A grand celebration was held within the impenetrable fortress. The walls were hung with magnificent woven tapestries depicting their hundreds of victories over the rebels that had dared to raise their arms against the Emperor. The legion of soldiers had their armor shined and their hair immaculately groomed. They watched servant dancers ply their trade as they supped upon gifts from the Emperor himself. For their leal service, they had been rewarded greatly by the Lord, he who was truly the Son of Heaven.

Vajra watched them all from her seat, wiggling in contentment. The hives had been praised personally by the Lord. He had lined up his entire household to share his delight in their efforts and proclaimed her ‘Vajra the Great, Boozemaster’.

Vajra had little clue what a ‘Boozemaster’ was, but as it was a title gifted to her by the Emperor in her first year of service, she would cherish it.

Truly, after the depths she had sunk to in her previous existence, she had been brought up high by the luck of the heavens and the benevolence of her Emperor!

She groomed her eyes thoroughly and wriggled in contentment. The sight of the Emperor and handsome Bi De praising her would be seared into her memory for as long as she lived. Both powerful creatures, standing before her under the light of the moon, praising her skills and beauty… oh, it had nearly been too much!

A grand memory to cherish before she began the work required of her when the White Death came. Vajra’s senses turned to her larders instinctively at the thought, a brief moment of panic seizing her… but it was a baseless reaction. The larders were full. Even with the tribute taken by the Emperor they had more than enough to last the winter.

To the point that perhaps, she had been a bit paranoid in her preparations, but as the time of Falling Leaves stretched on she had made a full accounting for her and her servants’ hives. The Coldguard brood was ready and fat, the hives had been scoured for any parasites and those that had been found were mercilessly exterminated, her warriors checking over their servants for any defects or disease. She had even commanded the removal of the old pupae. In hives such as these, foolish, lesser ones of her kin grew complacent and laid their eggs in the same cells over and over. The resulting build up of cocoons would eventually stunt their growth to the point where new broods would be half the size… and then continue to get smaller until the hive died out.

A year ago Vajra would not have bothered to police the actions of mere servants. If they died out, they died out, it was their own fault.

But ever since the war against the Demons she knew the folly of waste. Every piece of her hive counted. Every bit of her kingdom would be safe and work to the best of itself. Everything was to be leveraged; waste was a sin.

Millions of soldiers and hundreds of warrior-queens had died to the Demons. The most powerful of the Demons had even stayed active through the White Death, flying relentlessly to assault them through the deadly cold while Vajra and her kin were stuck within their fortresses, a slow siege by both cold and foe.

It had been a horrible waiting game through the White Death. Hoping they would survive the assaults… only to fly out in the Season of Growth to the wreckage of slaughtered hives.

But that was in the past. It was no good to dwell on those dire times. The Emperor and splendid Bi De would surely not allow the demons any foothold here, for the rapacious creatures gave nothing and only destroyed. Despite this, Vajra almost wanted the beasts to come. To come and be smited by her Emperor and Bi De’s glorious battle prowess. She wriggled in delight at the thought of the Demons being destroyed by blades of glorious moonlight or crushed under the might of the muscular arms of the Emperor.

Vajra sighed contentedly at the memory of the shirtless man sparring with his magnificent cock. Both had struck with enough force to slay a hundred-thousand demons as they tested themselves against each other. The pair had then gone into the river, the Emperor gracing Bi De by washing his glorious feathers with his own strong hands—it was as good as observing them in the bathhouse.

She had even gotten to see the Emperor dancing.

Vajra buzzed angrily at the thought of the Emperor dancing with that harlot, the one that smelled of grass, though it was a wonderful sight to behold. Vajra could respect the seductress' movements, even if they were inferior to her own dancing skills.

In time, it would be Vajra dancing with the Emperor and enticing him with her flawless mastery.

She chortled as her mind churned with plans.

Soon…she would be an Empress! For one of her stature, one had to have ambitions.

===========================

All too soon, the merrymaking came to an end, as the Coldguard finished their preparations. The servants were sent back to their hives, where most would die off during the White Death; only the Coldguard remained with the subordinate queens. They would keep the hives warm throughout the winter, dancing without cease until the White Death finally ended.

Yet Vajra’s strongest warriors were too valuable and lived too long to be discarded so easily in the cycle. They had no names. They had no spark, being as they were an extension of herself in most respects. There were a few of them who bore her imprints more deeply, and could nearly even think for themselves, carrying out her will with zeal.

Each and every one was a credit to the hive.

Vajra would, therefore, ensure their survival.

They stood before her, rank upon iridescent rank staring at her. She gazed back at them all with pride and danced for them, declaiming their value in her service.

Her soldiers were stoic… yet she could see the faint stirrings of pride within them.

‘Step forward,’ she commanded. ‘Bane of the Black Lances, She Who Purged the Reeds.’

The first of her warriors stepped forward, her carapace scarred from a hundred battles, yet still gleaming. Her soldier kowtowed before her, her antennae dipping low.

‘Thou hast performed a valuable service—you shall be preserved for next year, my soldier,’ she informed her subordinate.

The Bane of the Black Lances thorax wiggled, signifying her acceptance, her motions immediate.

Such veterans had been in short supply by the end of the war against the demons.

Vajra touched her forehead to her warrior’s. A bit of her spirit, which had grown to nearly what was her height during the Great War, infused her.

The Bane of the Black Lances stilled. Her rapidly beating heart and vibrating wings slowed. After a moment she slumped, as if dead.

Yet she was still alive. Dreaming, with her body’s processes slowed by Vajra’s absolute command.

Vajra’s Coldguard stepped up from behind her. In their mouthparts and forelimbs were strands of special wax.

With these implements, they clad the prime warrior, cocooning her as if she were a larva again. Paying close attention to her spiracles and building up the wax like tubes, so that she could still breathe, when the next part was accomplished.

The Coldguard bore her warrior up with reverence and took her to a specially prepared cell filled with an exacting mix of honey that would not freeze with the killing cold. It would instead keep her most powerful warriors young and fresh, ready for aggressive expansion for when they awoke.

Finally, the cell was sealed— and upon the top of the cell was placed a strand of grass, recording the Bane of Black Lance's deeds and her meritorious service.

Vajra turned to the next in line.

One by one, her veterans stepped up. One by one, her warriors were entombed.

She almost envied them. They would sleep. Waking again only when the cold was past.

Vajra did not have that luxury. She would stay awake throughout the entire White Death, a long vigil, waiting for the warmth of the Time of Growth.

Vajra turned away from the cells of her soldiers and commanded the Coldguard to continue their duties.

Venturing out to the exit of her fortress hold, she held still and stared out across the vast Domain of the Emperor coated in frost.

The time of the White Death was always the worst, and this one promised to be long. It was the furthest north she had ever been.

She shuffled her legs as she looked at the bathhouse and gauged how cold it was outside.

Perhaps, she would sally forth one last time…

========================================

“Hey Jin, the bee is in the bath again,” Meimei said as she stared at the collapsed creature in the windowsill. Her lips quirked in amusement from where she was leaning her head on my chest. We were having a lovely bath together.

I sighed. Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. The bathhouse was warm and it was getting chilly out.

I got out of the water and picked up the little, foolish thing. She was buzzing in what sounded like contentment, but she seemed a little dazed.

And Vajra did look different from the other bees. Maybe she was used to a warmer climate..?

Thinking it over, Vajra’s honey and wax was beyond anything else we had, so I might as well give her a little extra protection…

=============================

Vajra awoke to incessant buzzing. She shook herself. Ah, it had been a wonderful view, and once more her Emperor had cared for her when she fell victim to his stunning good looks.

Yet all of her Coldguard were in a tizzy. They were buzzing and prodding at her, scared and confused.

The Coldguard informed her the Emperor had moved their fortress.

Confused, Vajra commandeered one of her Coldguard, the soldier stepping out of the hive and into—

It was warm. It was extremely warm, almost like the summer. They were within one of the great palaces the Emperor had built, the one that gleamed like the sun in walls as clear as air and solid as stone. The servant stared in wonder at the warmth, the White Death clearly showing from outside… Yet within this grand forcefield, filled with pots of dirt and spicy-smelling herbs… the White Death had been completely defeated.

Vajra fell to her side.

The Emperor could even command the seasons!?