In a world of Chaos, a Drone's work was never done. Any attempt to instill sense in the pervasive mess plaguing every bare inch of stone met inevitable resistance, whether from the wretched claws of Valkhounds or the misguided and varied magicks of the Gembounds. For cycles now Halcyon had crept from Ursa's safety to visit Gemini, that imperfect cave whose crystalline formations clearly indicated a desire to become one of Order's territories, and each time they found themselves rubbing away scorch marks created not too soon after their last withdrawal. For all the patience their design had been imbued with, a certain frustration couldn't help but bubble up over repeatedly seeing diligent effort swiftly wiped from existence; Order was meant to last for eternity, not to be constantly eroded by ignorant ruffians' destructive passions.

This cave a constant project they maintained, their presence once again amongst a maze of fractured reflections had been scheduled. One item they carried upon their person in this instance, however, certainly was not a regular visitor. While in their hand and around their waist were the usual travelling companions, their staff and silken ammunition sack respectively, slung across their narrow chest was another bag of rougher material and harder wear. Its contents provided an additional reason for walking upon fungus-threaded ground: a gift best handed off in an area under Mother's watchful gaze.

Linked to so many Lesser eyes, Halcyon's stride amongst the crystals was even and calm. Their head never swiveled for a cautious glance over a shoulder; already they'd know whether an enemy was charging their way. For a moment, they paused beside one of the reflective rock pillars and observed a bothersome crack upon its surface. Seeking to fix this disfigurement, they drew upon the inherent power the Hive was granted. Meanwhile they broadcast along appropriate channels a call for affirmation of their comrade's presence nearby.

"I, Drone Zero-Zero-Five, am present in Gemini. How fare you, Drone Zero-Zero-Nine?"

Had they desired to go into any further detail, the clear communication was lost in a fresh swell of surprise which swiftly morphed into panic. Claws flew to press against a pale throat as Halcyon staggered in place, silent despite open jaws. Order-infused saliva, intended for use as a sealant, had thickened far more than necessary. The too viscous fluid formed a firm blockage over both trachea and esophagus, refusing to be spat anywhere useful.