Dozens of sapients crowd together in the tight space of the nest I find myself. They murmur amongst themselves, concerned, but not quite fearful of the lockdown. I hear questions thrown around. Speculation about the cause.

None realise that the very thing they are hiding from slithers beneath the cluttered mess of objects stacked at the side of the room. Hiding from them here is rather easy, assuming I stay still and out of sight, but I know the flying squirrels saw the nest I flew into, so I should move further away before they find me only a wall away.

Oddly enough, there are some of those fake-winged rodents amongst them, but even when I poke my head out from cover, they are far slower to react than the two that had been following me. Another difference in caste? Using the term ‘warrior’ doesn’t seem to fit, but their speed and sight were far greater then the few hugging the heads of other races in the confines of this nest.

Of course, they are still far sharper than the others, but I don’t even hear a squeak of surprise from them as I slither through cover to the other side of the room and pass beyond the wall.

The next nest I find myself is incredibly cold. A far cry from the comfortable warm air outside. Along the ceiling of the small cavern are more of those lines of energy curving in odd patterns. Unlike those outside, they emit a chill; likely the source of this cavern’s differing temperature.

My scales are resilient and hold off the cold well, but I will never not prefer the sensation of a warm climate over a cold one. I slide across the narrow cavern, grateful for the lack of sapients sharing the space and ignoring the subtle hum of conversation from the wall to the side, when the scent of fowl licks my tongue again.

Held along the wall are cubical forms — more of the sapients’ favourite shape — stacked one on top of the other. I poke it with my tail, and the shape shatters, revealing the pile of dead, skinned, bird meat held within. It is obviously the same species as the prey I just ate, but it looks nothing alike. It smells nothing alike. Colder than any other creature besides maybe an apikull, this can’t possibly be where that meal came from. Far too much time has passed since the creatures’ death that even if they hadn’t been hidden away within this chilly chamber, they’d be too cold to eat.

Why would the sapients leave their prey here to rot? I hardly thought they were carrion eaters, considering the wonderful taste they’d given non-living meat.

Not wanting to linger in a cavern of distasteful long-dead prey, I create a bend out through the nearest wall. Before I pass through, I discover it leads back outside. Manipulating the bend’s connection point on the other side, I alter the angle until I get a full view of the surroundings. It’s too open and one of those flying squirrels would only have to pass over to spot me.

Manipulating the distortions while they are already in place is surprisingly easy to do. I’d never considered such a thing possible at first, considering those in the warped tunnels rarely change after they are formed, but I can twist the entry and exit points as long as they don’t shift angles or divert position in space rapidly. Doesn’t help much when I’m trying to slither through the air or move rapidly, but times like now when I need to view the world without being seen myself, it is useful.

I shift back, going through the other wall and hiding beneath chairs that have been stacked against one wall to make room for more sapients to squeeze into the tight space. Right now, I’m still too close to the nest I entered, and the fake-winged creatures will be sure to spot me if I go outside. Just as they did last time.

Now that I think about it, they do know which nest I flew within, so they’ll probably have all the surrounding ones searched soon. I don’t think they are stupid enough to not have figured out I can ignore their walls. So instead of hiding, I dart forward, slithering beneath limbs and objects so I can reach the opposite wall quick and pass through. I do my best to remain unseen but sometimes that is simply impossible. The small flyers eyes are simply too good.

In the first huddled group, I discovered that most of the sapients rarely tend to look up, so as I swim through the next few nests, I keep near the ceiling. Unfortunately, this has the opposite effect. Even sticking to the corners, the moment I slide over some points in the sprawled veins of energy through the ceiling, every eye snaps my way.

I don’t know what gave me away, but from then on I keep low. Slithering between tentacles and feet often startles the one I move through, but at least it isn’t the whole nest watching me.

As I pass through the sixth wall, I realise, again, I’m not treating the sapients with the respect their intelligence deserves, and chide myself with a soft hiss. Going straight like this will reveal my path in no time. Considering those behind me can speak and communicate, there’s no hiding where I’ve been. It wouldn’t be surprising if they’ve already set up an ambush ahead.

For the next cavern, I make sure I’m more subtle than before. I keep out of all creatures’ sight as I make my way to the rear of the nest and peer out into the open space behind the building. Finding none looking in the tight gap between nests, I dart across, leaving myself visible only for an instant.

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Leaving the bend open behind me, I twist it around to see if any witnessed my passage. Nothing. Not even the slightest movement.

I make sure to keep my path unpredictable from then on, putting more effort to remain out of sight the further I travel. After a short while, the nests I pass through are no longer filled with the sapients under lockdown. Instead, the few I do come across are completely enraptured with gazing through their thin crystal walls touching the outside to notice my passage through their homes.

With each new nest I pass through, awareness of the lockdown grows less frequent, until the point where I find some not even paying attention to what is outside their nests, and they eat on surfaces similar to those in the street back where I came from.

I’d assumed that street had been where the sapients feasted; a sort of storage and preparation area for the prey they gathered. But if they eat in their nests too, than I must be wrong.

It is, unfortunately, impossible to travel through the densely packed nests without sometimes slithering out into a street. The only reason I can do so without much worry, is that they appear almost abandoned compared to how busy the feeding street or any other I’d seen from the train had been.

The longer I travel through the hive, the quieter the streets become. And the reason is just as confusing as the shift in activity; they are resting. That creatures would sleep is hardly unsurprising in itself, but they all do it at the same time. Such a vast hive, and they all want to sleep in sync. Why?

I don’t even need to worry about being spotted anymore. Any time I slither in through a nest, the occupants are dead to the world. I can pass them by out in the open without being noticed.

I don't understand it. No other creatures down in my warped tunnels ever slept with such unison, even amongst members of the same species. It is only the sight of the rare group of warrior cast rushing through the streets in search of me that it becomes apparent that they aren’t purely leaving themselves open to attack. Of course the defenders would hold more standard sleep patterns while the rest stick to their oddities.

As this is a swarm of intelligent creatures, I’m sure these groups of warrior caste are searching for me. They wouldn’t give up on me simply because they lost me. I am still within the hive, and they know it. But what I find strange, is that they don’t search with any great depth.

More than once already, they’ve passed where I hide, and all it would take is to crouch or turn a corner and they’ll discover me. But they never do. They run along, seeing nothing. Even the way they flick their eyes around to search their surroundings seems inadequate. As if they're waiting more for a noise to reveal my location for them.

Because of this insufficient effort on their part, I can filter through the hive without problem. I remain wary of the flying rodents and the open spaces where they can see me, but otherwise I’m unimpeded.

The hive is immense. I slither through the streets that never seem to end, always branching off in another strange direction. I came here to listen in on the conversation of sapients, but with them all unconscious, I find that there is far more to capture my interest than some idle chatter.

Most of their nests rise ten times their height. Those nearer the large curving wall only climb higher. When not blocked by the buildings themselves, my sight cannot reach the edge of the hive. In any direction. I struggle to imagine just how many of their kind lives here.

The more I see, the more impressed I grow with what such weak creatures have created. Besides very few of their warrior caste, they hold strength equivalent to the weakest of species, yet they have not let that hold them back. Between those energy lines, their sleep schedule, and so many other ways I’ve seen them interact, both with themselves and the outside world, there is so much about them I cannot comprehend.

Sapience truly is incredible. I’d been thinking otherwise for a long time now — what is a slight improvement to intelligence over more strength, after all — but they can create things that could never be possible with strength alone.

The flowing pool of water from what is otherwise a mountain of rock is a perfect example.

From a pillar of stone carved into the shape of some strange beast — one of multiple species that wouldn’t likely survive long if it were real — flows a stream of water. The water splashes down into a small pond that appears unnaturally clean, unlike the murk at the bottom of the fissure.

At a surface glance, such doesn’t appear all that impressive. A single distortion from the depths would geyser out far more water. But there are no rends here. Even if I could create one, I wouldn’t want to keep it active indefinitely, and these creatures obviously don’t have such ability.

No. What they’ve done is direct the water where there isn’t any naturally. Even in the warped tunnels, so much life relies on the flow of water. In sections where it doesn’t flow, only creatures that prey on others can survive.

But they have directed that water to their whims. Whether they’ve done it with those strange energy lines or some other method, I don’t know. It is simply because they can, that their hive has grown to such expanses.

These sapients do not rely on the environment being perfect for them to survive, as every other creature does. The environment is their plaything, to morph however their tastes desire.

It makes me wonder how they have so much meat available for so many of their kind. Despite how long I’ve wandered through this hive, not once have I seen the fowl the meat I ate came from. How do they sustain their requirements?

The empty streets make searching the hive easy, and I take full advantage. Every sight is amazing and new, and I can only wish that Scia was still here to enjoy it with me.

Eventually, the quiet recedes. The sudden ramping of bird chirps surprises me. I hadn’t even realised there were birds in this nest, not with how I’d avoided the sky or any place a flying squirrel might see. Had they been sleeping too, along with the sapients? Why does everything rest at the same time up here?

Almost as if timed with the increase of bird-chirps, the spatial ripple that had left while I rode along the back of the train returns. Initially, it is slight, but it rapidly overwhelms the air. Not a street of the hive remains untouched by the warmth.