If one were to take a deep, comprehensive dive into the Reef Dungeon, something many have tried and almost all have found to be no easy feat, they would find an underwater complex sprawling downwards. The sheer number of caves one could explore was disorienting, and the dizzying twists and turns therein seemed almost endless; it was a result of a simple, single tunnel being built upon and changed to become unrecognizable. However, the elaborate network of tunnels on display were not even close to all that there was.

If one were to look closely at the walls, the ground, even the ceiling in some areas, they would find an enormous number of pockmarks. It was hard to notice at a glance, the already pitted texture and uniform color of the limestone meant genuine hollows didn’t stand out as too greatly unusual, but these holes made up a vast spiderweb of passages to, from, and between the various floors, leaving everything thoroughly connected. The trips between or across floors using the hidden passages could take a while but were generally much faster than the main tunnels were.

There were also secrets hidden throughout the dungeon in this way, like the dozens of rooms, smaller than most main chambers, made seemingly as an afterthought and only loosely tacked on to the mesh of thin tubes. However, there were also a handful of pockets nestled alongside the main caverns that would seem like they were floors themselves were it not for their near impossibility to access by anything wider than a few dozen centimeters, or typically smaller.

One of these alcoves in particular was- as always- very noisy. Pops, scrapes, clicking footsteps and the constant grinding of carapace was only a single facet of the raucous atmosphere. All along the honeycomb walls, grey and red figures milled about slowly, each burdened by claws almost as large as the rest of their bodies. The rifle shrimp were surprisingly unaffected by the disappearance of the Loudest, thanks in no small part to the lack of much of a mind to really understand. They were still frightened, lethargic, and much more easily agitated, but it was less of an existential dread and more an instinctual unease, like a simple arthropod on the verge of starvation.

However, there was one among their number who was feeling Loudest’s absence quite keenly. The royal rifle shrimp, first of his line and most deafening in his shine, was fidgeting inside of one of the many cubicles in the large space, allowing his thin legs to drum on the ground with metronome precision. The smaller of his two claws, only a mild pale-gold, was clicking along with his legs, and with a schooled rhythm utterly unlike the clamor outside of his boudoir.

He was thinking, mulling over what he would come to know as the Silencing with anxious zeal befitting his station. This was not all he was doing, though, because like any good ruler, he needed a plan. He knew next to nothing about what had happened and even less about why it had, so above all else his response would need to be cautious, but comprehensive.

The din of static grinding lowered in volume, as many of his serfs entered their states of torpor, having settled into the hive and leaving the grey limestone bespeckled with red chitinous claws. But he was not like those he ruled, and in the absence of almost all other noise his contemplative clicks seemed all the louder. He continued weighing his options; with every option he cast aside the tempo of his tapping would slow, and by the time his vassals were nearly due to stir, he was almost silent.

And then, his legs stopped rippling down his torso, and his small claw stopped clacking. For a moment, all was silent around him, for even the crustaceans who’d awoken had their attention captured. He opened his large claw and shattered the reticence with a single, decisive snap. There was no force put behind it, no flash of magic or shaping of force in his own call for attention, but the entire grand hall was instantly at attention regardless.

He hauled himself out of his compartment and stood before his colony on a ledge. With all eyes on his glorious form. They trusted his brilliance, the shine of his carapace and the sharpness of his mind both, and he would not disappoint as he began tapping his feet once more. The water allowed for every nuance of his detailed dance to be heard by all, but he was soon caught in his own fervor and began punctuating the important points with his small claw.

The Loudest was quiet, and they knew not for how long, but in Its absence the royal would lead his swarm to new heights, and to much greater depths. All too soon his impassioned declaration ended, once more marked by the cracking of his main claw. His closure marked the start of a truly thunderous discussion amongst the masses. The water rippled as tapping became clicking and finally true snapping in order to be heard over the chaos, and the royal needed to intervene after just a few moments before their very home began literally boiling over.

The steamy atmosphere was in many ways helpful, though. The gloomy sluggishness of the previous night had all but disappeared, silenced by the royal’s roaring allure. It may have been more difficult to be overheard, and thus to lead, but he could do as no other rifle shrimp could, and make his statements seen. It was time to mobilize the horde, something that had never been done in full before now, not even by the Loudest. Neither had the decision been made to expand, but with uncertainty abounding and tensions running higher than a primed claw, such a decision was worth the risk. Knowledge and territory were the currency of kings, after all, and perhaps both could be found downward.

He could not simply have every member pour out of the hive and into the halls, however. Such an endeavor was foolish, expecting nothing to happen was arrogance in its finest and believing that their numbers were unstoppable was yet worse. Instead, he would need to work on two key points: expanding the territory they already had and claiming what they didn’t yet. The former was done simply enough, all the royal needed to do was order some of his forces to navigate the tunnels and find points where the smaller shafts were parallel to the hive proper, then begin chipping away. It would not be easy, but he was confident that his subjects were not only intimately familiar with the myriad passages leading to and from their home, but perfectly capable of smashing through them and making yet more space for them all to inhabit, yet more space for their numbers to grow.

The second part was also straightforward, but also fraught with uncertainty. Expanding their enclave would be time consuming, but the greatest danger came from collapsing rocks and misjudged blasts, where catastrophe would at worse reveal a portion of their lattice of caves to the larger world. The expedition could end in too many ways to count, for they did not know what lied beneath and knew only that above was too deeply wrong to even consider.

Even if the hive could establish a second, third, or however many more locations, communication would no longer be as simple as addressing a single, massive auditorium. He might need to travel himself, even, but he had something in mind that would at least allow for some autonomy in a scattered swarm. That was for later, though; he still needed to verify that his masses would even have a place to live, lower down, and for that exploration was a must.

Small groups of shrimps were gathered, of four and eight, and given roles. The royal knew there to be other tunnels disconnected from his hive’s but did not know where almost any led; very few left the security of the hive’s network and fewer still would clamber into an unknown path. At least that had been the case before the Silencing, because the teams of four were already gearing up to follow passages originating on each of the three floors under their control.

They would be reserved in their scouting, splitting up to survey forks if it was absolutely necessary and returning to the hive any time they found an exit or a dead end to give the royal a full report before moving on to the next. They were equipped to handle most threats they might encounter in the burrows, but should something go fatally wrong, the last in the tunnel would be entering backwards, should they need to make as quick an escape as possible for their kind.

The quartets were already filtering out into the crawlways as the royal relayed his directives to the larger bands. Theirs was a job much more certain to end in combat, and so only the most capable were selected. Eight octets would begin together, a veritable army patrolling the main halls, sticking together as they descended as far as they could before the paths started to branch. From there, the massive conglomeration would separate as necessary, keeping in contact through the sheer noise they were capable of outputting.

The royal trusted them enough to know when to fight, run, or even turn back, and he would send out smaller groups periodically to follow their trail and listen to their messages. All in all, it was by far the most complex, intensely detailed plan he’d ever come up with, especially when most of his previous decisions were to recall shrimp when losses became too much, or to decide what floor would see the brunt of his efforts for the day. He was young, but his experience with the strange, furred invader had led to him becoming cautious to a fault and he knew he would need to break out of that habit before it stuck.

Hours passed before the entire hive had been given their roles, sorted into their groups, and sent to begin their work, and by the end of his instructions the sheer quantity of information he’d needed to dance out, tap up, and repeat when his subjects didn’t catch him the first time left him exhausted. His work was not done, though, because he would be a terrible leader if all he was good for was sending out proxies whilst he slept.

There was a single tunnel in the limestone auditorium that no shrimp would willingly follow. They all knew what it was, and where it led, but his influence did not extend to the end of that passage, and it never would. Only when the Loudest issued a summons would a crustacean descend into the unlit burrow; they had all been triumphantly eager to hear and listen, as the royal himself would have been, but not once had they returned to the swarm.

The royal would make that descent, confident in his own ability to find answers at whatever lay at the bottom and completely assured in his ability to survive. It would make no sense for it to end in death, because from the unknown the Quiet Voice would sometimes emerge, and other times she would calmly descend. If She considered it to be safe, then the royal too would take the risk to discover where it led.

His vassals were as prepared as he could get them, and he’d made up his mind to take the plunge; there was little more that he could do than to pull the trigger and find out if his plan would succeed, or see how badly it failed. Should he not return from his venture, something he knew rationally to be unlikely but couldn’t help worrying about all the same, then the hive would need new leaders.

That is why, for the first time in his kingly life, he had chosen to spawn. He knew his progeny would not be welcomed into their waters for a little while at least, and with any luck he would be back in time to greet them personally. If not, a portion of the hive would be there to teach them in his stead, claw-picked for their diligence and consigned to his chambers until his spawn were ready to venture out on their own.

But these were worries for later, and it would do him no good to dwell on them now. Instead he turned to the remaining shrimp, the dig teams and the descent force, and snapped his large claw. With a dazzling flare, the royal rifle shrimp, most glamorous of them all, crawled into the vertical shaft and began tapping his way into the darkness.