Chapter Text
A strange ceiling hung above him—smooth, off-white, made of a material that was neither the packed earth of a tunnel nor wooden slats.
He sat up. The motion was a chorus of small, protesting shifts. The bed was comfortable, but his body was not. A deep ache throbbed where his arms met his shoulders, flaring as he lifted the blanket. The pain was just one mystery among many. His name. His purpose. His location.
Nothing. Wait. He did know one thing.
He didn’t know why, but he knew what this was.
I have amnesia.
A pair of antennae drooped from the top of his head, one bent and taped, both aching. An accident, then. That would explain the pain, the memory loss.
Accepting the subtle ache—the price of movement—he slid his white-gloved hands into the pockets of his red suit, his thumb brushing a 'TV' pin, and an old script booted up in his mind. Alright folks, let's see what I've got in my pockets! An ID card? A business card? Anything…
His fingers closed around a debit card. MR ANTONIO TENNA. Tenna. He smiled. Mister. The title felt right.
The debit card went back into his pocket. His gaze dropped to the fine, neat stitching at his shoulders, evidence of where cut sleeves had been reattached.
His gaze swept the room: spacious, tidy, sparse. A large bed dominated the space, accompanied by a matching dresser. A yellow tie lay on top.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his socked feet meeting polished floorboards with a soft sound. The yellow dress shoes waiting beside the bed were a perfect fit!
The last thing before waking… only static. A bad signal. A feeling of being unplugged.
A blank page.
A tap to his undamaged antenna produced no guidance, no signal. …Hello? Is this thing on? Can anyone read me?
In search of more clues, he undid his belt, holding it up for a moment. His reflection smiled back from the golden, antennae-topped buckle—even teeth below a long, pointed, handsome nose. Oh, I must have been a leading man! He dropped the belt onto the dresser.
Next, his hands went to his red suit, unbuttoning it, then to the white shirt beneath. His fingers fumbled with a hidden panel until his chest cavity opened. A faint, electric hum escaped, the dark space illuminated by the dull glow of vacuum tubes and a web of bundled, color-coded wires. Inside, another compartment. A ball of breathable, spongy material rested within, and within that—just as he’d suspected—something was inside: a single, blue egg.
The image of the egg flickered in his vision as if on a poorly tuned channel. An egg means a girl. A future queen or worker. The knowledge surfaced from the static. He willed her to cure the amnesia, to explain herself and give him his next line. But the delicate packing offered no answers, only the silent, certain weight of her importance.
He couldn't have produced this himself. Some knowledge remained, and one piece was the type of ant he was. Of the three sexes—queens, workers, and drones—he was a worker. Sterile. Incapable of creating eggs.
So, how? Why? Had a stork given her to him? A white bird with black flight feathers flashed through his mind—the signal sharp and clear before dissolving into noisy static. A headache began to pound at his temples. Staring at the blue egg produced no result, even as the sensation of teetering on the edge of a breakthrough persisted.
The egg was exposed. Out in the open. Wrong. She needed to be hidden, safe. Back she went into the compartment within his chest. He closed the panel, the internal hum quieting as the seal clicked shut. He buttoned the white shirt and red suit, put on his belt, and, on an impulse, put on the yellow tie.
Only then did the ache settle in, a deep, protesting throb in his shoulders and arms. He should not have used his hands and shoulders that much—unbuttoning, moving, and then reversing the entire process. PHEW! That was a WORKOUT! A Physical Challenge! Were his shoulders always this unreliable? Probably not. Just what had happened to him? A faint, staticky hiss from his left antenna confirmed another deficit; the damaged one was weaker, its reception of scents and sounds dulled and fuzzy compared to its partner. Tenna leaned against the headboard, waiting as the pain slowly faded into a manageable hum.
Nothing more to learn here. It was time to leave.
—
The hallway outside was lit by soft lanterns that cast a honeyed glow on stone walls, and the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and aged stone. He had taken precisely three steps before a door further down swung open.
A figure emerged, balancing a tray laden with a steaming cup and a generous slice of cake—the portion sized for Tenna's frame, making the stranger look small by comparison. Tenna’s antennae twitched, parsing the air: bergamot, sugar, fresh cream. His entire body went still.
The stranger was a worker, of course. The evidence was undeniable: she was carrying a tray, serving food, navigating the hall-tunnels of the castle-nest. A queen would be at the heart of the colony, being served, not performing labor. She wore a wide hemmed green robe and a pink scarf. White fur framed a face dominated by large, pink eyes, accented with soft pink eyeshadow and long, delicate lashes, magnified by a pair of circular green glasses. Two curved horns, the same soft pink as her eyes, peeked from a mound of white fluff. She startled under his gaze.
“Oh! Mr. Tenna! I’m so glad you’re awake!” She smiled, her voice as soft as her fluffy white fur. She adjusted her hold on the tray. “I was just on my way to check on you. What the Knight did to you was… severe. But please don’t worry! Everyone worked so hard to put you back together. How are you feeling?”
The question was a landmine. Who was “the Knight”? Who was “Everyone?” He drew a complete blank. ‘I remember nothing’ was the truth, a sharp, ungrateful truth. This fluffy girl had clearly been involved in his care. Revealing that her and everyone's efforts had failed, that he was still broken inside, would be a pointless injury. The shame was a hot, sharp sting in his circuits. He couldn't ask. He couldn't reveal that the hard work had failed.
A static-filled vision flickered: this same young woman standing in snow, her face strained with desperation. Sparkling green healing magic haloed her hands. And her glasses… she was wearing two pairs at once: the normal green ones she had on now, and, layered over them, a distinctive mismatched pair with one pink and one yellow lens.
He stared, hoping the prolonged eye contact would trigger another memory, another scrap to patch the cavern of his amnesia. A bright blush spread across her face.
“Um, is there something on my face?”
The problem wasn't what was on her face, but what was over it. Why were her glasses different now? If only she had the pink and yellow pair—maybe then the static in his mind would clear!
The pair was a statement. A bold, fashionable choice. But, "Where are your other glasses?" was too personal a question when he wasn’t sure what his relationship with this worker was except that she was his benefactor and he owed her. At the very least he should give her an answer.
“I’m hungry,” Tenna stated. The admission was simple, physical, and impossible to contradict. The CORRECT answer to a surprise quiz.
Her expression instantly softened with relief, her gaze darting to his shoulders with a flicker of concern. “Let me set this down for you.” She shuffled into the room Tenna had just left, carefully holding the tray steady.
He followed, watching as she placed it on the dresser. “The cake is from Mike,” she said, her back to him as she set the tray down. Tenna was glad; she didn't see his surprised face.
Who is Mike?
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she retreated to the doorway, lingering to watch him instead of leaving.
Tenna lifted the teacup, and a sharp twinge shot through his shoulder. He set the cup back down with a soft clink, feigning nonchalance. Instead, he tilted his head down, dipped his nose directly into the Earl Grey, and took a sip. The fragrant steam brushed his nose, the taste of bergamot unfolding—a bright, citrusy note cutting through the earthiness of the tea. Smooth! A moment later, he picked up the fork, but the simple motion of scooping a bite sent another, deeper throb through his joint. He set the fork down with a quiet sigh of defeat. Pride was a luxury he couldn't afford… if his hands wouldn't cooperate, he would have to manage without. He just hoped the fluffy worker would not comment… he had to just act natural. He leaned forward over the plate, opening his mouth to take a direct bite from the cake. It was undignified, like a dog at its bowl, but it worked. The flavors erupted—sweet, airy cream, tart strawberry, and soft sponge cake. A jolt of uncomplicated delight buzzed through his circuits. Oh, he LOVED sweets! He felt a swell of gratitude for the unknown Mike, whom he did not remember.
He made quick work of the rest, the tea disappearing via quick dips of his nose and the cake vanishing in similarly efficient, direct bites until the tray was empty.
“I’ve been well taken care of,” he said afterwards, the words smooth and diplomatic. He offered a bright, professional smile. “Thank you for your kindness, Miss...” The title hung awkwardly in the air, without a name to follow it.
“Um… okay.” She blinked several times, flustered but pleased. “I’m glad you’re up and about. But Mr. Tenna, are you okay?”
She’s on to me already! How? What was her NAME?! His antennae drooped as his frame shrank slightly, a sudden, involuntary retreat. A new wave of static filled his mind. Was this normal? Could he always do this? I wish I had a MANUAL! And the EGG! Was it crushed?! A flicker of panic sparked a new function; the world in front of his eyes was momentarily replaced by a grainy, internal channel—a live feed of the cushioned compartment within his chest. The blue egg rested safely within a spongy cradle, undisturbed.
Relief short-circuited his panic. The display flickered off as quickly as it had appeared, his features resolving back into a calm, strained neutrality. With the active display, his long nose disappeared, but it returned the moment it was gone. The fluffy girl’s smile never wavered, as if she hadn't just witnessed a full diagnostic screen flash across Tenna’s face.
“Okay,” she said, her face faintly pink. Her gaze turned inward, a slight furrow appearing in her fluffy brow. “You were asleep and missed the Lightners… are you worried because it’s just me, a Darkner here?” Her eyes dropped to the floor, breaking contact. “They are gone, but don’t worry. They’ll keep their promise!” Her head lifted again, that bright, reassuring smile returning with the exclamation.
What Lightners? Darkner? What promise? He bit back the questions. Too obvious.
“I’m here if you want to talk… about what you went through.”
What I went through? Though no new memories surfaced, her compassionate tone was a balm, and Tenna’s body relaxed, the tension releasing from his mind and body. His frame expanded, seamlessly returning to its normal height. The shapeshifting was as instinctive and unexplained as his amnesia. A new, wild thought sparked: if he could shrink and return to baseline… could he push past it? Could he become bigger?
What a BUMMER! Not only was his kind host asking him questions, he was asking so many questions of himself! This time, Tenna fought back the instinctual pull to retreat, his frame holding steady against the urge to shrink.
He was on a game show stage, fumbling under a blinding spotlight. The questions kept coming, and his mind served up nothing but static. Any second now, a buzzer would blare, a laugh track would roar, and he’d be revealed as a fraud. He had to exit stage left.
“You’re very kind,” he said, his gaze falling to the tray. He gave a slight, polite bow of his head. “I’m FEELING full of energy! I’d like to have a look around town, if that’s permitted.”
Without waiting for a reply, he moved past her, his yellow shoes silent on the carpet.
After some distance, Tenna turned slowly. The hallway behind him was empty.
Back down the hall, the door to his room was still open. Inside, the fluffy stranger was standing by the bed, carefully folding the blanket Tenna had left in a heap. She smoothed the fabric with a tender, meticulous care, her entire focus on the simple, domestic task.
A brief, hot flicker of shame warmed Tenna’s internal components. He had decided not to fold the blanket because of the ache in his arms, and that had resulted in an extra task for her. But he couldn't linger. The answers weren't in this castle.
He was about to stride away when a new worry froze him. His shoulders and antennae were damaged. What if something was wrong with his legs, an injury that hadn't been apparent while lying still? He needed to be sure. Lowering himself carefully, he pushed his legs out slowly until he settled into a perfect split on the floor. A wave of relief washed through him as he stood back up. His legs were limber and ready. They would carry him.
He left the third floor and descended to the second. The hallway here was lined with strange, personalized doors. A set of metallic light blue double doors featured two large 'Q's for eyes and a set of blue lips in the center, the elements working together to form a strange face. Another was a dark spade outlined in blue, adorned with a cursive “L” and a doormat that read “COOL”. Farther down stood a pink and purple door, jagged and imposing like a monster's maw, topped with a yellow crown, and beside it, one of a simple, calming light blue with a darker blue frame.
A part of him itched to look inside these doors, to search for any clue, but the idea of intruding on someone's private space felt wrong and rude. He kept his gaze forward and continued on.
On the first floor, he passed a large, bubbling cauldron in the main hall, and walked straight to the entrance door.
Hopefully the scenery outside would give him memories, perhaps if he found some snow…