hers, as they tried to force her into a life of mating and laying eggs, nothing more than a tool for the hive. Ocellus didn’t want to be queen if that’s what it meant. She refused.

The only slight regret was that she wouldn’t get to say goodbye to those she cared about. Even Thorax, especially Thorax, although her farewell to him would have been much sharper than he would have appreciated. But no, she had to act natural for now, act like she was ever going to set hoof in this hive again.

Thorax stepped up to her, and his obvious pride only made another little pang stab at her heart. She didn’t think he’d ever looked at her like that before, and he certainly wouldn’t again after this. “Fly safe, Ocellus,” he said, and then, quiet enough that only she could hear: “Thank you.”

She gave him a brief hug, trying not to show that it would be the last one she ever gave him, and then turned to the drone beside her. He bowed low, too low, almost brushing the floor in his reverence.

“I am ready, my queen,” he said, and Ocellus had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

Instead, she nodded, flared her wings, and launched into the night sky above her, enjoying the sudden rush of cool air as she escaped the heat and crowd. Raucous applause followed her, hooves against stone, and then came the thrum of wings beside her as Thrips joined her in the air and together they sailed across a blanket of stars.

She couldn’t help but wonder if they were supposed to do acrobatic stuff – that was what mating flights were usually like, wasn’t it? But tonight she was flying with purpose, and so she focused and beat her wings harder, flying out across the kingdom so far below them as fast as she could. She could see Thrips struggling to keep up beside her, see the confused expression on his face, and a small but savage thrill ran through her at the sight.

“My queen,” he spluttered against the rushing wind, “do we have to fly so fast?”

“A good mate should be able to keep up with his queen, don’t you think?” she retorted, laughing a little despite herself as he tried to bow his head again mid-flight and almost lost his balance.

She took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air, and double-checked the stars to make sure she was flying the right way. They flew for a long time, until her wings started to ache, and even Thrips was beginning to falter. “Perhaps we should be heading back now, my queen?” he gasped.

“Soon,” she assured him. “We’re almost there.”

“There?”

Ocellus didn’t reply. She’d spotted the edge of their destination in the distance, a dark line cutting across the landscape. The edge of the forest. She pressed on, ignoring the burn in her wings, the panting breaths of the drone beside her, until finally they broke over the top of the trees and she began to descend. Thrips followed, no more questions, or maybe it was just too much effort to ask. Either way, he remained silently by her side until they finally dropped under the treeline and into the forest below.

Branches whipped past as she ducked and weaved through the trees, some catching at her chitin with a sharp sting, but she barely even felt them. She was concentrating. Thrips was strong, fast; Ocellus would never have lost him in the open air. But she had one thing he didn’t – she was smaller than him. More agile. She could hear the cracking of branches behind her as he failed to dodge ones she’d already passed. Even more encouragingly, as they flew lower and lower the cracking sounds grew more and more distant as Thrips dropped back.

A glance behind, twenty feet away. And then twenty-five, thirty. Soon he would lose her, and she would be gone. Thorax and the rest of the changelings would never find her, she could go anywhere, be anyone. She’d find some way to get back in touch with her friends, to make her return to Ponyville without being caught, but that could come later. For now, she had to focus on getting away.

Another look back at Thrips dwindling behind her, a desperate expression on his face as he ducked and weaved through the branches. “My queen!” he pleaded, wincing as another one snapped against his face. “Please slow down, I can’t-”

He never finished his sentence. Something slammed into his side with a sickening thud, his eyes going wide in panic before he tumbled down into the darkness of the forest below. Ocellus hesitated. This was her chance, her moment. Freedom, so tantalisingly close.

But she hadn’t meant for Thrips to get hurt. Had he hit a tree trunk? A particularly big branch? It almost seemed like something had crashed into him, and it was a long way to fall, even for a changeling. And that sound.

She imagined him down on the forest floor, maybe with a broken wing, or hoof, begging for help. She imagined him lying there, wondering where his queen was, why she’d led him out here only to leave him to die. Wondering what he’d ever done to deserve that.

Ocellus could never have something like that on her conscience, even if it cost her escape. With a grimace of reluctance, she turned and soared down after him through a gap in the trees towards a small clearing.

The forest floor was so much darker than the upper branches, only the barest hints of moonlight reaching down this far, and it was hard to make out anything as she alighted against the soft dirt. “Thrips?” she called. “Are you okay?”

A groan came in response, a good few feet away behind the trees, and another knot twisted up her stomach. He sounded bad.

“I’m coming, hang on.” She started towards the groan, but she never reached him before a green flash erupted from behind the trees, making her squint against the sudden brightness. A strangled yell of pain and horror screeched through the air – Thrips, it must have been – and then it was abruptly cut off as the burst of light vanished, leaving the forest even darker than it had been before.

The air felt so cold, all of a sudden, the trees around Ocellus pressing in against the clearing from all sides. “Thrips?” she asked the darkness.

Only silence.

And then, a voice, one that was definitely not Thrips. This one was feminine. Predatory. Hungry.

“You’re a long way from home, little bug,” said the darkness.

The voice hissed with menace in every syllable, echoing around her so that it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. She didn’t even want to run, lest she charge headfirst into the maw of whatever beast was waiting.

“Who are you?” she demanded, with far more courage than she felt.

Mocking laughter rang out through the clearing at that, but no other answer.

“Listen to me,” Ocellus said, trying to sound confident. She didn’t feel confident. “I am Ocellus, Queen of the Changelings. If anything happens to me, my father will-”

“I know exactly what you are,” the voice murmured. It sounded as though it was right behind her, but when she spun on her hooves there was only more darkness there. “Or at least, what you claim to be.”

Ocellus scanned the trees, and she swore she saw some dark shape moving between the trunks. But then it was gone again, and she couldn’t even be sure she’d seen it at all. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You call yourself a queen?” The darkness laughed mirthlessly again. “A queen is strong, a queen is fearless. You are just a scared little bug.”

A jolt of indignation shot through Ocellus. “What would you even know about being a queen?”

There was a glint of light in the gloom, a sliver of moonlight reflecting off grinning fangs. “Everything.”