The tunnels were quiet, cool, and dimly lit by the faint glow of fungal bulbs lining the walls. Lieutenant Brooks walked with purpose through the lower passages of the ant colony, mandibles resting at his sides, his exoskeleton scratched from battle but his head held high. He'd just returned from a campaign near the border, and though his muscles ached and his mind was tired, his heart was at peace. There was something grounding about coming home, especially when a familiar voice cut through the silence.
"Dad!!"
Brooks turned just in time to catch the small, excited figure of his son barreling toward him. Without hesitation, he swept the young ant into his arms and lifted him high.
"You came back alive just like you promised! I'm so glad!" Toran beamed, his little arms gripping his father tightly.
Brooks laughed, a deep, warm sound. "Of course I came back, Toran. Nothing will ever slay me or make me falter. It's my duty to protect the colony… and keep you safe."
Toran's eyes sparkled with admiration. "You're so cool! I can't wait to grow up and become a military ant just like you! One day, I'll catch up to your ranks, you'll see."
Brooks grinned and placed him down gently. "When that day comes, I'll be proud to call you my equal—and maybe even retire from the battlefield."
"No way, you aren't that old, Dad!" Toran said with a mischievous grin.
"Maybe so," Brooks chuckled, ruffling his son's head. "But you'll find out soon enough. The battlefield doesn't care how old you are—it only cares how strong your heart is."
—
Ten years passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. On the training grounds, the clattering of mandibles echoed off the stone walls. Dust rose from the area as two ants dueled fiercely. One was older, seasoned, and strong. The other—young, vibrant, and determined.
"So this is all you can muster, Toran?" Brooks taunted, parrying a downward strike with ease.
Toran backpedaled, breathing hard but refusing to yield. "After all that big talk I made over the years, you better believe I'm just getting started!"
Their mandibles clashed again. Brooks spun around and knocked Toran's weapon aside, but the younger ant recovered quickly, lunging back in. Each blow he dealt was slightly sharper, slightly more refined. Brooks watched him carefully, pride swelling in his chest with every movement.
"Your form is improving. Don't overextend your strikes—that's how you leave yourself open. Watch your footing on the uneven ground," Brooks instructed as they moved.
Toran nodded, sweat dripping from his brow. "Got it!"
They broke apart again. Brooks let his mandibles rest.
"You've come a long way, son. You're no longer just swinging wildly. There's control in your blade now."
Toran puffed out his chest. "All thanks to my teacher!"
"Heh. Flattery won't earn you a break," Brooks said with a smirk. "Again."
—
Four years later, the entire colony gathered in the Queen's chamber. Toran stood tall, the symbol of youth forged into a soldier by fire. Though still young, his stature was proud, his gaze unwavering.
Queen Celeste, regal and radiant on her throne made of stone and woven leaves and vines, addressed him with the dignity of the crown.
"Although you are a young ant who has only spent a few years on the battlefield, you have proven yourself worthy by defending your colony and defeating our foes. Your critical and fast thinking saved many lives. Therefore, I hereby bestow upon you the title of Lieutenant."
Toran bowed deeply. "It would be my honor, Queen Celeste."
Cheers erupted from the crowd like a rolling tide.
Brooks stood in the back, arms crossed, a rare softness in his stern eyes. His chest rose and fell with a long breath. This moment... this was what he'd dreamed of.
Later that evening, Toran found his father by the edge of the training grounds.
"Dad, guess what—I'm finally a Lieutenant!"
Brooks chuckled. "I was at the ceremony, Toran. Of course I know."
"I know, I know," Toran said quickly. "But I just had to say it to you. It's been my dream to serve and protect the colony… to be a hero just like you. And now I've finally caught up! We're both Lieutenants!"
"You've done well, son. You've earned this."
Toran sat beside him, his expression thoughtful. "It's harder for you to rank up, right? Because becoming a Commander isn't easy."
Brooks nodded. "I haven't received a mission challenging enough lately to warrant a promotion. But that's alright. Rank isn't everything."
"Still," Toran said, a cheeky smile forming, "I bet I'll become a Commander before you."
"Sure you would," Brooks said with a grin. "Just try not to die out there, my son."
"I won't. I promise."
—
A month later.
Blood. So much blood.
The battlefield was quiet now, but the silence was haunting, a void that screamed louder than war cries ever could. Brooks knelt in the mud, cradling Toran's limp body in his arms. The once-vibrant ant now lay broken, deep wounds carved across his torso. His breath came in shallow gasps.
"I'm sorry, Dad... I failed you. I didn't keep my promise... I'm sorry..."
His voice faded, weak as a whisper on the wind—and then... silence.
"Toran? No. NO!!"
A scream tore from Brooks's throat, not of fear but of absolute anguish. Rage ignited in his veins like wildfire.
He rose, mandibles drawn, eyes burning. The tall grasshopper responsible stood only meters away, wiping blood from his blades.
Their weapons clashed with deafening fury.
Brooks fought like a monster, every strike a cry of pain, every block a denial of loss. He slashed across the grasshopper's face and chest, leaving deep, jagged scars. The grasshopper stumbled back, wounded—but still alive.
A horn sounded.
"Captain Terrence has fallen!" a voice cried. "Surrender! All forces, surrender! It's an order directly from the Queen!"
Brooks's arms trembled. He looked at his son's lifeless body, then at the enemy before him. The rage began to drain, replaced with a crushing despair. He dropped his mandibles.
The grasshopper sneered, touching the blood on his face. A scar would remain.
—
Now.
The inner parts of the fortress were silent. Only the quiet hum of tension remained as Baracko stepped forward, massive and intimidating. His armor gleamed under the dim torchlight, and across his face—an old scar ran from his nose down to his chest.
"I still haven't forgotten this scar you gave me during the war," Baracko said with a deep growl.
Brooks narrowed his eyes, his body tensing as the memories clawed back.
"And I haven't forgotten the day I lost what was most precious to me."
Baracko gave a half-shrug. "That's war. You win some, you lose some. He was just a casualty."
"Don't you dare speak of my son that way." Brooks's voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
"Back then, your strength surprised me. I was powerless against your blind rage. You almost ended me."
"But you didn't," Baracko said. "And I've waited a long time to finish what we started. I'm glad I ran into you first—so I can finally move forward."
Brooks's mandibles gleamed as he raised them. "You think I've moved on? I live every day in the shadow of that moment. I refused the Queen's offer to become a Commander because I didn't want to forget the weight of that day. I wanted to defeat you with the same rank I held back then… the same strength… the same heart."
Baracko flexed his muscles. "Admirable. But pointless. You won't win. Not this time."
Behind them, Rory stood frozen, eyes wide, heart pounding in his chest like a drum.
"To think… Lieutenant Brooks was carrying all this burden with him this whole time and never told me," he whispered. "He lost a son strong enough that is was a lieutenant … and still trained me like I was worth something."
The air thickened. A storm ready to break.
Brooks looked at the towering figure before him, then at the ground stained by the ghosts of the past. The pain in his chest had never left. But neither had the resolve.
He slowly raised his mandibles. "Let's put an end to this. For Toran."
Baracko stepped forward. "Sounds good."
Then, like thunder, they collided.
The corridor shook beneath the weight of their clash, stone splintering, sparks flying as mandible met spikes in a dance forged from grief, vengeance, and pride.