The HiveWing capital rose like a living nightmare from the jungle—tower upon tower of black and gold hives fused together, their hexagonal walls gleaming like hardened resin beneath the sun. The air buzzed constantly, not just with insects, but with wings: thousands of HiveWings moving in perfect, regulated patterns. No chaos. No hesitation. Every dragon knew where to be.

Because Queen Wasp demanded it.

At the highest spire, where the wind carried the scent of sap and venom, Queen Wasp stood upon her balcony, gazing down at her kingdom as if it were a game board. Her scales shimmered a sharp, polished gold streaked with black, flawless and deliberate. Her wings were folded neatly at her sides, every edge precise. Even at rest, she looked coiled—ready.

Behind her, the throne chamber pulsed faintly with mind-control vines, their pale tendrils glowing as they crept along the walls like obedient thoughts.

“Status,” Queen Wasp said coolly, without turning.

A HiveWing advisor stepped forward, head bowed low. “The villages to the east remain compliant, Your Majesty. No further disturbances reported. The SilkWing population is… quiet.”

Wasp’s antennae twitched.

“Quiet,” she repeated, tasting the word. “That is not the same as loyal.”

She turned at last, eyes sharp and glittering, pupils narrowing like a predator’s. The chamber seemed to tighten around her presence. Every guard straightened. Every advisor froze.

“They are insects,” she continued, voice smooth and venomous. “They exist to serve the Hive. To fuel it. To strengthen it.” Her tail flicked, tapping the floor once. “And yet insects still crawl where they are not permitted.”

The vines along the wall pulsed brighter, reacting to her irritation.

Reports had reached her—whispers carried on frightened wings. SilkWings disappearing. HiveWings hesitating when given orders. A dangerous word drifting through the lower hives.

Freedom.

Queen Wasp let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“Prepare a demonstration,” she ordered. “Something visible. Something unforgettable.” Her wings unfurled slightly, catching the light like blades. “The Hive must remember who thinks for them.”

A pause—then, more quietly, more sharply:

“And bring me the one they’re whispering about. Rebel. Traitor. Hero.” Her lips curled into a thin smile. “I want to see what kind of dragon believes they can resist me.”

Far below, alarms began to hum through the hives, echoing like a heartbeat. Dragons paused midair, feeling it—that familiar pressure behind the eyes, the invisible command tightening its grip.

Queen Wasp stepped back toward her throne, settling into it as the glowing vines stirred eagerly around her.

Let them struggle. Let them hope.

All minds led back to her.

And whoever stood before Queen Wasp next—prisoner, emissary, or defiant spark of rebellion—would soon learn the truth written into the very bones of the Hive:

No one disobeys the queen.