Breakfast was a lively, glowing affair.
The morning's mystery and ritual had left the coven stirred—charged with the energy of things seen and not yet understood. Around the great fire, bowls clinked and laughter rippled like wind over water. Someone sang a song between sips of steaming chicory brew, and the scent of wild mushrooms and rosemary filled the cavern air.
Bell found herself warming not just from the fire, but from the comfort of belonging. Each voice, each shared loaf of flatbread, seemed to stitch her a little more tightly into the fabric of this strange underground life. By the time Thera stood and tugged gently on her sleeve, Bell’s laughter had joined the others, and the chill of the lake's earlier silence had mostly ebbed away.
“This way,” Thera said, grinning. “Time for another lesson.”
Bell followed her through the village and along the stone path that hugged the lake’s far edge. The mist had lifted slightly, revealing the full scale of the cavern—its ceiling lost in dark, glittering distance, pierced only by the faint luminescence of the crystal spires that hung like frozen lightning.
They crossed a narrow footbridge, the wood slick with moss and the scent of river mint. On the other side, the stone wall rose steep and smooth, pocked with tall, rounded hollows, each large enough for a person to stand inside. From within, a low, steady buzzing issued forth—gentle, rhythmic, and oddly hypnotic.
Bell froze.
The air near the holes vibrated faintly, and the scent was sweet, thick, and floral—like spring meadows soaked in sunlight. She could smell honey, heavy and golden, and beneath it, pollen, petals, and the musky tang of damp moss and fermented nectar.
“Cave bees,” Thera said, stepping forward. Her voice was quieter now—respectful. “They live throughout the first layer of the mine. Feed on the magical plants that bloom down here. Their honey holds magical properties the surface witches dream of.”
She pulled a small cobalt-glass vial from her satchel, uncorked it, and dabbed a drop of shimmering oil onto her neck. The smell hit Bell immediately—honeyed and heady, with undertones of violets, bergamot, and warm wax. It made her mouth water.
Thera passed the vial to Bell, who took it hesitantly.
“Go on. It marks you as one of us.”
Bell mimicked Thera’s motion, dabbing the oil along her collarbone. Wherever it touched, it left a soft tingling heat, as though sunlight had bloomed on her skin.
“They recognize scent,” Thera explained, already stepping toward one of the tunnels. “This oil tells them you're a guest. It keeps them calm. No stings. No panic.”
Bell took a breath and followed her into the tunnel.
The buzzing intensified immediately. It wasn’t loud—it was alive, wrapping around her like a living song, humming in her bones. The tunnel walls were smooth and warm to the touch, lined with hardened amber wax that glowed faintly from within, lighting their way like captured fireflies. Tiny flowers bloomed from cracks in the stone—strange subterranean blossoms with silver petals and stems that pulsed with pale green magic.
As they walked, Bell noticed narrow openings veiled by strands of wax and silk, behind which she could see caves full of movement—swarms of fuzzy bees the size of her hand, their wings a blur of opalescent light. Some flew in elegant spirals, others rested on huge waxen combs shaped like crescents, runes, even hearts.
“They’re more than just bees,” Thera said, voice low. “They’ve been in the mines since the beginning. Some believe they remember the shape of the first spell ever cast in this city.”
Bell stared, wide-eyed.
“And in exchange for their wax, their tunnels, and their honey, we solve problems for them. We tend to the sick blooms. Clean out fungus infestations. Sometimes, we bury the bones of miners too deep for anyone else to reach.”
Bell felt a shiver down her spine.
Thera turned and smiled. “Still with me?”
Bell nodded, eyes bright. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“You will,” Thera said. “More than you can imagine.”
They moved deeper into the honey-lit tunnels, the walls narrowing, then widening again in strange rhythms—as though the bees had followed an ancient blueprint written in magic and instinct. The air grew warmer, thicker with sweetness and vibration. Bell could feel it thrumming along her arms and neck, through the soles of her feet. Every surface glowed faintly golden.
“This way,” Thera whispered, her voice reverent now. “There’s one place I want to show you.”
Bell followed her around a curve in the passage, ducking beneath a low arch of wax and stone, where the buzz became a low, resonant hum—a sound that filled the bones rather than the ears.
They stepped into a chamber unlike anything Bell had seen yet.
It was vast, warm, and pulsing with soft light. The walls were shaped not by hands but by wings—vaulted honeycomb archways, columns of wax and resin that curved like the inside of a cathedral. The floor was covered in soft, pale moss, and overhead, from a high waxen ceiling, hundreds of bees drifted in lazy spirals, glowing faintly as if filled with starlight.
Bell stood frozen, breath catching in her throat.
“They call this the Dreaming Hive,” Thera said quietly beside her. “It’s where the queen sometimes comes to rest. Or to speak, when she feels like it.”
Bell turned to her, wide-eyed. “Speak?”
“Not with words,” Thera said. “Not like we know them. But they can… show things. Send feelings. Memories. Warnings. Especially if they trust you.”
Bell stepped forward carefully, drawn toward a low platform of wax at the center of the room, where a large cluster of bees pulsed in perfect rhythm. They shifted slightly as she approached—not with alarm, but as though they had always expected her.
She knelt at the edge of the platform.
One of the bees broke from the cluster and hovered just before her face. Its wings buzzed softly, but it made no move to fly away. Its eyes—black and impossibly glossy—reflected Bell’s face.
She felt something in her chest loosen. A strange stillness came over her.
The bee hovered closer, then gently landed on the back of her hand.
Bell went very still.
There was no fear.
No threat.
Only a sudden rush of images that bloomed in her mind like pressed flowers unfolding: A massive root system, humming with magic, shifting just beneath the stone floor of the world. A moon reflected in dark water, fractured and multiplying. The scent of a particular flower, one she hadn’t seen before, but instinctively knew bloomed only when the stars aligned. A feeling of urgency. A tugging. As though something ancient was trying to show her a path not yet opened.
Then the bee lifted off again and rejoined its kin, the moment breaking like the surface of still water.
Bell exhaled sharply. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.
Thera was watching her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “They don’t do that for everyone.”
Bell swallowed. “Did they… show you things too?”
“Not like that,” Thera admitted. “It means something. Might not be clear yet, but it means something.”
Bell stood slowly, dazed and awestruck, heart still beating in the strange rhythm of the hive.
And in the silence that followed, she could still feel the hum of the bee’s wings inside her—like a memory that hadn’t yet happened.
They emerged from the hive chamber slowly, the sound of wings and warmth of wax still clinging to their skin. The air outside the hive felt cooler, thinner—like stepping from the heart of something alive into its breath. Bell walked in silence beside Thera, her hands still tingling faintly where the bee had landed, her thoughts looping in strange, shining spirals.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been marked.
Not just seen.
Chosen.
Thera said nothing at first. She simply walked ahead, lantern held low, casting a warm golden glow across the carved stone.
So magical & lovely!