The week following the Seeding Ritual and the laying of the eggs, Antares immersed himself in a few projects he was planning.
News of Solara's transformation into a True ant Queen had ripped through the settlement like a gale. For centuries, the Antmen had lived without the presence of a queen ant now to hear that a Queen now walked among them was to hear that the gods had finally looked back and decided to answer their prayers.
The clan leaders descended upon the palace in a frenzy of tribute. They arrived with wagons, each bringing gifts for Antares and Solara but mostly for the queen, their faces alight with an enthusiasm Antares found almost comical. When they reached the throne room, he couldn't help but let out a dry laugh at their desperate requests to "witness the miracle."
"The Queen is occupied," Antares told them, his voice brook no argument. "She is in the deep chambers tending to the future of this tribe. She is not to be disturbed by anyone—not even you the Patriarchs or me her Lord husband."
Though disappointed, the leaders didn't leave empty-handed. The news of the King's marriages was a beacon of hope; silently, the tribe began to celebrate the idea of a Royal Heir in the years to come.
Amidst the pleasantries, Yajin of the Ashfang clan saw his opening. The massive, scar-covered warrior stepped forward, his voice booming. "Sire, when the Red Sons reach maturity, let them be fostered at Emberhive Castle. My clan has the fiercest warriors and trainers. We will forge them into the weapons you need."
Velas and Kael bristled, their eyes flashing with protest, but they remained silent. Antares offered Yajin a polite, cold smile. "I appreciate the offer, Patriarch, but the Red Sons will remain under my direct supervision. I have... special plans for them."
Velas took the chance to regain ground. "Sire. I would like to take this chance to tell you that my mages are already showing great progress. Their mana control and output is sharpening; they will be ready for the surface when you call."
"And the forges are working nonstop, my King," Kael added, his face smudged with soot. "My men are working overtime. Every hammer is dedicated to the work you gave us."
Antares nodded. He didn't need their reports to know this; he had been monitoring their progress closely. He stepped into his office, grabbed a rolled parchment he had been working on in private with the help of the system, and returned to thrust it into Kael's hands. "This is a blueprint for a specialized set of armor. Can you make it?"
Kael unrolled it, his eyes widening. "I can, Sire... but the work force required..."
"You have one month," Antares said, a mischievous, almost villainous grin spreading across his face.
Kael's face went pale. His soul seemed to leave his body as he swayed on his feet. The massive Yajin caught him by the shoulders, shaking him like a ragdoll and shouting his name to bring him back to his senses, while Antares's dark laughter echoed through the hall.
Antares hadn't just been playing politics.
A few days later near the farming zones, outside the main settlement, a new project had reached completion. He had conscripted a group of regular Antmen to assist Kael's masons in excavating four massive, cuboid underground rooms lined with smooth stone.
"What is this for, Sire?" Kael had asked during the three-day construction.
"Food storage." Antares replied simply.
He called upon Velas and his mages to perform the final, most crucial step. Using a high-level spell called [Ice Mantle], the mages coated the stone walls in thick, shimmering sheets of frost.
When Antares entered for the final inspection, even he needed a heavy fur coat. The air was biting, freezing the breath in his lungs. Standing inside with him was Yanrid, the "bastard son" of Yajin. The young man stood perfectly calm, seemingly unaffected by the sub-zero temperatures. Antares noticed again that Yanrid lacked the typical Ashfang bulk, but an icy, sharp aura emanated from him.
"Handsome bastard." Antares thought as he looked at Yanrid
"The ice will hold for a month before it even begins to show signs of melting, Sire," Velas reported, shivering.
Antares was pleased. He then ordered Kael to install rows of heavy meat hooks and large crates filled with glacier-ice broken down into small pebbles by the Ashfang warriors. Within hours, the rooms were filled with fresh fish and the meat of various beasts hunted on the surface. No more dry, salted strips; the tribe would now have the luxury of fresh meat and cold midnight-flower juice at their disposal.
Antares contemplated how the use of magic had made his work easier, if on Earth they had such abilities, a lot would have been easy for people.
He then appointed Lady Sira to manage the facility. The dark-brown-skinned beauty accepted the task with a graceful bow. "I will ensure not a single scrap is wasted, my King."
That evening, the area surrounding the newly finished Cold rooms was transformed. Torches were mounted on every pillar, their flames reflecting off the polished obsidian walls. The air, usually stagnant and warm in the farming zones, was now refreshed by a cool, crisp breeze flowing out from the open doors of the ice-mantled rooms.
Long wooden tables were hauled in, groaning under the weight of the day's achievement. The atmosphere was electric. Clan pride usually kept the various families separate, but tonight, the barriers were thin.
Huge platters of meat from the surface beasts hunted by Yanrid's scouts for this special occasion were served. Thanks to the cold rooms, the meat was succulent and tender, lacking the tough, fibrous texture of the usual salted jerky.The highlight was the Midnight Flower juice. Barrels that had been sitting in the ice for only a few hours were cracked open. When the frost-covered wood was tapped, a mist of cold vapor erupted, drawing cheers from the thirsty laborers. The juice was sweet, thick, and bitingly cold, a sensation most of these underground dwellers had never experienced in their lives.
Antares didn't sit on a high throne tonight. He moved among the long tables, a cup of chilled juice in one hand and he sat with the masons, listening to their stories about the hardness of the rock and how they work with it, and laughed with the mages who were still shivering from the effort of casting the Ice Mantle.
"To the future!" Antares shouted, raising his cup. "Today we conquered the heat. Tomorrow, we conquer the surface!"
The roar of "LONG LIVE THE KING!" that followed was deafening, shaking the very dust from the cavern ceiling. Even the stoic Yanrid was seen with a rare, faint smile as he sipped his drink, leaning against a crate of ice.
He took the time to speak personally with the regular Antmen he had conscripted. These were men who had never seen the inside of the palace, yet here they were, clinking cups with the King. This small gesture did more for his popularity than any decree could. He was building more than just cold rooms; he was building a legend.
By the time the celebration wound down and the embers of the torches grew low, the bond between the clans had tightened. They weren't just Ashfang, Arcanis, Tharvok anymore—they were the loyal subjects of the Ant King.
(Back to the present)
Brood chamber.
The week of construction and diplomacy was over. Now, Antares stood in the humid, amber-lit silence of the Brood Chamber alongside Solara. The air was thick with the scent of mana and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the Queen, who watched the cradles with an intensity that bordered on religious.
Before them, the thirty crimson eggs began to tremble.
Small cracks spider webbed across the vibrant red shells. A low, wet squelching sound filled the room as the first of the Red Sons prepared to meet their King. Antares felt a surge of pure, excitement, and these small creatures were the first step toward his conquest.
"They're coming," Solara whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she reached out to touch the nearest vibrating shell.