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Marked by the colony

IlsaDream
49
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 49 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Title: Marked by the Colony Genre: Hiveborn ( original genre) People think ants are harmless. Tiny, mindless, crawling bugs. But we know better. Because some of us… are them. We’re born like any other human. We laugh, we bleed, we dream. But deep beneath our skin, there’s a signal — a pulse. When the time comes, that pulse awakens. And the Hive calls. They say we’re cursed. They call us “Hiveborn.” Not fully human. Not fully insect. Something else. Bound to a colony we never chose. Driven by instincts we can’t control. Each Hiveborn is marked at sixteen. A burn in the shape of an ant’s mandible appears on our neck. From that moment, you belong — not to yourself — but to the Colony. Some of us fight it. Most don’t. Because once the pheromones take over, love, fear, anger — even desire — isn’t yours anymore. It’s the Queen’s. And now I’ve been marked. But something’s wrong. Because I don’t hear the Hive. I hear… a voice. His voice.
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Chapter 1 - The mark

Title; Marked by the colony

Genre;Hiveborn (original genre)

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Chapter one; The mark

People think ants are nothing.

Small. Forgettable.

Something you crush under your shoe without a second thought.

But I know better.

We hide in your cities.

We walk in your markets, sit in your classrooms, stand behind you in line for coffee.

Human on the outside. Hive on the inside.

We're called Hiveborn — a name spoken only in whispers, because saying it too loudly draws attention. And attention… is dangerous.

We're not bitten like werewolves, or cursed like ghosts.

We're chosen.

Somewhere between birth and sixteen, the Queen marks you. You don't see her do it — you don't even know she's there — until one morning you wake with a burn on the side of your neck, shaped like the curve of an ant's mandible.

From that moment, you're hers.

Your heartbeat belongs to the Colony. Your thoughts aren't just your own. You'll feel them — thousands of minds pressing against yours — until you can't remember which memories are yours, and which were given to you.

Some of us resist.

Most don't.

Because when the pheromones take hold, your choices dissolve. Anger, loyalty, fear, love — all tuned to the Queen's will. You'll die for her, kill for her, build for her.

They say it's a blessing

They say it's family.

But I call it theft.

And now… it's my turn.

I've been marked.

But something's wrong.

The others hear the Hive's hum.

I hear… a voice.