After leaving the hive, I decided not to follow another train. I saw plenty in passing, but opted to veer away. As much as I want to overhear conversations, it was best to keep away from being discovered until I’d gained at least some distance.

I want to start again. Without an entire hive of sapients chasing me down. If I was to be discovered right after leaving, I’d just leave myself open to being rediscovered in whichever new hive of theirs I find myself.

Somewhere I can learn to communicate would be nice.

In the time since leaving the hive, I've found that the intense ripple comes and leaves in oddly consistent intervals. The origin appears from one side of the cavern, crawls along the ceiling, then disappears at the other, confirming that it is moving.

Lacking any better options, I decide to follow the path of the origin. It spends all its time heading in a single direction — before somehow appearing back where it started — so I want to see where it is heading. For something that exudes so much energy to head there, it must be important.

Leaving the hive proper took far longer than I’d expected. The nests extended far beyond what I could see — albeit with decreasing density — and after crossing a fair distance, they stopped almost surprisingly abruptly.

In this new land, I spent most of my time travelling. More of those undiversified vegetation fields and growing populations of khirig over dohrni. The change in majority sapient species is interesting; do they have specific areas where one type is more dominant over the others? Or is it left entirely up to randomness.

I don’t rush. Slithering through the air takes me to so many new sights, and amongst the frequent small hive I come across — nothing near the size of the last one — there are conversations to listen. They rarely have anything important to say, but sometimes I’ll pick up on context that has previously been impossible to parse.

I now know that the fake-winged squirrels are called volans, and the ape-like beings are albanics. That is on top of the dohrni and khirig I already knew. Beyond that, I’ve discovered how these sapients get all the prey that sustains their hive. Husbandry. They raise beasts from youth, before eating them once they’re mature.

I’m not sure what to think of such a concept. They provide safety and security that these weak creatures would never find out in wild, but they sacrifice that small chance that they will grow to survive under their own power and efforts. It’s certainly not an offer I would have ever taken, but then again, I’ve never had much problem defending myself. Not until the Titans arrived.

My flight remains uninterrupted. Whenever there are enough sapients that I fear being spotted, I linger near the ground, but mostly I can fly through the air without issue. Though I don’t rise higher than where I can still see the earth beneath me. Both because I don't want to accidentally find myself in the abyss again, but also to avoid the ceiling where the ripple’s origin crosses. I’m still unsure whether it’s a Titan or not, but better to be safe.

A sudden series of dull bangs reaches my ears. I halt, twirling in mid-air. Somewhere beyond sight, those same pellet shooters that I first faced upon exiting the depths fired. There’s no sign of the metal pieces flying through the air anywhere in sight, so I doubt I’m the target.

I don’t have to wait long to hear more. A guttural chain of pops fill the air. What are they fighting? If they’re resorting to those pellet throwers, then it can’t be anything dangerous. Nothing their average warrior caste couldn’t handle.

Curious, I follow the sound.

I’ve not yet seen them fight anything besides myself. And I can’t help the desire to see how they battle against non-sapients. They’ve already shown that the way they do things is different than what I’m familiar, and I can only imagine what else they might still have to show me.

A small hive of fifty or so nests comes into view, surrounded on one side by artificial fields and a forest on the other. Half a dozen mini-trains have torn up the earth along where the plants grow, ruining the efforts of those who live here.

Clamouring all around the trains are albanics. Only albanics. Every one of them holds pellet flinging sticks, except for a pair standing in the centre of the congregation with sheathed fake-claws. Besides their heads, not a mote of their bodies remains open to air, and even then their heads carry shells like that of a tortoise on top. Their fake-skins that cover their true bodies are identical. Somewhat similar to that which I saw back in the large hive, but considering there is only one species, they appear far more identical.

It was already hard to tell individuals apart, but now that they all wear exactly the same thing and hold no species variation, I can no longer see a difference between any.

In the small hive, there are a dozen dead khirig lying in the street. All of them with small pinprick wounds that bleed like fang marks. My gaze flicks between them, trying to figure out what kind of creature killed them.

An enraged shout snaps my head to the side. I watch as a khirig with antlers sharpened into spikes rushes out from its nest. It charges the albanics. Or, it tries. A round of bangs rip out from those sticks the identical albanics hold, and those tiny pieces of metal crash into the khirig. Sometimes ricocheting off the antlers, but mostly sinking into the soft flesh beneath.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The sapient doesn’t make it half way to the albanics before it collapses, dead.

After killing the khirig, the albanics pay barely a glance to its body as they storm into the nest he came from. A few more bangs follow soon after.

This is the first time I've seen these sapients actually fight each other. Until now, I thought there was some sort of natural alliance between their races, but this shatters that thought. Why are these ape-like albanics slaughtering other sapients?

Another bang, followed by a scream. I twist to the forest where one of the small trains has halted outside the thick line of trees.

I drop to the ground and slither through the long grass where I can’t be seen before slithering into the forest. Soon, I find myself watching a group of four albanics standing over the prone, curled up form of a khirig. They hold their weapons threateningly close to the creatures head

“Where are the rest of your village hiding?” one of the albanics shouts, standing taller than the other three. “We saw your lot run off into the trees before we arrived. Where'd they go? Which hole have they dug themselves?”

The khirig, being held down by the pair to his sides, spits. The spittle lands in the mud beneath his antlered arms “As if I would tell you.”

The response only earns a strike to the caged head with the metal stick in the albanic's arms.

“You won't tell us? I see…” The speaking albanic takes a small lump from his waist and holds it to the base of an antler, where it connects to the khirig's spine. For a moment, all sapients are still, and I don't think anything will happen. But a bang rips out from the small object, severing the antler with a crack.

The khirig screams in agony, and I watch with growing understanding as the albanics chuckle at his pain.

“Feel like talking now?” one asks, an arrogant snarl across its face.

I suddenly find myself hissing.

They're obviously the stronger creatures here. They have an overwhelming advantage over the one unable to move on the ground, and yet they play with him.

They inflict pain for the sake of it? Toying with prey they should kill.

What kind of brutality is this?

There is no intent to hunt this one for food or pose a challenge. Nothing but a display of superiority. They torment this creature simply because it is weaker. They are no different to the Titans.

My hiss becomes louder as my agitation grows.

“What's that?” one asks, raising his head a moment before my fangs sink into his throat.

I rip my head back, taking half the flesh of his neck with me and showering myself in his blood. The other three startle, turning only fast enough to see their partner fall to the ground clutching his missing throat.

Only one of them has the wherewithal to raise their weapon in time, but when they fire, the shrapnel tears the wood and metal stick into splinters and explodes its hand into chunks. I’ve seen how they work. A single bend is enough to render their pellet-flingers ineffective.

While the albanic screams at his devastated hand, I leap to another. Too slow to react, it can only struggle as I curl around its torso. The first thing to shatter is the weapon, lodging plenty of splinters into its chest, which are only pushed deeper as I continue to constrict. It is already unconscious before more than a couple ribs break. I finish it off with a bite into its soft head, squishing the brain within.

Small metal pieces ping off my scales, ricocheting without a scratch as I uncurl from the dead disappointment of a sapient. The last two — one uninjured, and the other with only one hand — fire at me with terrified expressions. Despite having shot off its own hand, it hasn’t learnt? Now it uses the smaller lump to fling harmless pellets my way.

I pass through a series of bends and appear in front of its face before it can react. Before its eyes can even comprehend my appearance. My fangs tear through its face, striking its brain and killing it instantly.

So weak… and they thought it good to abuse those weaker than them?

The last runs. Its weapon forgotten as it scrambles back towards the other albanics, often tripping in the mud in its desperation.

It dares to act as it does to the weak, and still flees when faced with something more? Coward.

A bend appears beneath its foot, trapping the beast. I pass through another, slowly approaching from behind as it scrambles to pull its leg from the hole. It pulls its own small pellet shooter, firing off a dozen shots. The terror rises in its eyes as it realises that none of the metal pebbles work. They simply skid off my scales as I slowly slither forward, undaunted.

The beast dies quickly.

It might be too great a mercy not to return the torment they dealt, but I’ve already sworn to myself not to inflict any unnecessary suffering when I can avoid it. I don’t want to be like those Titans I despise. Never.

I turn back to the recipient of the albanic’s toying. The khirig lays on ground, staring wide eyed and terrified.

Well, wide-eyed and frozen is better than aggressive. I still want to attempt communication. Hopefully this one will react like Scia did to being saved, and not like the young from the fissure.

As I slither forward, inspecting the cracked antler of what once formed its leg, the khirig scrambles away. After a moment, it has to stop, pain scarring its face, likely from the wound inflicted upon its spine antler.

I stop. If my proximity terrifies it, then I cannot continue how I am. I need to change my approach. Twisting my head, I try to think of some way to get the creature to calm down.

“Are you a portian?” But the khirig’s voice comes first. He still seems terrified, and it’s not the unwavering trust that Scia showed from the start — especially with the uncertainty marring his face — but it’s a question directed at me.

I almost leap forward in excitement at having been spoken to again, but manage to hold myself back. This is an opportunity, and I don’t intend to miss it. Without any words to speak, I follow a motion that I've seen plenty of other sapients make in my travel.

My head raises and lowers in a repeating cycle. I know it represents a response similar to a yes, or other acknowledgement. While I’m not sure what a ‘portian’ is, giving the khirig a response that shows I can communicate — even if in limited capability — seems like the right thing to do.

“Then, thank you.” Suddenly the creature seems to slump in relief. Its head bows to me… which seems strange, but I don’t question it. I have a creature that doesn’t see me and immediately think ‘attack’ or ‘run in fear’.

The khirig rolls onto its chest before pushing itself to its leg antlers. One of which lacks a major branch, leaving it with a lopsided gait.

“We should get out of here,” the khirig says. “There’ll be more Henosis soldiers soon.”

And like that, I’m suddenly no longer alone.