A feeling. A strange feeling, independent of the hive. Most drones go their whole life, just thinking and feeling the hive, never understanding the independent species around them.

  Strong was not most drones. A pale skinned Soldier Drone who always felt a little different from the rest, it was inevitable that he would be kicked from his village. He didn’t mind though. The sudden silence only meant that he could now fully concentrate on his goal. His goal of becoming a hero.

  Now the Hive Soldier stood exactly where he wanted. On the edge of the border zone, with Squin in his sights. A city of the Shek Kingdom. One that his caravan had once come to.

  It was outside those very gates that his caravan was attacked by some rebel Shek, outnumbered and outmatched, they were ready to accept their deaths, that is, until the Hundred Guardians came to their aid.

  They cut through the rebels like paper, heads flyings, limbs bludgeoned by Fragment Axes. Blood, carnage and death all around him, but all Strong could do was watch them in utter awe. The hiver warriors seemed nothing in comparison, blunt sticks and rags, eaten by Beak Things and Gorrilos every day.

  That was also exactly what triggered him to be exiled from the hive, when he walked up to a guardian and asked them what they were. They simply replied “Strong” If the prince hadn’t kicked him out for naming himself, the pale soldier may have left himself.

  He pulled the stick from his back. The one that had been his weapon for many years, since the day he was hatched, and threw it to the ground without a second thought. If he were to live up to his name, if he were to become a true hero of the Shek, he needed a heavy weapon of some kind. The Hundred Guardians wielded them, so he needed to as well.

  With that, the hiver simply wandered up to the gate, a great smile on his face. Bandits littered the path leading up with a few Shek warriors slowly disposing of the body. A Hundred Guardian stood at the gate along with a few warriors. It got Strong’s blood pumping.

  A hand shot out in front of him as he attempted to cross the threshold. He followed it up to the face of an unamused Shek warrior. ‘Bag check,’ she growled.

  Strong blinked, looking down at his completely naked body, with no weapon, let alone a bag. ‘Uh. Yes sister, understood!’ he replied.

  ‘Sister?’ She narrowed her eyes with an aggressive grunt. The shek woman looked over the pale hiver and sniggered.

  ‘Go in bugman.’

  That was a name he had heard before. At first it was the name he was going to use, but it seemed as though they called all of his people by that name, so he had to come up with another. His dream seemed an appropriate choice.

  With a happy nod he almost skipped into town, hearing some hushed whispers between the guards behind him. No doubt they discussed the river’s potential. A strong warrior, a great hero, that is what he would be.

  There were a few stares shot his way as he looked for his destination, he could only assume that was a good thing. By the time he had reached the right shop, he had garnered half of the town’s interest.

  A great sign hung above the door, a sword. Exactly what he looked for. With a cheerful skip Strong darted through the door. ‘Hello fellow warrior, Strong is seeking a sword!’

  The shopkeeper stared at him, mouth agape, then gestured at the wall behind him, covered in swords. Huge, rusted blades and blunt slabs of metal aplenty. This was exactly what the hiver sought.

  Strong waltzed over to them, trying to find any that took his fancy. The shopkeeper sneered. ‘Think you can pick any of them up stickman?’

  To answer, the stickman did just that. Lifting a Plank above his head, with some effort, but still, he held it with glee. A throaty giggle echoing the room. ‘Strong is Strong! Thank you for asking!’

  A small glance was exchanged by the shopkeeper and his guard. ‘You got the cats for it, it’s yours.’

  Strong blinked. ‘Cats?’ He was only ever a guard, it was safe to say he was not built for trading. Or for understanding, and the next thing the poor hiver knew was the taste of sand.

  ‘Stay out til you get some damn cats!’ the shopkeeper yelled, standing at the top of the shop’s stairs. ‘Outsiders,’ he spat, turning back to the shop with his guard right behind him.

  A mouthful of the ground was at least enough for Strong to get the picture. He couldn’t just wander into a city and get given a weapon, that would explain why his people traded in the first place. He just didn’t understand why that was the case. Wouldn’t the Shek encourage his desire to become a true warrior?

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  A shadow appeared over the pale hiver, blotting out the sun behind them. ‘What a strange bugman,’ observed a woman’s voice. She knelt down, coming into view of Strong.

  For the most part, she looked the part of a typical Shek warrior, save for the fact that all of her horns had been cut to stubs. The soldier drone couldn’t help but stare at them.

  Her face scrunched into a scowl. ‘Are you staring at my horns?’

  Strong nodded. ‘What happened to them?’

  She looked away. ‘I survived. Woke up in a battlefield full of my dead brothers and sisters. I should have died, but I didn’t. So they branded me a traitor and a coward,’ she paused as a warrior walked by sneering at her. ‘Cut the horns from my head. The greatest dishonour.’

  ‘So you’re no longer a great warrior?’

  ‘What do you know of great warriors? What about you bugman? Are you a great warrior? Have you killed half a dozen men alone? I have.’

  The hiver’s eyes shone. ‘You have?’ He sat up. ‘Strongs not a great warrior. Not yet, but Strong wants to be. Ever since Strong first saw the Hundred Guardians.’

  She studied Strong for a few seconds, then stood to her feet, reaching out a hand for him to take. He obliged, standing almost the same height as her. ‘I once thought I would join the ranks of the Hundred Guardians, maybe I still can, but I need to win back my honour first, out there.’ She nodded towards the gate. ‘None of my brothers or sisters would join me now, so I’ll ask. Will you?’ She stuck out a hand.

  Strong smiled widely. ‘Really? You’ll help me become a great warrior?!’

  ‘I’ll need to make you worthy enough to stand at my side.’

  With no more hesitation, he took the Shek’s hand and shook it with great enthusiasm. She let loose something close to a smile. ‘Names Ruka, and you’re Strong right?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Never seen a bugman that looks like you before. Those eyes are fierce, I like them.’

  ‘Really? My prince always said that Strong was strange, ugly. Not like the others.’

  Ruka’s small smile faded, her hand brushed over the spot that her horns once lay. ‘Guess that makes two of us.’ She lay a hand on her new companion’s shoulder. ‘First things first, let’s get you a sword, huh?’

  They marched back into the store, the shopkeeper rolling his eyes as they did. ‘So the stickman found the coward. What a pair.’

  The hornless Shek marched over to the counter and threw a small bag of coins on it. Then nodded at Strong. ‘Go on. Get that one.’ She pointed at a rusted Plank.

  Rusted or not, Strong didn’t care. A blade, a true Shek blade was about to fall into his possession. He couldn’t fully believe it, hands trembling as he once again held it in his hands. The shopkeeper looked unamused, but took the cats and began counting.

  ‘Come on then,’ Ruka told the hiver, walking towards the door. ‘We got a lot to do.’

  Strong grabbed the leather strap that held the blade to his back, and equipped it, feeling its heft on his back. He didn’t mind it of course, and ran straight after Ruka. ‘Where to first?’ he asked, full of energy.

  ‘We gotta see what you can do.’

  The two walked to the gate opposite Strong’s entrance. Past the guards and down the road was a small crossroads, with two ore veins sitting nearby. A small line of Goats passed by as Ruka parked herself by the ore, her arms crossed.

  ‘Draw your blade, swing at me.’

  Not entirely understanding, Strong obliged. He pulled the great slab of iron from his back and lifted it over his head, letting the weight pull it down. Ruka effortlessly moved out of the way, allowing the full weight of the blade to crater the dirt, spitting it all around them.

  ‘Woah! You were so fast!’

  Ruka kicked the Plank, sending the hiver tumbling backwards. ‘You’re just slow. But, using the weight of the blade as momentum was good instinct. Now, keep going,’

  So, he swung again and she dodged again.

  ‘Again.’

  His arms already hurt, but, the soldier drone didn’t stop. He put all his effort into a third swing.

  ‘Again.’

  Then a forth.

  ‘Again.’

  A fifth. A sixth. Swinging over and over, occasionally from the side, from overhead, any way to try and hit his target, but missing every time. His body leaked sweat, his arms stung and ached, but he didn’t stop or question Ruka. This is what he wanted, what he needed.

  Ruka smiled, watching the hivers eyes, seeing the determination, even as he had to use the sword just to support him. They were already surrounded by the damage they had done.

  Then, the Shek pulled out her own blade, lifting it over her head, with barely a wobble of the wrist. ‘Now. Block.’

  No strength would come to the hiver’s arms, he attempted to pull the blade up, just barely lifting it in front of his face. Down came Ruka’s sword, nothing held back. The blades collided, sparks igniting before its full weight crushed down on Strong. His arms gave in and the blunt blade met his reinforced skull.

  Strong fell back, tumbling onto the floor. His vision blurred then slowly shifted into focus, Ruka standing above him, sword on her shoulder. He touched his head, it was delicate and there appeared to be a little blood.

  ‘I will not offer you a hand. Do you detest me?’

  ‘No? You’re training Strong right?’

  Ruka smiled. She let her sword slip into the strap on her back. ‘Just as I thought. Despite being a hiver. You’re worth training.’ She slapped his shoulder.

  ‘Come. You need to rest. We’ll start again at dawn.’

  Shaky legs didn’t stop the pale soldier from scrabbling to his feet. With the last of the strength he had, he pulled the oversized sword along, using the nearby rocks to help balance it, force it into place.

  The hiver jogged to catch Ruka, feeling the weight on his back pull him down. ‘You have a house?’ He asked.

  Her smile faded. ‘No. Everything was taken from me when they took my honour. No home, no armour. The only thing left was a few cats and this sword,’ she paused, looking despondent. ‘We’ll have to stay in a bar for now.’

  ‘Then. When Strong is a great warrior, he will make a lot of cats! And then. And then he will buy Ruka a new house!’

  ‘Are you going to live with me bugman?’

  Strong tilted his elongated head. ‘Where else would Strong live?’

  She cracked a smile once again, stifling a small laugh. ‘Maybe, if you prove yourself a worthy warrior.’

  They wandered back into town, the guards still giving both a scathing glance. ‘Strong wants to be more than a warrior. He wants to be a great hero! Then maybe. Maybe the Shek would like him more?’

  His new partner studied the exile’s face, so little emotion was visible there, but perhaps she had overestimated the creature’s simplicity. It seemed he understood the disdain her people held for him, yet he still sought their approval. They weren’t that different in that regard.

  She slapped his back. ‘Then we’ll both have to prove ourselves heroes, huh hiver?’ Ruka looked ahead, a grin spread across her lips.

  These two new companions seemed unlikely on the outside, but lost souls often attract one another. Perhaps that’s why, the half horned Shek swordsman watched the two with mild interest. Watching from a nearby balcony, with a pipe in hand.