"Explain to me please, why you would ever think that sticking your head into a blast furnace would be a good idea?" I demanded of the hatchling, still dangling from one of Crinis' tentacles.

"I wanted to see what it looked like inside!" she protests.

"Inside? Inside is nothing but fire, superheated gas and liquid metal!"

"REALLY?!" she goggles at me. "Sounds awesome!"

"Yes," I nod sagely, "it IS awesome. It will also melt your face off and you will be dead."

"And that's…. Bad?" she asks.

My mandibles clack together slowly.

"Do you need more time out?"

"… I do not."

"Then tell me that it would be bad if you died."

"It would be bad if I died."

"Good."

[Put her down Crinis.]

The blast furnace had indeed been amazing. Six mage ants had surrounded the base of the huge metal construction, lined with bricks, reinforced stone and enchanted on the inside to resist the insane temperatures. When it came time to heat it, the mages had poured great torrents of blue flame into openings designed to seal shut whenever the mage drew their head back.

Out one side of the base had poured the slag, a molten slurry of impurities that had bonded to the limestone, and out the other had poured the liquid iron which would be carted away to mould into ingots. It was then that I caught the hatchling trying to get a closer look.

"Alright, enough hanging around here, time to go meet a particular carver and say hello."

With a careful eye on the young, I make my way out of the huge furnace area, picking my way between the many rows of smelters, furnaces and tracks for bins laden with ore as we walk into the tunnels and then beyond to the crafting area.

The ring of hammers and the tang of metal vibrate through my antennae as we enter, the tunnels around us alive with the reverberations of steel on steel. Nestled throughout these tunnels are the many workshops of the Colony, producing the various goods required by the ants and our allies. There's delicate work being done, fine wires of various metals intertwined and experimented on to see how well they handle delicate enchantments, as well as more massive projects, like gates for the new nests or armour suits for new Immortals.

The hatchling stares at it all with wide eyes, rushing this way and that to inspect every ant at work and see what they might be up to, asking questions and generally being a pest. I tolerate it for a little while, but we have a schedule to keep and there's someone I really need to meet.

"Come on then, we need to move a little faster."

With a bit of needling I manage to drag the little one away in order to find the workshop of a particular carver who I'd promised I'd come and meet at some point after I'd evolved. I find the insane ant hard at work at her forge, heating metal with more a slightly crazed cast to her compound eyes.

"Smithant! How are you doing, you metal head?" I say.

She turns to see my massive frame looming over her workstation and clacks her mandibles happily.

"If it isn't the Eldest! I've been looking forward to your visit for a long time! And Tiny! Welcome back, my most successful customer! How did you like that armour I made for you, eh? I heard it worked out perfectly! Are you looking to get it reforged now that you've evolved into a new form?"

The smith is practically bouncing with excitement but I'm getting massive waves of 'meh' energy from Tiny once I explain what she wants. Just looking at the bland expression on his face, I can tell he's not that interested in getting his armour back.

"He's super excited for you to remake it for him," I tell her, giving the ape a glare.

[That armour kept you alive. As in, you know, not dead?! Would you rather be dead, or wear armour?]

He ponders for a moment. Then another moment. Then a longer moment.

[You shouldn't have to think this long, moron!] I screech at him. [Just how low did you take your intelligence on this evolution? You kept it where I ordered you to right?]

He nods and gives me a thumbs up, a wide, confident grin splitting his face.

I stare at him carefully.

[So how high is it then?]

He raises two fingers.

[If that's supposed to mean twenty, then you reduced lower than I left you with… but still kept it above the minimum I set… If it means two, we are going to have issues.]

I turn back to Smithant.

"He would love to have even more elaborate and protective armour than before. Layer it on him until he looks like the elderly on a snow day. I want him round, like a dumpling."

"I don’t know what those things are," Smithant flicks an antenna in dismissal, "but it hardly matters. Time for measurements!"

As the hatchling starts to pick her way through the workshop, inspecting every tool and surface with the curiosity of a newborn child (which she is), Smithant rushes about, crawling over Tiny and measuring him for fit.

"Quite a bit larger than before," she clacks, "I'm not sure that we'll have enough captured Legion armour to fashion the suit like we did before. I'll have a look at the stockpile, but we might need to look for a different solution."

She turns herself toward me.

"And what about you then, Eldest? Finally ready to accept your place in the glorious ranks of the armoured?"

Her eyes are practically sparkling. Settle down a bit there.

"I'm still not sure how comfortable I am with armour," I say hesitantly. "Not for any reason to do with the armour itself," I assure the suddenly crestfallen smith, "just because my carapace is… I mean look at it!"

Indeed, my diamond carapace is picking up the flickering light of the forge beautifully. So damn shiny.

"Well, we don't necessarily need to go with fully fledged armour. There are a number of options after all. We could make leg coverings, plating for the joints, segments for the head which protect your eyes, though they do limit visibility. The more metal we put on you, the more surface we have to work with for enchantments. Though, if I'm making something for you, I highly doubt anyone will object to me requisitioning the finest cores and materials from the stores."

The mad smith is almost drooling at the thought of getting her mandibles on such precious metals and cores. The passion she has for her craft is infectious and I can't help but feel I'd like to see what she could make.

"I'll say no to any helmets or anything that obstructs my vision. But, I think I could be persuaded with some leg guards or something along those lines."

"Perfect!" Smithant declares. "Time to get measured!"