Deep within the main nest of the young race of ants that he had come to know as 'The Colony', the sage who had named himself Grey sat in deep meditation. Nearby, his apprentice, White, sat and watched patiently as her master performed those feats of the mind she was not yet capable of. For though he sat still, not a single muscle moving across his entire frame, his mind roamed wide, seeking and communing. After several hours of stillness, he finally opened his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, relaxing the tension that had seized him.

"What were you able to find, Teacher?" White asked him.

In response he only shook his head. A moment later she felt his mind nudge against her own.

[You know better than to speak out loud in this place,] he admonished her. [The Colony are not our enemies, but they are not Folk.]

The fox-girl ducked her head to acknowledge the reprimand.

[I understand. I feared you would be tired after your Seeking and did not wish to tax you.]

Her concern warmed his old heart, but he did not allow it to show on his face.

[I am stronger than you give me credit for, youngling. I have no need of your coddling.]

[Putting that aside, were you able to contact the Bruan'chii?]

[Impatient as ever, my disciple. Yes. The Grove Keeper has awoken and begun to tend to her children. The Grove has grown so quickly, I fear that the anger of the Mother Tree has been roused.]

[Isn't that rare? I had read that the Mother Tree was a lover of peace.]

Grey leaned back and rubbed his legs secretly, trying to keep the motion out of his young charge’s eyes.

[The Mother Tree is, before anything else, a tree. She can be vicious when it comes to matters that touch on her survival, or that of her children. From what I could glean, she has felt the presence of the Abyssal Legion in this place and she has no love for them, putting it mildly.]

White nodded. Knowledge of the war between the young races and the old was important history to their people. The conflict between the Legion and Bruan'chii had been particularly fierce, at the height of which the Mother Tree herself had been under siege, even wounded, by the Legionaries. Had the alliance not been brokered in time, it's possible that the Legion would have been successful in their attempts to cull this new race from Pangera.

[Do you believe that they will intervene?] she asked her teacher.

[I do. I'm not sure if they will risk open conflict at this stage, but I think a show of force will be the least we can expect from them.]

[And our people?]

The wolf-man heaved a deep breath and shook his head.

[It is never so easy to reach a consensus amongst the Folk, you know that, White. The decision to accept the Colony as a young race and allow them to join the alliance will take years, and many honour battles, to settle. The tribes are fractious at the best of times. Unless they are threatened, they will not unify quickly.]

[Surely your words carry weight there, Master. You could push them to act quickly.]

Grey turned his eyes directly on his disciple and stared hard at her. She sat still, hands folded in her lap as she looked back at him steadily. Her eyes were clear and focused, unpolluted by selfishness and greed.

[You have come to admire The Colony, haven't you child? You desire our people to reach forth their hand and shelter them?]

[I do,] she acknowledged, not attempting to deny it. [I do not believe you should extinguish an entire race on the premise that they may one day do evil. I do not see evil here, but good.]

[A simple view of the world,] he told her. [There are always currents, variables and uncertainties. The nature of 'good' and 'evil' are not so clear. Do you think the Legion to be evil? I do not. They simply do what they think is right, as do we all. It is rare indeed to find the individual who walks on a path that they know to be wrong.]

[I have heard these words before,] his normally demure student told him, her mind firm, [but they do not answer my question. Will you act?]

Grey closed his eyes once more and regulated his breathing, sinking once more into meditation. He ignored the irritated huff White released when she saw his actions and instead pondered the answer to her question. Was he willing to act? Usually so confident in his decisions, this time he wasn't sure. The branching paths of fate spread so far and wide from this point it was impossible to predict the consequences of any action. Who could walk boldly on such paths?

Deeper in the Dungeon.

The Grove Keeper was newly awakened, but already his body was flexible and lithe, filled with the power of the Mother. His memory still shifted and drifted, not yet settled in his new form, but he didn't mind. Here in the Grove, so close to the tendril of the Origin Tree, he knew no harm could come to him. So long as the Mother watched over them, they would be safe and act to carry out her will. In this moment, her will was clear. Anger and indignation rang throughout the Grove until every branch and leaf quivered with it. The hated enemy had been found attempting to extinguish new light, just as they had attempted on the Keeper's own people. It would not stand.

Around the tendril, a vast garden had formed, filled to bursting with life and greenery that drank in the dark mana of the Second Strata without pause, transforming it into nutrition that further powered the growth of each vine, flower, tree and shrub. To the outside eye, it appeared as if a flourishing ecosystem of plants had sprung to life here in the most harsh of environments, a miracle of nature. The Keeper roamed amongst the plants, caressing each in turn as he encouraged their growth and felt their energy flow into him in return.

The truth was more simple, of course. This was not a plethora of plants, but one entity. All was the Mother Tree, each and every lifeform in the grove just another expression of her careful design to draw in the power of the Dungeon and transform it to fuel her people. That energy was already being put to good use. The Keeper turned back to the tendril, the filament that extended from one of his mother's roots and saw the dozens of shapes beginning to emerge.

A smile creased the wooden face of the Keeper as he saw these new children of the Mother being born. It wouldn't be long now until they emerged, fully formed and ready to become the vessels of her anger. He raised one hand and blessed their growth, feeling the natural energies flow out from him and infuse the growing forms. The Bruan'chii were coming.

In the Legion camp.

Titus leaned against the table and examined the various scout reports laid out atop it.

"An enchanted gate made of steel?" he asked.

"That's right," Aurillia replied.

"Twenty tons?"

"At least."

"The same at the other nests identified?"

"Yes."

He raised one hand to pinch his brow.

"They’ve developed so fast…"

"Good thing we're here then."

He leaned back and thought for a moment.

"With the irregulars who've arrived we should be able to succeed on a full frontal assault of the gate but I'm worried about the no doubt hundreds of traps they've woven into the place."

"Ants are industrious, who'd have thought?"

Titus only grunted, too focused to even make a pretence of laughing.

"Has the siege team had any luck identifying weak points in the stone?" he asked.

The report from the earth magic specialists was already on the table in front of him and he'd read it twice but he asked anyway.

"None of it is especially hard, but none of it is soft either. We could tunnel through easily enough, but the diggers are reluctant to try and drill into an ant nest. They'll know it's happening immediately and move to counter us."

Titus frowned. The fact that this colony of ants was already capable of causing even a slight headache to his admittedly fresh Legion was a problem. If they were given a year? Or five? It would take a hefty mobilisation of forces and the number of casualties would be high. Better to strike decisively now, nip the problem in the bud.

"Looks like I'll have to frontline myself," Titus said.

"You've explored every other avenue, commander."

The Abyssal Legion did not like to let their high level members take centre stage when they didn't have to. Whereas some armies would let level seventy elites shepherd and protect rookies through hard battles, the Legion preferred to trust their training and equipment and push the new Legionaries into combat. Expecting that Titus would step in and solve every issue, fight every battle when it got hard, would only stifle the growth of the soldiers and let them embrace a security blanket that wouldn't always be there. They wanted smart, powerful Legionaries, not cowards.

Given the pressure they were under in this conflict, both timewise and in a lack of personnel, it was permitted that Titus take the field. To prevent the numerous casualties it would take to assault the gate, it was more than acceptable that he take on the responsibility of destroying it himself.

The commander stood from the table and rolled his shoulders as he took a deep breath. The mana was rising steadily. There wasn't much time left until the wave, another reason why he needed to act fast. He felt the mana stir in his bones as he breathed in again. How long had it been since he'd needed to fight hard? Not since Garralosh had gotten away from him and even then he'd been hampered by the lack of mana in the first strata. The current level of ambient mana was just enough for him to really cut loose.

It was almost enough to make him smile. His last campaign in the sixth layer was so long ago now. Did he even still have the moves?

In the golgari camp.

Kooranon Balta knelt in the stone, his blade standing straight before him, the tip balanced perfectly on the flat ground. As he had been taught so long ago, he focused his entire being on the sword, his mind and soul, seeking resonance with the blade. It was believed amongst the Blades in the golgari that the precious weapons they wielded, formed and shaped from the Living Stone to fit their wielders over a period of years, were living creatures. The stone itself was alive, certainly, but more than that, the swords could develop and grow a personality of their own.

It was to connect with that gestalt being that the High Blade now sought to do, but it was elusive. Sometimes for a fleeting moment he would sense a response from the weapon as it reached back toward him, but then it would be gone, lost as if it had never been.

After another hour he relaxed his stance, stepped forward and withdrew the blade from the ground before he cleaned it meticulously. As he nourished it with mana he felt the blade quiver in delight as it fed before it once more became inert. Kooranon was not discouraged, he knew of High Blades who had sought and nourished their blades for hundreds of years who had only received fleeting acknowledgement from their weapons. Even so, the pursuit of oneness with the blade was well worth the price.

After a moment to centre himself, he sheathed the blade with care and turned to find his attendant waiting in the same place as when he had begun his communion.

"Prepare the camp," he ordered, "it's time."