Communication was terrible.
This was not Amelia’s fault.
Mostly.
Humans had hands, pens, paper, and voices.
I had six legs, wings, and one emotionally versatile buzz.
Amelia spread index cards across her desk.
Alphabet.
Numbers.
YES.
NO.
STOP.
DANGER.
FOOD.
BLOOD.
The last card was her idea.
My front legs rubbed automatically.
She moved it farther away.
Rude.
Mayra had gone to class.
We had several uninterrupted hours and a secret that now required an operating system.
Amelia pointed toward YES.
“One buzz for yes.” I buzzed once.
She pointed toward NO.
“Two for no.” Two buzzes.
Then she wrote: ATTENTION “Three rapid sounds.” I tried.
Buzz-buzz-buzz.
Close enough.
“Danger?” We experimented with length, pitch, and rhythm until we found something distinct: High-short-high.
Good.
Then there was the idiot buzz.
Amelia did not know what it meant yet.
Mayra had created the association through repeated exposure.
Long.
High.
Emotionally complete.
Amelia wrote: UNKNOWN SIGNAL I objected.
She ignored me.
The alphabet system was slower.
I landed on letters while Amelia copied them into words.
After several mistakes, she widened the rows and added a blank card for spaces.
Our first full exchange took twelve minutes.
NAME?
she wrote.
I spelled it again.
P.
L.
E.
N.
T.
E.
A.
F.
U.
L.
“Plenteaful.” One buzz.
Yes.
She wrote it correctly.
No strange capitalization.
Civilization.
Then: “Human age?” I used the number cards.
2.
5.
“Twenty-five.” Yes.
“Death recent?” I moved to MAYBE.
We had created that card after Amelia discovered that binary answers were inadequate for reincarnation, memory loss, and most of reality.
“Do you remember how?” NO.
“Do you remember people?” I hesitated, then landed between YES and MAYBE.
Fragments.
A woman’s voice.
A younger person.
A kitchen.
Nothing stable enough to name.
Amelia did not ask me to force more.
Instead, I turned the question back on her.
Y O U?
She leaned away from the desk.
Her expression shifted from researcher to person.
“I was human in shape,” she said.
Complicated.
“Cultivator.” A new word in this context.
“I ruled the Winter Crown in a world called Eryndor.” The nightmare.
The crown.
Her people.
I stayed still.
Amelia looked toward the faintly fogged corner of the window.
“I carried the Ice Phoenix bloodline.” My front legs began rubbing.
She saw.
“No.” I had not asked anything.
“You are not drinking enough of my blood to acquire it.” Fair.
Probably.
I moved to the letters.
D R A G O N?
Amelia’s eyebrows rose.
“What?” I spelled CODEX, then APEX, then the impossible phrase.
D O M I N I O N D R A G O N Amelia stared at the cards.
Then at me.
“You are a mosquito.” One buzz.
“Yes.” “And your system expects you to become a dragon.” One buzz.
She remained silent for several seconds.
Then she laughed.
I used the idiot buzz.
She laughed harder.
Traitor.
When she recovered, Amelia asked, “Does becoming stronger replace your species?” Two buzzes.
No.
I spelled: M O S Q U I T O Then: A L W A Y S Her expression became serious.
“Good.” The word landed with unexpected weight.
“At sufficiently advanced stages, some spirit beasts can develop secondary forms without abandoning their true lineage,” she added.
“That is very far beyond you.” My attention sharpened.
Amelia noticed.
“Very far.” She continued, “Bloodline stability matters.
In my former world, beasts destroyed themselves by mixing incompatible inheritances.” I listened.
“Dragon scale.
Phoenix marrow.
Demon blood.
Celestial organs.” My front legs rubbed harder with every example.
Amelia pointed one finger at me.
“Do not become excited.” Too late.
“Power does not matter if the body cannot remain itself,” she said.
That stayed.
Then Amelia established rules.
Of course.
Rule one: no feeding on her without permission.
I objected.
She did not care.
Rule two: no feeding on sleeping humans.
Fine.
Rule three: no venom use on humans except immediate defense.
Fine.
Rule four: if injured, report it.
Annoying.
Rule five: Amelia would not cage me except during an emergency.
Good.
Then she added, “Or when you are behaving with exceptional stupidity.” I spelled: S U B J E C T I V E “Yes.” Two buzzes.
No.
“Rule stands.” Tyranny.
Former-empress behavior.
I wrote one rule for her.
N O S W A T Amelia looked offended.
“I have not tried to kill you since learning you are intelligent.” Good.
Rule accepted.
Then: N O K E V I N “That is Mayra’s crime.” Still.
Amelia added the rule.
Then she looked toward the card marked UNKNOWN SIGNAL.
“What does that one mean?” I flew to the alphabet.
I D I O T Amelia stared.
Then laughed again.
No dignity.
At that exact moment, Mayra opened the door.
“What happened?” Amelia looked at her, then at me.
“Plenteaful has named one of his signals.” Mayra brightened.
“Which?” Long high buzz.
Amelia answered, “That one.” “What does it mean?” The corner of Amelia’s mouth curved.
“Idiot.” Silence.
Mayra pointed at me.
“I invented your language and this is how you repay me?” One buzz.
Yes.
Amelia laughed.
Mayra stared between us, then at the alphabet cards.
“Okay.
This mosquito is way too responsive.” Danger.
Amelia’s expression became neutral instantly.
“Coincidence.” I assumed empty mosquito posture.
No thoughts.
Nothing suspicious.
Mayra narrowed her eyes.
“This is weird.” Idiot buzz.
She pointed.
“See?” “Coincidence,” Amelia repeated.
For now, Mayra accepted it.
Barely.
That night, I rested beside the card with my name.
Plenteaful It felt good to have the name somewhere outside the Codex.
I existed.
Someone knew.
Someone could say it.
That mattered more than expected.