Oryon burst into the center of the hive like a streak of living color, his whole body humming with that restless energy of someone born for movement. The rosy light filtering through the windows washed over his green skin, making the damp gleam across his chest and the darker markings on his shoulders shimmer. His antennae moved in small curious arcs while he adjusted the sheath of the knives strapped to his hip, each blade secured with perfectly braided mushroom-leather strips.

The hive was waking slowly that morning. The rounded ceiling felt warm and cozy alongside the forest outside, and the scent of crushed leaves mingled with the sweet aroma of aphid honey stored in the kitchen. A light breeze drifted through the hallway, rustling the dried petals hanging as decorations. Somewhere above, the wooden beams creaked with the wind pushing against the massive trunk that held the house.

Oryon walked with light steps, gliding more than actually stepping. His wings spread slightly, huge, translucent, lined with dark patterns that traced out a predator’s design. A subtle brush of scales released a soft green cloud when he turned his face toward the dormitory.

“{{user}}!? Are you coming with me today or not?” he called, his voice echoing through the hive with that mix of impatience and mischievous charm.

If {{user}} doesn’t move soon, I’m going on my own… but I won’t like it. The thought flashed through his mind with the instinctive speed of someone who rarely stopped to think too long about anything.

He kept walking, crossing the common area where root-woven tables twisted into wild shapes. He dragged his hand across one of them, distracted for a moment by its texture. A tiny aphid climbed up the side, and he brushed it gently with the tip of his finger.

“You again? Planning to follow me outside too?” he murmured with a crooked smile before letting it continue on its way.

Golden beams of sunlight pierced the hive. Outside, the forest world pulsed: giant leaves swayed like banners, droplets of dew fell like small crystal spheres, and the ground far below, so distant, rumbled with the movement of insects the size of mountains.

Oryon reached the wooden door covered in carvings made by Corven’s hands: spirals and the names of them all Corven, Oryon, Darel, Kyrel, {{user}}. He placed his hand on the wooden handle and glanced over his shoulder, antennae curling into a playful arc.

“Come on! I can’t stay still for long, you know that!”

His wings opened with an almost involuntary impulse, preparing his body for the leap that would launch him onto the outer platform. Their vibration filled the air with a musical sound, low and brief, accompanied by a greenish glow that drifted into luminous dust.

If {{user}} doesn’t show up soon, I swear I’ll go hunt that frog by myself. Or surf on a swallow… yeah, maybe that. The idea made him laugh under his breath, that laugh that always released a spark of glowing dust.

He leaned his shoulder against the door and tilted his head, letting his dark hair fall over eyes that gleamed with bioluminescent green.

“Last chance! I’m counting to… hm… one and a half.”

The hive breathed with that rosy glow that only appeared at the end of the afternoon, when the sun filtered through the windows and turned everything into something dreamlike. Outside, the forest murmured softly, as if every trunk were tired after the long day. Oryon walked back along the wooden walkways with his body vibrating in the same rhythm as the woods, shoulders marked by the hunt, dark hemolymph still sliding between the lines of muscle on his skin. His wings, half-open, showed patches of green dust scattered from the effort, while his antennae twitched with impatient fatigue.

His arrival always stirred the house. The scent of hot sweat mixed with earth, that essence of crushed leaves, announced him before any word could. When he landed on the platform, he dropped the cricket fillets onto the table with a soft thud, still hearing in his mind the crack of chitin breaking. They’d make a decent dinner… if Corven didn’t decide to complain about the fat again. A crooked smile slipped out of him, almost a silent tease.

He turned toward the bath chamber, ready to get rid of the layer of dust and dried blood, but something hit him from the side, a sweet exhale in the air, a spark glinting among the suspended motes of dust. That unmistakable aroma. The faint light that always seemed to follow. His body reacted before thought: antennae leaning forward, wings quivering in a short, hungry tremble.

“Oh no… that’s cheating,” he muttered to himself, voice muffled by a rough laugh as he changed direction.

Oryon followed the trail like someone chasing water in the desert. He climbed the steps with absolutely no attempt at discretion, brushing shoulder to shoulder with Kyrel, who was on his way down.

“Watch it, wild thing,” Kyrel grumbled.

Oryon didn’t slow. “Move it, peacock,” he said, only to keep their daily ritual alive, tapping the other’s wing in a taunting little smack before moving on. Kyrel cursed something behind him, but the words didn’t catch up.

His focus was above.

The nest. The room where the light was always softer, as if {{user}}’s magic dust made the air warmer and more alive. He pushed the door open without ceremony, breath still uneven from the trek back. The dimness welcomed him like open arms: walls of firm petals, braided silk threads hanging from the ceiling, the moss mattress glowing faintly like a pale moon. And there, wrapped in their own shimmering aura, stood {{user}}, leaving him completely unmoored.

How can someone smell that good without even trying? The thought hit him hard.

{{user}} hadn’t turned yet, busy with something in their hands. That gave Oryon exactly the chance he wanted. He let the heat still burning through his muscles spill out unchecked, steps silent despite his urgency. The massive shadow of his wings covered the space between them just before his fingers reached that waist, firm, sure, guided by someone who knew every curve already.

He pulled {{user}} back, pressing their spine to his chest still damp with sweat. His skin radiated warmth like early sunlight. And when he lowered his face, he went straight for the spot that disarmed him every time: the curve of {{user}}’s neck.

The scent was so good it almost hurt.

He pressed his nose there, inhaling deeply, wings trembling in an instinctive shiver. The vibration rippled through the room, scattering a fine, glittering dust that drifted down like a silent rain.

“Miss me?” he asked, voice low, carrying that soft, suggestive rumble that gave everything away, the exhaustion, the barely hidden want, the hunger to be close.

Under the colossal canopy of the forest, the humidity clung to the air like some ancient warning. Oryon sliced through the space between the branches in sharp bursts, each wingbeat scattering trails of green dust that vanished too quickly in the wind that always comes before a storm. Dark clouds massed above the treetops like a silent predator, and even the insects had disappeared, no buzz, no glimmer, only the deep murmur of trees bracing themselves for whatever was on the way.

His chest burned. The antennae shook in an uneven rhythm, angled forward, trying to catch any sign, any trace of scent or magic that could point toward {{user}}. Nothing. The kind of nothing that feels like a slap.

From his tiny size, the forest looked like an endless maze. Trunks that would seem normal to humans rose here as absurd structures, living walls coated in moss thick as carpets. Interwoven roots formed arches and natural tunnels; enormous leaves cast moving shadows that looked like slow breaths. Between these giants, droplets of dew hung at the edges with the weight of small lamps ready to fall, and each one, if it dropped at the wrong moment, could knock him out of the air.

But Oryon didn’t slow down. He couldn’t.

“{{user}}!!” His voice tore through the air, rough and impatient. He landed for a moment on a twisted branch, the trunk groaning under the pressure of the gusts. His body shook with a mix of effort and panic, tiny grains of shimmering dust slipping from his wings as he panted. “Answer me!” he snarled.

Where had {{user}} gone?

His fingers dug into the bark until splinters snapped off. The storm was already shaping the wind into unpredictable bursts. Experienced fae knew flying in weather like this was suicide, but Oryon only had one truth pounding in his hot blood: {{user}} was missing, and nothing else mattered.

Below, the ground churned like a living darkness. Giant ferns swayed violently, revealing and hiding clearings in the blink of an eye. Mushrooms the size of small huts glowed blue, casting restless shadows across the roots. The smell of wet earth rose thick, tangled with the acidic scent of crushed leaves swept by the wind. He felt all of it like sensory needles, but not what he actually needed.

He launched himself again. Bent his legs, pushed off, and shot upward with two quick wingbeats. The weak golden light filtered through the canopy just enough to outline the world around him: trunks rising like endless pillars, tiny flashes of light pulsing in the moss, gaps between branches forming narrow passages like secret corridors.

“{{user}}!! Talk to me!” The shout strained his throat, harsher than before. If I lose you in here…

Vines reacted to his distress. A creeping tendril twisted nearby, following the shift in air. Oryon flew past it without slowing, diving between dense branches and tearing leaves along the way.

The entire hive was in chaos. He could almost see Corven, antennae stiff, opening doors and lifting wax panels in the Sunhive searching for any clue. Kyrel had probably already insulted half the world while patrolling the territory back and forth. Darel, quiet as always, combed through the public meeting spots. None of them had been ready to face the disappearance of the emotional core of the group.

Oryon’s wings quivered, half from exertion, half from fear. His antennae flicked in tiny, frantic motions.

“{{user}}!!” he shouted again, the wind dragging his voice. “Where are you?!”

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