Once again, the body Terry was in was not his own.

He was on a snowy mountainside, clinging to a jagged rock overlooking a treacherous path. This time, he could see his legs, and sure enough, they were the thin, branch-like structures of a zilgling’s. They were also snow-white in color, different from the zilglings he had seen before. Though perhaps it was just the dim, evening lighting playing tricks on his three pairs of eyes.

Against his will, he sang a soft tune through his mandibles. One which formed a harmony with the droning note of the gusting wind. Combined with the red and blue gas giants looming overhead, as well as the twinkling lights of the small city in the shadow of this mountain, it painted an eerie yet beautiful picture.

As he (or at least the zilgling he was seeing through) sang, a dark figure appeared. Around it was the mysterious, twirling mist Terry had seen before in this state. There was also something else; something more lucid and tangible. A blue, transparent, shimmering bubble of energy was surrounding the figure, shielding them from the battering, biting winds and the blue streams of icy mist they kicked up.

Terry felt it a little on a particularly fearsome gust: a tingle of cold running on… well, not his skin, but the zilgling’s exoskeleton. It wasn’t particularly biting, but it wasn’t nice, either. All Terry knew was that if he was in this cold place as himself, he would be freezing to death by now, not merely feeling uncomfortable.

As the figure approached, Terry’s zilgling stopped its whistling. Instead, it began listening intently. It was hard to hear over all the ambient noise, but the figure was singing something. Terry couldn’t make out the words, but he could hear it was in a minor key, and there was a folksy air about it.. As the figure grew closer, Terry recognized that it wasn’t sung in any language he knew of, though miraculously, he still understood the words.

His zilgling must have known the language and was translating for him.

“There’s a boy goin’ round askin’ questions,

Bout which side you sit,

In the ole’ king’s tender halls,

Or in a pile o’ shit.

He says change is a’comin,

And all will be okay,

But y’all know if you look like me,

It’s time to get far, far away–”

The figure paused, apparently catching sight of the zilgling.

“Oh, hello there lil’ fellah,” he called, the energy shield around him still flickering.

Terry would have gasped if he could. He didn’t recognize it when the figure was singing, but now that he was speaking normally, he sounded just like Father Sunny. It was hard to make out his features at first, but now that the thought of Sunny was in his mind, he noticed he was indeed wearing the same, black priest robes as on the bus. The only difference was he had an attached hood up.

This confused Terry even more than he was already. What was the old priest doing alone on this treacherous, mountain path? What was that blue, sparkling bubble surrounding him? And why did his skin and eyes look so different? A grayish blue and pitch black, respectively. Or at least that’s what it looked like from his vantage point.

“Haven’t seen any monks around lately, have ya?” Sunny asked Terry’s zilgling.

The zilgling merely let out a chirp in response.

“Interestin’,” Sunny said, looking him over more intently. “Good, ya don't look tainted. Guessin’ you’re one of Queen Unitaras’s flock. Got the markings. To whatever eyes are lookin’ through yours, I ain’t here to cause a fuss. I’m dealin’ with matters of a place too far away for you to care about.” His eyes narrowed menacingly. “But I do want ya’ to stay outa mah business. Consider this a ‘warning shot’, as the humans say.”

Suddenly, Sunny flicked his hand. What could only be described as a wave of shadows shot out of it, soaring through the light with an ephemeral hum. Terry’s zilgling didn’t have time to react before it struck.

“I wonder wear zilgling minds go when they dream?” Sunny said, his voice increasingly hazy.

Despite apparently dreaming himself, Terry still felt like he had just been force-fed a whole gallon of sleeping potion. His zilgling began to lose its grip on the rock, falling downwards towards a large snowbank. Its eyes closing as well, and with it, Terry’s view of the scene collapsed.

He woke back up on the Bloomfield Express, feeling groggier than his first real hangover the previous New Year. Rubbing his temples, he noticed Spot staring out the window, uncharacteristically quiet. Bedrock and Gnessia, in the meantime, were staring at him. Bedrock looked concerned, and Gnessia… well, her rocks were orbiting more quickly than usual.

“Ya alright, Terry?” Bedrock asked. “You were, er, humming a lot in yer’ sleep.”

“Was the tune nice?” Terry said groggily.

“I thought so,” Bedrock shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Terry continued, rubbing his temples. “Just another really weird dream.”

“Ugh, I know the feeling,” Bedrock nodded. “Mine are always weird. One time I dreamed I was a noodle. Didn’t want ta’ eat pasta for a week after that.”

“Bleh, you two are lucky,” Gnessia grumbled. “I wish I could dream.”

“You don’t need to sleep?” Terry asked.

Bedrock’s eyes immediately widened in horror. “Terry, no!”

Terry raised an eyebrow. “What? What’s wron–”

“If I did, it’d be like a rock!” Gnessia giggled.

Terry once saw a painting of a man with a pronounced frown on his face. The title of it was ‘I am disappoint’. He had to imagine he and Bedrock shared that expression at the moment.

“I don’t care how many times I’ve said it, that joke will never get old,” Gnessia said.

“It was old even before it was born,” Bedrock groaned.

“Seriously though, I don’t have to sleep,” Gnessia explained. “I just go into hyper-stasis a few hours or so every day. I’m still conscious during it, though, so no dreaming involved.”

“Only three hours wasted a day instead of eight?” Bedrock sighed longingly. “I’d give up dreamin’ for that.”

As the clock above the door to the cabin spun to nine, the train carried onward and onward. There would be no stopping on its two day journey. The scenery was slowly transitioning between lush, hilly grasslands to dark, thick, deciduous forests. Both suns had completely set by now, with the two gas giants now brighter than ever. Though unlike the stars, their light wasn’t nearly bright enough to block the view of the greater heavens.

Thousands of other stars came into view, all of them too far from Sphere to obscure the local skies. This allowed three, closer rockier planets to become visible as well. Two were milky white and cratered. The other was green and blue.

“They’re actually moons more than planets, ya know, even if everyone calls em’ that,” Bedrock noted, his voice half a yawn. “They’re goin’ around Sphere directly, not any of the orbiting stars.”

“Ever wondered what it would be like… living on a planet orbiting a star and not the other way around?” Gnessia wondered.

“Hard ta’ say whether anything could be livin’ on those’,” Bedrock said. “Current spectrographs are a bit too crude to accurately measure atmospheric composition of even the closest worlds. Preliminary measurements don’t look too great, though. There’s also the issue of climate instability given most of their eccentric orbits and…”

Terry pretty much zoned out at that point. It wasn’t that he wasn’t into astronomy, it was just that Bedrock was starting to get a little too into the technical side of things for him to understand. Spot, as mentioned, had already done the same, though for a different reason. The cat person was utterly transfixed on the rocky worlds above. Terry wasn’t sure by which, but it appeared to be one of the cratered ones.

He shrugged at it. It must have been a tabaxi thing, or perhaps some sort of monk meditation. Either way, he didn't want to break Spot out of it to ask. Besides, he had more pressing matters. Literally.

"Bathroom," he declared, interrupting the dwarf.

"Ya' don't need ta' tell everyone, lad," Bedrock chuckled.

"Er, right," Terry nodded, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Sorry.”

Apparently, this caught Spot's attention as well, because as he exited the car, he heard the cat monk say: "Uh, about that… first time on one of these choo choos. I guess there aren’t gonna be any piles of sand or maybe, um, loose dirt around, right?”

"Why?" he heard Gnessia ask.

"Uhhhh… no reason."

Terry immediately put that conversation out of his mind as he continued down the corridor towards the restroom car. This particular one was supposedly all the way near the rear of the passenger area of the train. It wasn't hard to navigate, being nearly barren, with most of the passengers probably having retired to their night cars.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

He enjoyed the alone time, to be honest. It gave him a chance to process his strange dream. He had successfully put out of his mind his zilgling encounter months ago, but now he couldn’t help but think of it again. Not to mention the nightmare he had prior to that. The one where a city had apparently come under attack.

Each of these dreams and visions were radically different. Two, of course, happened when he was sleeping. The other happened when he was wide awake. One was an apparent vision of the past, and the other two… well, he didn’t know exactly. There was only one real pattern to them: in each one, he seemed to be looking out of the eyes of a zilgling… or zilglings in the first dream’s case.

He was no psychologist, but he could only guess that this may have been due to some sort of past trauma relating to the creatures. There was a flaw with that, however: while his encounter with one of them in the wild wasn’t exactly pleasant at a young age, he didn’t remember losing any sleep over it. In fact, they hadn’t even abandoned the camping trip.

Zilgling weren’t really terrifying creatures unless one had a fear of bugs. Many people, including his own mother, thought they were cute. He also knew they weren’t dangerous, either, thanks to a lecture he heard at school.

***

It was over eight years ago, but Terry remembered the assembly quite clearly. Due to a lack of information on zilglings in the out-dated schoolbooks they had, Mr. Holliger had actually pushed for an expert guest speaker to come. Terry didn’t know it at the time, but it was probably in reaction to the public backlash some parts of the Silver Republic were giving to the zilgling integration. Fortunately, Mr. Holliger wasn’t going to allow scientific ignorance to go unchecked, believing this to be the root cause of the prejudice.

The speaker, famous environmentalist Stevin Irkin, was not having any of it, either. His infectious enthusiasm for the creatures spread like a wave from the makeshift stage set up in his school’s largest classroom. The wonderful accent he had certainly helped.

“It’s gonna sound loonie, but let me tell ya’: forget everything ya’ve heard about the lil buggas,” he proclaimed. “Or big buggas, I should say. Lot of misinformation out there, which is a lil’ understandable given how different they are to us. But let me tell you, as someone from Oz Island, there’s a lot more to them than meets the eye.”

He pointed to one of two pictures that had been hung on the blackboard. This one was of a small zilgling perched on the trunk of an Oz Island Gumtree.

“Now, who can tell me the difference between this zilgling–”

He pointed to the other picture. This one showed what appeared to be a much larger, bulkier zilgling in an arid brushland. Stevin also appeared in the picture, standing next to the zilgling’s large form. While most only came up to one’s waist, this one was nearly eight foot tall, towering over Stevin. Nonetheless, it appeared to be gentle, and was actually placing one of its legs on Stevin’s shoulder in an apparent affectionate gesture.

“--and this one.”

Benny slowly raised his hand. He was currently sitting next to Bedrock and Rosa in the audience.

“You there,” Stevin said, pointing to him.

“One’s bigger than the other,” Benny said cheekily, earning a round of laughter from the class.

This also earned him a look of absolute ire from Mr. Holliger, standing off to the side of the makeshift stage, though Stevin didn’t seem phased. In fact, he laughed along with them. “Darn right it is. Nearly twice as large, in fact. But what I’m looking for is what the difference is in type.”

Rosa’s hand shot up at that, her eyes practically beaming in adoration for the environmentalist the entire lecture.

“What do ya’ think, Sheila?” Stevin said, pointing at her.

Normally, Rosa spoke in a concise, almost regal-sounding tone, but at the moment she was so starstruck that she could barely answer. “Oh, um, uh, one is… um… a female, a queen, and the other is a male worker, right? Like ants?”

“Exactly,” Stevin said. “Good answer.”

“T-Thanks, Stevin,” Rosa said, her cheeks flushing brightly.

“Though there is a big difference between them and ants,” Stevin continued. “Zilgling queens are as smart as humans, dwarves, and levikin. Even more-so, some say. Not to say that ants aren’t intelligent. When acting as a hive, they can pull off some bloody unreal feats. You’ve probably seen pictures of em’ coming’ together to act as rafts. But their brains just can’t form the number of neuron connections needed to be that smart as individuals.”

“Are the worker zilglings as smart as queens?” Terry asked, sitting between Rosa and Benny in the audience.

“Not quite,” Stevin said. “Worker drones are about as smart as most doggos alone. However, they’re capable of connecting with each other and their queens through a means we still don’t quite understand. Through it, they can share brainpower, memories, and even see through each other’s eyes.”

“That would be quite interesting, wouldn’t it?” Rosa whispered to Terry. “Being able to see through someone else’s eyes?”

“Be kinda weird, to be honest,” Benny butted in.

“Yeah,” Terry chuckled. “It definitely would be.”

***

Terry snapped out of his memories as he reached the bathroom car. However, before he entered it, he noticed something: a note pasted on the adjacent door leading to what he thought was the cargo area of the train.

Attention: zilglings potentially synchronizing and/or resting. Please do not disturb. ‘We need our buggy beauty sleep’.

P.S. The Zilgling Queen insisted I write that.

“Speak of the devil,” Terry said aloud.

He read the note again, somewhat perplexed by it. What did it mean by ‘The Zilgling queen insisted I write that’. Was the writer able to understand the creatures somehow? Also, what was ‘synchronizing’? Some sort of fancy word for communicating?

Whatever it was, the zilglings didn’t appear too inactive, as he could easily hear chittering and the pitter-patter of legs on metal from the other side of the door.

Every so often, he could hear a bit of their ‘singing’, too, or whistling to be more accurate. It was a bit hard to hear, so against his better judgment, Terry leaned his ear towards the door to listen closer. He hoped this wasn’t going to trigger another vision, though his curiosity needed to be sated.

To his relief, none came. Whatever brought them, their singing alone wasn’t it. He was about to shrug things off and turn to use the bathroom when suddenly he heard a voice.

“Anyone there?”

It sounded almost human, though it had a strange effect to it. Like another voice was speaking simultaneously with it though at a softer, much lower pitch. However, the most peculiar thing about it was the accent. It sounded like it was from the Middle West areas of the Republic; perky, for lack of a better word. It was also pretty feminine.

Terry didn’t want to be rude and ignore it, however, so he decided to reply with: “Uhhh… hi?”

“Oh jinkies, hey there!” the voice replied jubilantly. “Oh! Your voice sounds familiar! Ya’ wouldn’t happen ta’ be from Garthwood, would’ja?”

Terry’s eyes widened. How in the world–

“Sorry, you're probably confused. A few of my hive were out that way this summer, dontcha know. Nice folks. Seemed to like us!”

“Wait… wait a minute…” Terry said. “Are you a zilgling?”

“Yuh huh,” she said cheerfully. “Queen Synria at your service. Didn’t realize we could speak yer’ language, did’ja?”

“Well, no, to be honest,” Terry said, still awestruck. “But uh… let me get this straight. You had some of your drones in Garthwood? That’s how you know me. Were you there?”

“Nope,” she said. “I was miles away in Amber Hill. Bit distant to direct things from that far usually, but I had help. Gotta love the fancy new walkie-talkies.”

“But you could, um, see through their eyes, right?” Terry asked.

“Sorta,” she said. “Like I said, things get limited when I’m too far away. Had to synchronize later. But I have their memories. Including the one of you. You’re really good at the piano, you know! Beautiful song you were playing. We all quite liked it.”

Terry’s jaw nearly hit the floor. This queen not only knew about the incident he had, but she could even talk to him about it! Finally, a chance to maybe get some answers.

“Well, thanks, but uh, when you saw me…” Terry said, not exactly knowing how to explain things. “Was there anything, um, weird about it?”

“Yeah, looked like ya’ went into a bit of a trance, there,” Synria replied. “Seemed to think my kid, Scooter, had something to do with it, too.”

Terry firmly remembered what she was talking about. ‘What the hell did you do to me?!’

“Oh, uh, sorry for yelling at you– er, your ‘kid’,” Terry apologized.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said dismissively. “Just worried us, is all. Our singing doesn’t usually do that to people.”

“Doesn’t usually?” Terry asked.

“Well…” she said. “I’ve never seen it happen personally til then. Though I’ve heard a story or two from other queens…”

“What did you hear?” Terry asked eagerly. “Cus listen, something really weird happened when I was in that trance. And I’ve been having these weird dreams–”

“I really don’t know much about it, I’m afraid,” Synria interrupted. “From what I’ve heard, it’s just something that can happen.”

“But what is happening?” Terry asked.

“I don’t wanna say anything until I’ve talked with a few other queens,” Synria said. “Don’t wanna give ya any bad information, ya know? Also, it’s a lil awkward talkin’ through this door. I’d ask to you to come into our car, but… well, it’s a bit of a mess at the moment. You understand. Why don’t we talk face to face when we get to Skyfleet academy, okay? I’ll have some answers for you then.”

“Please, Queen Synria, couldn’t you just tell me what you know now?” Terry begged. “This has kinda been freaking me out.”

“You can just call me Synria if ya’ want,” she said. “Not like I’m wearin’ a crown. But… no, now wouldn’t be a good time. Just relax, okay? The one thing I have heard is that it can’t really hurt ya’. Why don’t you get some shut eye for now? Ya’ sound tired. Then, when all the fuss is over with, meet me later. I’ll be at the Zilgling Training Center at the academy.”

“Wait, you’re a cadet, too?” Terry asked.

“Yuh uh,” she said. “Don’t let the whole ‘queen’ thing fool ya, I’m only twenty years old, don’tcha know. I’m still a student just like the rest of ya’. My mother will be teachin’ us queens. Bit of a higher up, so ya’ better watch your step! Haha, naw, just kidding. She’s not like that. But if anyone knows about what happened with ya, she would. Don’t worry, we’ll get things straightened out, Builder bless it.”

“You’re religious?” Terry asked.

Synria laughed. “Bit of an up-front question, there, but yes: I believe in Foundationalogy. Layerism in particular. Surprised?”

“Yeah, kind of, to be honest,” Terry nodded.

“Hah!” she chuckled. “Ya’ know, I’m starting to like ya’. Ya’ say what’s on yer mind.”

“Well, thanks…” Terry said. “It was nice meeting you, too. Weird, but nice.”

“Hehe, don’t forget, we’ve technically already met, but I get watcha mean,” Synria said.

“Right,” Terry nodded slowly. “Uh, before I go, though, do you happen to know about anyone named… Sunny? He’s a priest… black robes, kinda old. Probably not the best description, but he was in one of those weird dreams I mentioned. I dunno how he fits into all of this but… just thought I’d ask.”

There was a pause, before Synria finally said. “Name sounds familiar, but I’m not sure from where. This dream you had. What was he doing in it?”

“Well, he was kind of just walking up a mountain path,” Terry said. “But he had a lot of weird mist surrounding him. Oh, and he was able to do… things I can’t really explain.”

“Interestin’,” Synria said. “All I can say is that that doesn’t sound familiar to me. Might have been another hive you were, um, doin’ your thing with. Another lil’ something for me to talk to the other queens about.”

“Right,” Terry said, nodding slowly. “Well, uh, good night, Synria.”

“Good night,” Synria said sweetly.

That was the last he would hear from her the rest of the trip.