Once more, Vajra found herself preparing for war. For ten long years it had been her duty to muster the troops and to direct them into battle. First as a subordinate Queen, then a War Queen, until Vajra stood alone against the endless hordes of enemies whose capabilities surpassed her own soldiers a hundred to one, the Final War Queen. By her orders had billions went to war—and by those same orders, billions died. Scouts, taken so far from home, their deaths often going unnoticed. Soldiers, thrusting their stingers vigilantly, even while missing their heads. Workers sent forth in great waves, their bodies shaking so hard and so hot they cooked both themselves and their enemies. Even fellow Queens met their grisly ends when the hives were breached. Some chose suicide, their daughters dispatching them in ritualistic strikes behind the head. Others fought to the bitter end, transmitting images of massive mandibles tearing through wax and wood alike; the demons’ eyes gleaming with malevolent hunger. Each battle had only prolonged the inevitable; they added but another minute, another hour for an empire crumbling to dust. Vajra had nearly given up herself more than once. And yet… she hadn't. Was it stubbornness? Pride? Or was it just spite that had kept her going, killing as many of the demons as she could? Killing, until she was all alone; her mind in tatters, her spark almost gone. The grace of the Heavens had delivered her to Fa Ram, into wonderful Bi De’s beak, and the Emperor’s warm embrace. At first, Vajra (...)