Antonia the Preacher by Denis Vinnik

Long before the days of glory,

there stood a small colony of ants by the rotting trunk of a grand tree that had seen better days. These were dark times—times of fear and a constant struggle to stick to the schedule. There was salvation, but only for those brave enough to seek it. Slowly, the city of ants grew. It was given a name: Kinhome – a city woven through work and discipline.

On the night of her birth from a cocoon, the constellation above was that of a spider—believed to bring bad brood. She was named Antonia, interestingly enough, a rather common name in the ant community. Antonia never excelled at heavy lifting or teamwork. Instead, her attention was often drawn to more extraordinary things—like the silk-woven wonders of spiders, masters of webs, or the rays of sunlight catching in the morning dew. These things fascinated her, and she would cherish them until a foremantis would shake her out of her daydreams.

“Stop stalling! Purpose is repetition, joy is order. Remember that, larva. Now back to work!”

This slogan echoed day in and day out, but this time the foremantis's words made her think. That night, she couldn’t sleep in her burrow, so she snuck out to gaze at the stars—their beauty always calmed her antsy nerves.

After a while, she reached her favourite hilltop, the perfect place to peer through the dense thickets. The stars reminded her of ants: numerous, always in motion, yet far brighter and more serene.

“A fellow stargazer?” came a tranquil voice from the dark.

Antonia was startled, but not frightened. Bringing her lantern closer to the speaker, she found an old moss beetle. Her shell bore many scars from a lifetime of hard manual labour.

“Dearie,” the voice said softly. “What troubles you?”

“I cannot say,” Antonia replied. “No one understands. I doubt you would either.”

The moss beetle studied her carefully.

“You seek what others fear to understand. Your curiosity fills me with joy, young one. I’ve heard stories of the Old Root—as ancient as time. It is said to speak to those who seek what others fear to.”

Antonia had never heard of it, but something deep inside told her it might hold the answer to the question that weighed on her heart.

“Please, tell me where to find it, old beetle!” she cried. “I seek guidance, and nothing will stop me!”

“No one knows exactly where it lies,” the beetle said. “Only that it is beyond the edge of familiarity, deep below the ground.”

That fateful night marked the beginning of her plan—to travel far and wide in search of the truth hidden away from the others. As the first rays of sun pierced through the forest canopy, she awoke, packed her tiny backpack, grabbed her trusty stick, and made her way into the heart of the colony.

It took some effort, but she managed to slip past the city guards and make her grand escape into uncharted territory. The city was separated from it by a sturdy wall, but she had stolen a key from a stag beetle. Before her laid the vast, dark Plateau of Fear. It was riddled with holes, and it was said that no soul who entered one had ever returned. Still, it was the only way down, so Antonia pressed on.

She carefully descended into one of the holes. It tilted and narrowed into a tunnel, thick with cobwebs and the shells of fallen warriors—those who had come before her, clad in heavy armour.

Suddenly, a voice echoed through the web-covered passage, full of anguish and fury.

“Whoever enters the den shall never return. Your journey ends here, traveller.”

From the darkness, an eight-legged creature lunged at Antonia with deadly intent. She fought as best she could, but she was only a worker ant, with no skills and no proper tools. She lost.

Hanging in the spider’s web, she noticed the intricate patterns—more detailed than any web she had ever seen. Even in danger, she couldn’t help but marvel.

The spider noticed her gazing at her web and snarled.

“Your attempts to escape my weave will prove futile, foolish creature. They all tried—none succeeded.”

“I know I won’t escape,” Antonia said with a trembling voice, “but I must say—your web is unlike any I’ve ever seen.”

The spider, flattered by her words, let out a pleased growl.

“My web has never been complimented by a victim before. What brings a creature like you here? You are not meant to be in this place! Curiosity only leads to ruin, believe me!”

But Antonia disagreed.

“Curiosity leads to discovery!” she cried; her voice now steady.

Taken aback, the spider lunged again—but its leg caught on Antonia’s stick, which she had left upright in the ground. Distracted by pain, it missed and slammed into the wall, destroying its web in the process.

Now free, Antonia darted through a narrow opening just before the spider could catch her again.

She found herself in a vast, pitch-dark chamber. Slowly, lights hanging from the ceiling flickered on, one by one, until she stood before the great and ancient Root.

“Old Root,” she whispered. “I seek purpose—not one assigned to me, but one I choose for myself. Guide me.”

The Root glowed—brighter and brighter—then spoke, not in words, but in images. It showed her a path: one of teaching others to find beauty in stillness, to balance discipline with wonder. A city ruled not by fear, but by creativity.

Armed with this vision, she returned to Kinhome, sharing the knowledge she had gained through her journey. One by one, the ants began to listen to her words of wisdom. Slowly, they started embracing a new way of life—one full of colour, meaning, and joy.

That night, the old slogan— “Purpose is repetition, joy is order”— died.