《Fae》 Prologue: The void I am drifting. Lost. Like an ocean, the void lulls me in its vastness. My self¡ªthat tiny, inconsequential thing¡ªthreatens to unravel under the immense pressure of non-existence.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. But I hold onto it. Fold into myself, ignore the pull of nothingness and drown in memories, feelings, sensations. Time has no meaning. The only sign of linearity is my eroding, the outer layers of my being waning even as I grow to compensate; an endless cycle of ebb and flow. And in the end, change. And I start over again. Chapter 1: Musings of a peculiar egg The void is gone. I am still folded. Still asleep. But the nothingness that consumed me is no more. How long has it been? The answer feels infinite, yet here I am. Somewhere.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Somewhen. I cannot see, hear, taste or touch. But I know. My self is protected, contained. I am free to unfold. To think. To awaken. But it''s been so long¡­ I will need time. Time that I now have. I can feel it, washing over me. Out of reach, but present. Waiting. Such an alien term. I will wait. Until I discern dreams from memories. Until I remember who I am. Until the void comes to take me again. I will wait. Chapter 2: Existence There is something. I am not familiar with it. To call it a feeling would be an understatement. To call it a whisper would be disingenuous. But I can feel a whisper. Deep inside. It is not me. But it is. It comes from outside. But it doesn¡¯t. Like time, it defines me. I do not know where I end and where it starts. I am curious. I do not know how to hear its whispering. But while I am asleep, it doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t learn. I learn. Time eludes me. I do not know how long it takes between each small discovery.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. But I learn. There is nothing else to do. I can feel them. The words that are not yet words. They take shape slowly. They take tinges. Try colors. Change flavors. They settle on them without hurry. Then they are done. And they show themselves to me, in concepts I can understand. In their redefined infinity, they read as follows: [Larvae Egg: Strength: 0 Agility: 0 Endurance: 0 Intelligence: 0 Wisdom: 0 Skills: None] That is me. The me of now. What I am. A larvae. I remember. Tiny, fragile beings. Soft and ticklish under my fingers. Long and hot days under the glare of the summer sun. I remember. Their wiggly, elongated forms. Their simple, small existence. I remember. But most importantly. I¡¯m alive. Chapter 3: Embodiment I can feel. The barest of senses. A mere glimpse of corporeity. I can feel. But not move. Can¡¯t tell hot from cold, hurt from whole. But I know there is something. The start of a body. I can feel. The whisper. Shifting. It¡¯s too small to put into words yet, suggestions more than descriptions. Changes so minute they barely deserve a passing mention.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I can feel. I¡¯m alive. The void is so distant now. It almost feels like a lie. If I had the privilege to think, I believe I would have assumed it to be my fate. Eternal emptiness. Not even darkness. Just a nothingness so overwhelming that it dissolved me in apathy. There is no light, yet. Or a speck of color beyond the ones I dream about. But there is hope. I can¡¯t remember the last time I felt its brightness. Chapter 4: Hatchling The feeling has grown. And with it, my body. I¡¯m so small. I may have forgotten a lot, but not the memory of my previous shell. Not entirely. It was my lens to the world, once upon a time. My self was molded and cultivated on that cluster of organs, flesh and blood. I may have departed from it for an eternity and more, but I will always have its imprint on my shape. On my narrative. And it tells me that I am so tiny. My head is almost a dot. Dwarfed by the rest of my body, it¡¯s barely anything more than a mandible and a pair of eyes. There are tiny holes beside my mouth which I haven¡¯t figured out yet. And that is it. My thorax and abdomen are extensive. They carry small legs¡ªhardly more than stumps that wiggle lazily¡ªand segments like the bellows of a straw. I am covered in long hairs that rest placidly in the serum of my egg.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. And that is it. So simple. So straightforward. Ridiculous in comparison to my human past. The myriad of systems working in tandem to keep me functioning. The insides. Pulsing and fluctuating incessantly. The muscles. Rippling in careful harmony. My brain. The fuel to my self. Do I even have a brain, now? Is there anything but hormones and physiological reactions behind this plain grub? It does not matter. I am still me. I can feel. The days where I needed a physical shape to exist are but a distant fable. I can sense it coming. The hatching. The freedom from my cage. I will see the world again. I will experience life again. I will die again. I must take this chance. To breathe, even if just for a second. To feel, even if only the barest of breeze. I have to make it last. At least until I remember. Anything. Everything. And the next time, I swear. I won¡¯t forget. Chapter 5: Life I move my body. Back and forth. Like hair flowing in the wind. Or a swing after jumping from up high. The egg tears. Slightly. I¡¯m getting tired. Frustrated. I bite into the soft tissue until I get a purchase, then curl into that spot. I wreck it. Eventually, it gives. I can finally taste that sweet, sweet freedom and¡­ [Larvae Egg has evolved to Larvae] I¡¯m hungry. As I burst out of the egg, my first instinct is eating. So I eat. The leaf I was born in is tender and fresh. Its taste is different than I expected. Savory, but not like food as a human was. More basic. Primal. But it scratches that itch in the back of my head. I can¡¯t stop eating. If I do, I¡¯ll die. There are many others like me around. Siblings. To say that I see them would be a lie. I can barely make out my surroundings, a blur of light that I have to roughly interpret as images.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! But I can feel them. The vibrations on my hairs. From the breeze, and something else. The whisper gossips, delighted. It tattles about the direction of the others. What they¡¯re doing. Which hatched and which are about to. I listen, because I¡¯ve learned to enjoy its murmur. Lately, there have been more words. Nothing groundbreaking. Many zeroes, followed by numbers. The promise of skills that are as of yet unusable. I wonder how far it goes? What mysteries does the whisper hide? I keep eating. It¡¯s amazing how much food fits inside me. Time I understand. It likes to appear as absolute. Irreversible. It is not. Time can¡¯t flow by itself. It needs an observer. An accomplice. It acts immutable. But it is anything but. I know. Time was waiting for me. Now I can see light. Count. Not seconds, no. I¡¯m not on the same planet. I don¡¯t have the same body. But I count. I¡¯ve been eating for 4.752. 4.752 what? 4.752 somethings. Time is with me. I¡¯ve missed it. Now it is dark. And then it¡¯s bright again. Some of my siblings die. It is natural. We are fragile. Weak. Bacteria kill us easily. I do my best to avoid them. I move around the plant. Search for good leaves. If I see a healthy sibling, I eat with them. If I see a corpse, I go away. I try to excrete outside. Dangle my bottom out of the leaves and let it flow. There is not much more I can do. But it seems to be enough. I survive. And then the fourth day comes. And I change. Chapter 6: Level Up I¡¯ve been growing. Substantially. At least relative to my size. My body felt lighter, at first. I could move faster. Chew stronger. Eat more. Now it is the opposite. I become slower. Weaker. Incredibly, I¡¯ve started to eat less. I remember. A fake corpse. Brittle and crunchy. Like autumn leaves cracking sharply under my heels. I remember. A gasp. Eyes shining brightly in amazement. Hands cupping carefully their discovered treasure. I remember. I am molting.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. [Skill unlocked: Molt] [Molt: To grow is to leave things behind] My skin feels tight. Constricting. I have outgrown it. There is no place for me here. Not anymore. I understand. The whisper. It is potential. Realized and possible. Echoes of what it is. What it could be. Rumours. Whispers. And sometimes they turn into words. Molting connects me with it. It tells me about the potential of my blank shell. Fangs. Wings. Claws. Fur. Not all of them functional. Or even probable. But the potential is there. On the edge of real and imaginary. It is up to me on which side it falls. In the deeper parts of my self, I dream. In my dream, I don¡¯t need wings to fly. Or claws to tear apart my enemies. Or eyes to look at the world around me. I just need me. My self. And I. [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Intelligence] [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Wisdom] [Skill unlocked: Magic] [Magic: To observe is to realize] Chapter 7: Regret I hunger. My old skin is gone. Left on a leaf to break down by the wind. The hairs on my body have disappeared. I lost even more of my already rudimentary senses. But none of that matters. I can think. I am more than instincts. More than a ghost. I have a brain now. I can think. Think. And think. I hunger. This body was not made for thinking. Too much energy for something so small. I eat. As much as I can. It is not enough. Not enough to sustain me. No matter how many leaves I eat. No matter how much I chew. It is my digestive system.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. As impressive as it is, there is a limit. A carefully constructed balance that I broke. I can¡¯t turn off my brain. And it keeps growing with me. A mishap. An overlook. Is this how I die? By impatience and foolishness? No. The whisper reassures me. There is a way. Infinite ways. Always. A suggestion. That¡¯s all it takes. A look at the leaves I¡¯ve so ferociously been consuming. And a subtle shift in perspective. If I focus, I can hear their voices. Rustling murmurs. Coarse colors. And the glacier rhythm of a static being. It is not easy to understand such a different frequency. But I still have time. My death, if it comes, will be a slow starvation. I listen. I learn. And I answer. Liquify. The word goes out of my mind like a gentle caress. A tasteful plea. A warm lullaby. A patch of leaf melts docidly. Into a puddle of life. A nutritious serum. Salvation. It is a close call. I still need to use a lot of energy to whisper. I need to use my brain to make my thoughts real. A solution born from a problem. A problem born from my own carelessness. Every day is a dance with death. The most insignificant of missteps could toss me to the void in an instant. I must be cautious. Mindful. I have some days to deliberate. To learn from my mistakes. Next molting, I will be ready. I have to be. Stupidity can cost me quite dearly. Chapter 8: Competence As I earn more experience, whispering to the leaves becomes easier. It means I spend less energy. Gain more from my food. That is good. Already my siblings have begun to outgrow me. Not profusely. But the whisper makes it hard to miss. I will have to work to close that gap. Liquify, and my meal becomes goop on its own. Liquify. Liquify. Liquify. The pool becomes slightly bigger. And deeper. I dig in. In my dreams, I¡¯m in an ocean. The waves crash harshly against the white beach. I smell salt and sunscreen in the air. My feet squish wet sand and I raise a hand to cover my eyes from the sun. There is a tree growing on the edge of the water. I walk closer and the distance narrows impossibly fast. I stand at its feet and hear the leaves trying to whisper something. I try to touch the trunk and¡­ Someone tugs at my sleeve. I look down and see fistfuls of shells glittering with mesmerizing colors. I take one and hold it closer to my face. There is something strange about its shape. With a shrug, I let it fall to the ground. It flies back and forth in the air before posing slowly on a passing ant. I watch as it goes to its hill a few meters away. When I peek through the top hole I see¡­ Rain patters against my head. I take shelter in a nearby cabin. While I wait water begins to seep through the ground. Soon the room is flooded and I¡¯m drowning. I see a bright light on the surface. When I swim out of the deep I find a boat. After I climb it, I start to check the horizon and see an island in the distance. I reach the white beach and I...Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. My insides have started to adapt to the strange meals. I can eat more and it seems I¡¯m getting more nutrients from it. It¡¯s not enough to compensate for the last few days. But in the long term I should be fine. The whisper sounds eager. Insistent. Having survived this far by its grace, I listen. It guides me through branches thicker than I¡¯m used to. Further away from my siblings than I¡¯ve ever been. It is when I near one of the leaves that I realize. We have been paddling in the kiddy pool. The plants here feel different. Bigger. I try to take a bite and I don¡¯t manage to make even a dent. Tougher too. The whisper chatters loudly and the idea slowly starts to take shape in my head. Liquify, I whisper with a growing sense of expectation. The leaf melts into a thick syrupy puddle. I devour it. Victory. Whispering to these leaves is harder, but the result is worthwhile. They¡¯re nutritious. Richer. My growth returns to normal and, though I don¡¯t have my siblings close by to compare to anymore, I assume that it soon surpasses theirs. Days pass. Dark then bright. My skin starts to feel tight. I consider what might be useful now. A proboscis. To simplify feeding. Light changes to my digestive system. To specialize in liquid. Taste buds and an immune system boost. Now that I can¡¯t rely on my siblings, I need other ways to make sure my food is safe. Anything else will have to wait. I sleep and listen to the whisper. Follow its directions. Find the adequate words to shape my body. In the distance, my siblings eat. And I slumber. Chapter 9: Prey [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Endurance] I shed my old skin. Test my new body. Whisper to the ripe leaves around me and slurp. The fluid travels smoothly through my mouth. Tasty. At least better than nondescript mush. It feels lighter as it settles in my stomach. I can drink. And drink. And keep drinking. There doesn¡¯t seem to be an end to it. I am not bloated or sick. I excrete more often but it feels hardly different than it was before. And the energy is¡­ I had worried that the same problem would haunt me. That so many changes would tip the scale of my energy consumption, or that my brain would grow too much and I would be back where I started. I couldn¡¯t be more wrong. I feel stronger. Alert. As if I could crawl up and down the tree four times without rest. I must have so much energy that I can afford to ¡®waste¡¯ it. Finally, I can do more than just eat. I use my brain. I can listen to the whisper clearer with it. Whispering to the leaves is its own challenge but I know that it hides far more secrets than that. Sometimes, I simply dream. Connect with the parts of my self that are always asleep and let my mind wander. I don¡¯t need a brain to slurp down food, anyway. I use my body. So far I got by with my instincts but I could learn to control it better and understand my limits. I¡¯m not very strong. But I move relatively fast in short bursts. With my increasing mass, I could try to bash other insects with my head. Apart from that, I don¡¯t have many means to protect myself. I don¡¯t have claws or a sharp stinger, can¡¯t spit acid or even crush with my sacrificed mandibles. The best I could manage is to run away. I use my innards. The whisper advises me to eat some of the infested leaves. It seems that they¡¯re relatively harmless to me now, and I can strengthen my antibodies with the exercise. I gladly partake in the feast. I get healthier, the plant loses its parasites and my siblings will be in less danger when they get here eventually. Everybody wins. Except the parasites. In my dreams, I scale a mountain. The frigid winds bite into my exposed skin like microscopic glass. Inside my thick jacket, I¡¯m uncomfortably warm and sweaty. My muscles burn from the extended stress. But I lift myself from the wall. A few steps. A few more handholds and I reach solid ground again. I sprawl on the hard snow and take ragged breath after ragged breath. I¡¯m tired, but I made it. As I move my neck towards the top of the mountain, I see an infinite stretch of white rising towards a blinding mist. With a sigh, I get up and keep walking.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. The whisper boils with an urgency that I¡¯d never heard before. I pause. Try to look inconspicuous between the sea of leaves. And I listen to the foreboding warning of danger. Time slows to a crawl, seemingly worried. I feel it straining to give me precious moments to react. Suddenly, the whisper changes its composition. It chitters sharply and almost painfully in my mind. I can hear whatever is coming getting closer. Quickly. I try to follow the whisper¡¯s directions. Bat with my head and body at the thing trying to attack me. Wriggle to evade its lunges and retaliation strikes. But it is fast. And it flies. At one point it manages to slip by my guard and touch me for but a second. Immediately, I get a hit in with my head and send it far away from me. I must stun it, because it doesn¡¯t come back instantly. I take the chance to flee. Back to the tender leaves and the thin branches. Back to the place where my siblings reside. The side that the flying insect got in contact with burns. I fear poison. Or something equally bad. But at least I lose it. Or it decided I¡¯m not prey worth the effort. I arrive at a leaf occupied by a few of my siblings and rest. The whisper sounds concerningly active. Liquify, I say to the leaf and it concedes with surprising ease. I lose myself in drinking and listen closer to the whisper. What it implies doesn¡¯t reassure me. It¡¯s not poison or acid that the enemy injected me with. They¡¯re eggs. I feel my self shuddering in discomfort. The dreams shift between soothing and horrifying. Desperately, I try to rub the spot against a branch. But it is no use. They are in too deep. Then I try to listen to the whisper emanating from them. But I don¡¯t hear anything. They¡¯re too small, even for me. Despair. It has been a while since I felt this emotion. I remember. The world on fire and slivers of hope remaining. Blood and violence on the streets, hate and too much apathy to make a change. I remember. Power kept zealously guarded. Greed tearing the earth and the sky apart. Ignorance and helpless knowledge; misinformation and bullets keeping the masses at bay. In my dreams, I hesitate. I keep my head down. Escape to a remote place. Leave humanity to deal with its own foolishness and live freely from my hands and the land. I tire. Of the bullshit and the plain idiocy. I make a stand and I do it hard. I shout long, I shout loud. I fake smiles and kill with words people that wouldn¡¯t die against a million guns. I court death. Feed from threats. And I watch it all tumble down to the ground. I wonder what kind of person I was. I wonder what choices I made. In the end, it doesn¡¯t matter. Because I¡¯m here now. I go back to the spot. Where leaves too tough for my siblings grow. I look for the most dangerous ones. The ones that are a coin flip between life and death. And I eat them all. My body is wrecked from the pain. I vomit, then swallow it, and keep eating. My dreams offer me no respite. The whisper screams. But I ignore it. Use it to consume the poison I¡¯m killing myself with. My immune system fights with teeth and claws against the numerous invaders trying to take me down. And I wait. Chapter 10: To the victor go the spoils When I think my body has at last given up and the void will come to take me in its embrace, the whisper subsides. I am tired. Exhausted. I can¡¯t even move enough to eat. My body still feels on fire, but if the silence is anything to go by, the worst has come to pass. While I recover, I wonder. How long until something similar happens again? Will I make it next time? Luck runs out eventually. Even for me. I get up and crawl slowly to the healthier leaves. I feel like I¡¯m leaving a trail of blood behind, but I know my wounds are internal. When I get there I struggle to form a single word. Even my brain feels bruised. I manage a weak Liquify that melts a small patch of plant matter. I drink. And I relish in my survival. Victory. It may not feel like it. I may have suffered an inordinate amount against the first hostile being that I encountered. But I¡¯m alive. And that is a privilege I don¡¯t take for granted. Days pass. Dark then bright. Slowly, I get better. The flares of agony abate until there is only a slight discomfort. In the meantime, I grow.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. The tightness comes with little fanfare. I already know what I need. [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Strength] [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Agility] [Molt has granted Larvae the skill Pheromone] [Pheromone: To deceive is to control] I burst out of my skin stronger. Faster. In the tail end of my body, there was a small protrusion. It almost looked like a horn, only softer. Useless. I assume that it was for mere intimidation purposes. Not anymore. Now it is a proper piece of exoskeleton, hard and sturdy. Striking with my butt is much harder than my head, but it¡¯ll make bugs think twice before attacking from behind. My head has also been reinforced. A thick plate now covers the soft skin, and the strengthened muscles that line my torso should make it a decent weapon. Instead of stunning, a good hit should crush most insects. The skill is a nice surprise. It seems that the bug that injected its eggs also marked me with a pheromone to ward off others of the same species. Or perhaps to remind itself that I was already infested. With the help of the whisper, I managed to create a gland that should secrete the same pheromones used on me. My siblings are completely defenceless, after all. Beyond emotional attachment, having a pile of bodies between me and whatever beings might want to hurt me sounds like a good idea. In my dreams, I do science. I mix strange concoctions in baubles and cauldrons. Stir the ladle once, twice, thrice and sprinkle green dust that puffs into a black cloud as soon as it touches the mixture. I swirl my wand and chant an incantation, words bleeding together to form an incoherent mess of screeches and guttural sounds until I point to the potion with a flourish and it shines brightly for a moment. So maybe it¡¯s not science. When I finish I take a good scoop and pour it into a wide glass bottle. I blow a last word into it then close it with a piece of cork. The room smells sharply and unbearably sour. Like month-old milk and bat guano. It¡¯s an acquired taste. I go outside to fresh air and a pleasant sun and the chirping of birds at rise. Then I throw the bottle into a random tree and watch as it shatters into a thousand pieces, the foul liquid inside splashing everywhere. Satisfied, I clap my hands and walk back into my cottage. My new glands are secreting something, so if it works I can¡¯t complain about the methods. It doesn¡¯t take long for my siblings to arrive. They seem to have tired of the same bland leaves when a bigger bounty was waiting for them around the corner. As I had predicted, they are smaller than me. Although not by a huge margin. But with my many ¡®upgrades¡¯, the whisper insists that I am significantly stronger. No matter. Their strength lies in numbers. I make my rounds and coat a bit of their skin in the stinking fluid. Or it should be, at least for the bugs that prey on us. We don¡¯t smell a thing, and I suspect most insects won¡¯t either, unless they have receptors for this specific chemical mixture. I eat. And I wait. This many maggots should make for a juicy target, but even after a few days have come to pass none of my siblings die by another insect. They sometimes swallow poisoned leaves or perish from some other disease they have carried from earlier, but none of them explode from dozens of bugs eating their insides. We are in luck. It seems like what infested me goes only for the bigger specimens. And that the pheromones that I¡¯ve created keeps them away. Perhaps my assault was a blessing in disguise. But I have to say. What a shitty disguise. Chapter 11: War My siblings grow at a respectful rate. I watch over them. Keep lone insects from preying on their soft bodies. I feel like a shepherd. If the big bad wolves had chitin instead of bones and cracked satisfyingly when you squished them. Our growth has made us a more appetizing meal. In fact, we were probably too small to be seen when we were born. Now there are constant attacks. A diversity of enemies that require being permanently alert. At least I get a workout. So far nothing truly dangerous has approached us. Only the odd stray or scout. I can only guess as to their species, but they weren¡¯t particularly hard to defeat. When something scary does come, though, I will have a lot of bait to throw its way. Days pass. I entertain myself by listening to the whisper murmur. In my dreams, I laugh. Chocolate and sugar whiff in the air. I stir the ladle once, twice, thrice and watch the paste become dark and browny. I open the oven and white smoke oozes out of the cake like strands of floating creme. I swish and flick my spoon with cheesy lines and broken latin and chuckle to the groans and red cheeks that my spell manifests. With a knife I cut the dessert into even chunks and note with amusement the hungry eyes following its path. I take my favorite green glasses and fill them with hot milk and generous scoops of honey. I blow the worst of the heat away while I carry the drinks and the brownies to the table, chanting a last magic love word to the complaints of my audience. The whisper warns me of more enemies.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. A lot of them. They seem to be smaller than me and my siblings. But their numbers surpass us ten-to-one. As I listen more closely, I realize what they are. Ants. Or at least something very similar to it. They have apparently taken offense to our presence. Or they have decided that grub meat is on the menu today. In any case, I must fight. I consider leaving my siblings behind, but no. This would be a threat all on my own¡ªas weak as they are individually, I don¡¯t like my chances against hundreds of ants¡ª, but using the caterpillars as shields should make this an easier prospect. Besides, I don¡¯t like how fast they walk. If I escape, there is a chance that they might catch me. As they arrive my siblings¡­ keep eating. They don¡¯t have the benefit of the whisper telling them where other bugs are. But even they can¡¯t ignore the vibrations of uncountable little legs walking on our branches. My siblings twitch nervously and I get ready for action. I watch the ants completely overrun their bigger prey. It is not without sacrifices; my siblings roll and crush some of them under their weight, but it¡¯s still a far cry from a fair fight. Their mandibles latch and cut into the soft flesh of the caterpillars. Killing one of them is a matter of minutes, but they might very well get those minutes at this pace. I crawl around the battlefield, picking off strays. A single bash of my head sometimes crushes groups of two or three, and I have plenty of energy to keep doing this. The ants try to surround and climb me, but with a dexterity that amazes even me, I whip my body against the wood of the tree and incapacitate or dislodge them. The whisper shrills in an orchestra of limbs and corpses that I dance to with a frenetic harmony. My movements almost like words¡ªlike a soundless song that answers to the beat of the chaos. We manage to beat them off. My siblings lay in tatters, many of them dead. I myself am not completely unscathed either. But the ants have died in throngs, and the few survivors wisely choose to retreat. We may not be very strong, but we are sturdy. Most of my siblings go back to eating, except for those too injured to move. I return to prowling and finish off the enemies laying on the ground while I lick my wounds. Listening to the mess around me, I deflate. I will have to clean the area if I don¡¯t want scavengers swarming the place. But inwardly, I preen. We have triumphed. And we get to live another day. Chapter 12: Growth The ants learn their lesson. We don¡¯t get any more raids of that magnitude. Other predators test their luck and I get into a few scrapes, but none are a threat to the level of the previous battle. My wounds heal quite quickly. My siblings seem to have recovered, too. Sans a couple of losses, we are back to the state we were at. As time runs its course, we keep growing. The itch makes a visit, after many days. I surround myself with caterpillars and begin the process. The whisper offers me a world of possibility. My wildest dreams are but a molt and a word away. I have gathered many ideas from my fights and the quiet, long hours of feeding. First is protection. Hardy as I might be, if a truly dangerous bug got close I would be done for. But a tougher exoskeleton would only make me slower. Therefore, the hairs are back. These are not the same hairs as before, though. They¡¯re longer and much more resilient. I don¡¯t know what they¡¯re made of, but it doesn¡¯t seem to be a normal material. The downside is that I can¡¯t use them for hearing, but that¡¯s not a big concern of mine for now. The whisper more than makes up for such a short-ranged sense. Second is healing. I said before that I recover quickly, but I¡¯d feel much safer if I were able to heal even the gravest of wounds. There are no doctors around, after all. Sadly, this is pretty expensive. Especially for a species like mine, which focuses most of its energy in growing absurdly fast. I have the good fortune of having a particularly efficient diet and a surplus of it, but I won¡¯t be able to afford more changes that require such a high nutritional upkeep. Third, poison. Nothing too extreme. I can borrow some of the existing infrastructure for my pheromones and make a light sedative or a pain inducing liquid. If anything, it¡¯ll make predators hesitate. Eating a mysteriously lethal being is a seriously bad idea. That is the limit of my skill. I don¡¯t have enough energy left to make anything else. But this is certainly my most ambitious molting so far. My hairs require a lot of matter and my regeneration energy. [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Endurance] [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Intelligence] [Molt has granted Larvae +1 Wisdom] [Molt has granted Larvae the skill Regeneration] [Molt has granted Larvae the skill Poison] [Regeneration: To live is to persist] [Poison: To kill is to survive] As soon as I escape my skin prison I notice the difference. The world around me is muted. Even the bark of the branch I¡¯m on is hard to feel with my hairs acting as a buffer for my skin. Every touch is absorbed by my new armor, and I can barely feel the breeze.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I lost another sense, but the price is worth paying. I can tell that it will be much harder to hurt me, and coupled with my regeneration I should be borderline unstoppable for the weaker bugs that wander in this area. The whisper wasn¡¯t merciful enough to make the shock absorption as effective the other way around. In my dreams, I cook. The new recipe I have in mind is nastier. I cut garlic and onions and squeeze a batch of lemons into the cauldron. My table is full of strange and esoteric ingredients. With a deranged cackle, I grab a screaming plant from the roots and throw it whole on the simmering concoction. I stir the ladle once, twice, thrice and watch it change to a black, disgusting color. I swirl my wand and begin a chant of suffering wails and pained groans. When I finish, a foreboding miasma starts to spill out of the iron, rotting the wood of the floor as it passes. I take a flask and fill it to the brim of the evil liquid, chuckling sinisterly all the while. My deeper self has a flair for dramatics. The venom flows easily out of my glands. I listen to the whisper gush with disturbing glee about the potential pain and suffering that it can cause. In the end, it is but a part of me. The next time an enemy approaches, I test my new and augmented body. I let it attack me. Its mandibles close near my torso and try futilely to cut through my hairs. After a few minutes where I don¡¯t even bother to stop eating, I finally conclude that the situation won¡¯t change anytime soon. A shame. I wanted to try my healing. A slight turn of the head and a shower of poison rains on the pitiable insect. It writhes on the ground, trying to dislodge the liquid clinging to its skin. It doesn¡¯t cause a lot of actual damage. In fact, a few liters would probably drown before it killed anything. But the pain seems to be quite debilitating, and when it recovers enough to move the bug escapes as swiftly as it is able to. I watch it run with a complicated feeling of elation. On one hand, I¡¯m proud of the progress that I¡¯ve made since I was a tiny, powerless worm. On the other hand, I don¡¯t want to think about the implications of the turn that my dreams took. I strut haughtily around my siblings, daring any foolish insects to attack the cute tagalongs. As more and more beings fall under my graceful head bashes, my arrogance starts to reach the ceiling. That is, until we migrate to more bountiful branches and the whisper starts screeching like crazy. Right. I am small fry. I should try to keep that in mind. Luckily, I manage to make my siblings change course. It only takes a few shoves and a great deal of patience, but the dangerous predator doesn¡¯t seem keen on chasing after us. It must be something of an ambusher. My diet also changed with my body. It is approaching nonsensical territories. I need a few leaves to sustain me for a day now. Sometimes, I have to distance myself from my siblings a bit, lest I eat all of their food. Their appetite is voracious too, but nothing noteworthy compared to mine. But my whispering has reached a proficiency that abates this problem. If I used Liquify as I had been doing until now, the leaves would bend under the weight of the fluid and drip all of my food to the ground. But as I have come to familiarize myself with the whisper of these plants so much¡ªand probably, also thanks to the growth of my brain and subsequent point gains¡ª, I¡¯m able to hold the word around my mouth and transform the leaves on contact. It is a delicate process. Complex. I have to say the word with a constant influx of whispers, which requires regular focus. But it¡¯s not like I have anything better to do with my time. As a result, I can slurp down an entire leaf without a drop of waste. My siblings, similarly, don¡¯t leave anything behind, but my method is fairly quicker. Days pass, dark then bright. Besides some boringly one-sided fights, not much of note happens. And then disaster strikes. Chapter 13: Bait It happens suddenly. Unexpectedly. One moment, I¡¯m patrolling around my siblings, protecting them from any predators that may want to harm them. The next one, there is a gust of wind and one of them disappears entirely from my perception. The whisper tells me. What took my sibling is big. Strong. Fast. And it flies. We¡¯re under attack from a bird. My rounds have placed me at some distance from my siblings. Inadvertently, it might¡¯ve saved my life. Then again, being alone might also make me a target. I don¡¯t run away. Despite how much I want to¡ªand fuck, how do I want to¡ªI don¡¯t escape. No. If I move too much I might be seen. But I can still hide. My hairs aren¡¯t exactly discrete. But at the very least I had the foresight to make them green to camouflage amongst the leaves. I curl into myself, gripping one of the branches and hanging in the air by a few legs. I have done this countless times before and I know that I¡¯m in no danger of falling, but it¡¯s especially nerve wracking now. Just in case, I secrete poison all over my body. If anything, I¡¯ll go out in petty revenge.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. I listen to the whisper and wait. My siblings disappear, one by one. There are more than one of the critters flying about. I count three¡ªno, four blurs of whispers preying on us. It must be a small family; one of them is bigger by far. Although in my eyes, they are all invincible giants. Time crawls tortuously slowly. At any moment, one of them could look this way and see me perched on the tree, waiting to be devoured. But my siblings fall instead, and finally it seems that they¡¯ve had their fill. The birds fly away. I keep waiting. When it looks like they won¡¯t be coming back, I carefully climb out of hiding. I expect a sudden whisper and a flash of wings, but no. They¡¯re gone. Not all of my siblings have been eaten. We were a fairly numerous group, and we had been getting bigger. There had been different clusters that fed on multiple branches. Finding them all would be a high task. But now our numbers have been decimated. I listen to the survivors with some regret. I had gotten somewhat attached to the dumb eating machines that followed me. But they have fulfilled their objective, callous as it might sound. I live, and the undefeatable predators are gone. I approach the caterpillars that are left and stand on guard. They don¡¯t even seem to realize what just happened. Days pass. Dark then bright. My fears about another massacre remain unfounded. I keep protecting the few siblings I have left. It has become easier with the smaller area I need to defend. In my dreams, I mourn. I sit on the dining table, looking at the chocolate cake. The house is silent and bereft of life. When I close my eyes and focus, I can almost hear the laughs and the groans, the tears and the excited screaming. But they dissipate with the elusive ease of memories. Somewhen in time, I know that the house is brimming with care. I am playing and getting my clothes dirty, joints complaining from age and disuse but being ignored. And I tuck them to sleep, a goodnight kiss and a lullaby sung with that voice trained from a dead dream that became a nice story. Those things happening right now, in some other instance of time. But I am here, with an empty house and a whole cake, a past too heavy to bear and a body that often feels like an insult. The whisper warns me of a threat and I change the course of my siblings, resigned. Someday, perhaps it will be others who fear me and evade my path as much as possible. Perhaps I¡¯ll be able to protect everything that I want to, people and their happiness or just a warm house full of affection. But that day is not today. And I change course. Chapter 14: Cocoon I feel strange. The days have passed with an odd rhythm. Brief, intense moments of battle with time pausing to watch anxiously, and long lulls of feeding, almost boring were it not for the whisper. My siblings and I kept growing at that horrendously quick pace. We are bigger than most of the insects around us by now. If I hadn¡¯t protected them from the predators we have come across in our path, I wonder how they would have managed to survive. Not counting me, our species seems to be an unfairly tasty snack that has no means of defending itself. As I grew I realized that I was approaching the size where a molting would take place. My skin would start to feel constricting and eventually my body would burst out of it, new and improved, better in almost every sense after colluding with the whisper. But none of that came. Instead, I feel full. But not of food; my appetite seems to be the same as ever. And yet my insides feel like they are being compressed by something. Ah. I see. The time has come. I remember. Birds chirping savagely on the trees. My feet tender from the long walk, clothes moist with sweat and clinging uncomfortably. The pure and refreshing air of nature cleaning my lungs from pollution. And those white, delicate eggs like spider nests compressed into the palm of my hand. I remember. The fluttering wings that shone rainbow under the light of the sun. An erratic flight that brought them over to a small flower, fully in bloom. And a resting pose fit for an art gallery, feeding invisibly on the patch of color. I remember. [Molt has evolved into Metamorphosis] [Metamorphosis: To grow is to decease] My chrysalis. A second reincarnation. The irony is not lost on me. My body urges me to find a suitable place, to hide in the branches and do¡­ something. [Skill unlocked: Silk] [Silk: To hide is to protect] The previously forgotten glands on the side of my mouth did give me a pretty big clue. With a last look at my unaware siblings, I leave their side. Whether they will live or not isn¡¯t my concern anymore; I have to focus on my own survival first. My instincts tug me in a seemingly random direction. I follow the whisper instead, future possibilities bleeding into an almost incoherent rumour that I do my best to understand. It leads me to a remote nook far away from our usual route. Or at least I assume so; orientation is hard without sight and points of reference. I climb a branch and the pressure in my abdomen feels about to burst. I let my caterpillar mind take over, observing with curiosity how a secret muscle deep inside my body is used to push a thick, sticky substance that is hastily wrapped around me. In contact with the air, it seems to transform into a single, long thread that slowly but surely begins to undertake me completely. The process is oddly fascinating. But I concentrate instead on the whisper, its murmur intensifying into an almost deafening river of information. The few words I manage to catch are impressive in their range, from water to stinger and tongue and tornado, none of it seems to come together. It¡¯s surprisingly hard to keep up with this phenomenon that I¡¯d started to think familiar. The cocoon, after what feels like seconds, covers me entirely. Strangely, I don¡¯t panic. Even as my stomach acids slowly start to dissolve me from the inside, I¡¯m more distracted by the tumultuous voices of the whisper than my imminent demise. I struggle to reach comprehension, and my innards are gone. I try to decipher the words, and my thorax disappears. I battle against the growing cascade of rumours, and the acid eats my brain.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Soon, I am but liquid encapsulated in my chrysalis. The void comes, but¡­ not. It is muted. As if contained by the same thin veil that protects my physical self. In fact, that might very well be what is happening. Time is still with me, ceaselessly ruminating about my existence. And so is the whisper, of course, with its impossible to ignore noisiness. The void helps me to understand it. Devoid from distractions, it is much easier to hear the things the whisper is saying. This is how I became so close with time; although absent, its memory still lived in me and I learned to appreciate its company. Truthfully, a part of me had missed the void. If I truly hated it, there would¡¯ve been no way for me to remain. It is incomprehensible and alien, the antithesis to my sense of self, but I¡¯d always liked quiet nights in solitude. The void is merely an extreme version of that. As I concentrate on understanding the whisper, time looks almost curiously above my shoulder. It is then that I have an idea. I wave time over, inviting it to see what I¡¯m doing. Eagerly, it pokes the whisper to see how it reacts. I grin. In my dreams, thunder booms menacingly in the sky. Time, perhaps without meaning to, slows the whisper until it feels like it¡¯s moving in slow motion. I watch as it experiments with it, poking and prodding almost childishly. It slows and accelerates, rewinds and fast-forwards. When time starts to get bored I take the reins and push it into the whisper, cackling maniacally. They fuse together into a strange river of whispering time, currents of potential flowing erratically in impossible patterns. The whisper had never distinguished between past, present and future. It was my job to separate the useful from the unneeded, the pearls of wisdom from the random gibberish. Time was present but always isolated, its own individual process that I had to do within my self afterwards. But now I can control the whisper itself. Separate the different voices that compose it. I can listen from the reasonable beginning to the pertinent end what it tries to tell me, and I can choose which one to give all of my attention to. Glorious, marvelous simplicity, even though¡­ it feels a bit like cheating. Cheating only matters when there is someone to complain, though, so I don¡¯t particularly care. This way, learning becomes that much more amiable. I can hear what each voice means and how it interacts with the others, what a few together sound like and how it all comes together to form the raging river that composes the whisper. I understand. It is, in essence, just a bigger molting. I can see the potential in my new shape; the possibilities that making a body from scratch entails. I can also see what the default option is, and I have to say, it doesn¡¯t look very enticing. A heavy thorso, able to fly only in short bursts. No mouth and no digestive system, for long-term survival isn¡¯t part of the plan. An incredibly sensitive nose and enough hormones to flood an entire forest. I find it kind of insulting. If I wanted to reproduce, I would¡¯ve done so in my last life. There¡¯s little I can salvage from that joke of a being. The wingspan is too short, the eyes a bad mimicry of compound sight and the sense of smell stupidly specialized in hormones. But I can see a few currents that modify them just enough to fix their deficiencies. Everything else is useless. Luckily, the whisper is teeming with numerous replacements, some so extreme that they border on the grotesque, and I don¡¯t seem to suffer from a lack of choice. The most powerful currents are those that include the skills that I have. It seems that they have a bigger influence on my body when they reach the threshold of a word. I could eliminate them entirely, but that would be a shame. Investing in my strong points seems to be the smartest course of action. With a thought my future form retains its silk. Then a shift in pattern and my hormone glands are also saturated with poison. And a small price in energy and my body keeps its capacity for regeneration. Lastly, a brain is remade from the echoes of the previous one, more powerful and efficient still. I consider the food problem. For this new body, leaves will simply not do. The whisper is full of suggestions, and I take care to look at them carefully. I don¡¯t want a repeat of my first molting. Going for the straightforward flower nectar seems best, but my unique anatomy has more varied nutritional needs. Fortunately, Liquify still seems to be a viable option, and it gives me plenty of diversity if I adjust my digestive system properly. For that end, I adopt a fairly ordinary insect mouth; a short proboscis that is hardly different than my previous one. But it is more fitting, and I suspect that I will make more use of it. There¡¯s also the problem of predators. I suspect most insects will not pose that much of a challenge anymore; the real threat will be birds and amphibians. Since there¡¯s little I can do against them short of poisoning when they eat me, I will instead focus on hiding. I could also make it as obvious as possible that I am, in fact, unfit for consumption. And the whisper grants both of those options into one. One current grants a difficult to understand but apparently highly effective camouflage. It seems to be able to reflect a wide spectrum of light through my wings, making them bleed into the environment or flash bright colors to alert predators of poison. Similarly, my skin can also tint itself to a certain degree. I think camaleons would protest for copyright if they knew, but luckily law doesn¡¯t apply in the wild. When all is said and done, my new shape isn¡¯t too extreme. Certainly not as bad as the eldritch nightmares that the whisper seems so fond of. It could almost be natural, if you didn¡¯t look closely. It makes me wonder what kind of beings exist out there. I have concluded with my choices, but my body will take some time to emerge. Meanwhile, I will rest. Play with the whisper, rendezvous with time, sort through my dreams to find more pieces of my identity. It is pleasant, not having to worry about survival. I will try to make the most of it. I have the feeling I won¡¯t have many opportunities like this.