Justa Diva is the first anthropomorphic plant in the Forest – an eccentric, tragicomic figure with the soul of an opera singer and a body rooted in a flowerpot. She appears as if from nowhere, steeped in melodrama. At first, she seems superficial – a fading star obsessed with her former glory. But Anne sees beneath the surface – and gives her a new role.

The Elves, brilliant musicians, dream of their first concert – but lack a voice. Diva becomes the missing link. Thanks to Anne’s persistence, she joins the band and rises out of despair. For a moment, they shine together.

But Justa Diva is not a one-sided character. That’s why she belongs to the category of “In-Betweens” – beings who are neither good nor evil. Her vanity, though comedic, has serious consequences. In the second book, she accidentally reveals an important secret that alters the Forest’s fate. She doesn’t do it out of malice – but the harm is done.

And yet her path includes redemption. In a pivotal moment, she saves Anne, and her friends welcome her back without reproach. In the third book, she is weak and ill, but the Elves carry her through the desert with care and tenderness.

She is not a hero. Nor a villain. She is a soul with a voice – sometimes too loud, sometimes too late, but never forgotten.

– Flowerpot = beauty and rootedness within limitation

– Color change = emotions as outward appearance

– Voice = identity through expression

– Wilted leaves = lost fame, vulnerability

Sweet child, you’re speaking with a living legend! Try to remember this moment, will you? Many people would pay dearly to be in your place.

Ah! Now that’s what I call a pleasant surprise! Turns out I’m singing for an educated audience. And here I was thinking today’s children only listen to rap or some other modern nonsense the radio spits out.

You are a strange generation. At your age, we were still playing with dolls, and here you are chasing jobs and success… But where does childhood go?

Each of us can work miracles – the hard part is just believing it.

From the outside, I probably look like an aging and occasionally not-so-pleasant lady. But when I start to sing, I can become whatever I want – a young girl, a sorceress, or a witch – simply because I believe in what I sing. That’s the magic.

📘 Book I

– The first anthropomorphic plant in the Forest – a tragicomic operatic figure in a flowerpot

– Appears suddenly, steeped in the melodrama of her own downfall

– Becomes the singer in the Elves’ band – regains her dignity through music

– Briefly achieves harmony with Anne and the Elves

📗 Book II

– Appears as a spectacular figure from Heino’s propaganda

– Steps on stage at the decisive moment, disguised as an icon of lies

– Unexpectedly saves Anne from the spiders, redeeming her betrayal

– Admits it was vanity and weakness, not malice, that led her to yield to Heino

– Symbolizes the replacement of art with commerce and the fear of being forgotten

– The resistance begins with her: her repentance sparks change

📙 Book III

– Does not play an active role

– Her memory remains as a warning: what happens when one chooses glamour over truth

– Her voice and image appear fleetingly as part of the joyful victory

– Some say she was once human, turned into a plant as punishment for forgotten vanity.

– Her voice may carry traces of lost magic — the Elves sense it, but don’t speak of it.

– Was her betrayal truly accidental — or just another role for a new audience?

– The Ghost Ballerina and Diva resemble each other more than it seems — perhaps they tell the same fractured story.

– After the battles, she usually disappears. Some believe she took root in a forgotten stage set — still waiting for applause.

The Mother Queen of the Anthill is no ordinary insect – and certainly no ordinary ruler. She is the founder of Antazonia, its ideological inspiration and spiritual guide, a mother not just in name but in spirit. She embodies something far more complex and painful than tyranny: she is the believer, the visionary who builds a system in the hope of uplifting her people – only to witness that system become a nightmare.

At first, she is everywhere and nowhere. Her presence dominates the anthill through her nightly speeches – projected on giant screens, filled with pathos and fanatical conviction. She urges her children to give everything for the homeland. Her voice is passionate, resolute, and – most importantly – sincere. She believes.

But when Anne and Pouchy reach her inner chambers, they encounter a different Queen: isolated and quiet in her despair. Their meeting stirs doubt in her. When, after speaking with General Antolini, she realizes the scale of his abuses, it is not a political blow – it is a personal catastrophe. Her utopia has become a prison.

And then the illusion collapses. With the help of Anne and Ben, the Queen delivers her final speech – not a call for labor, but a cry for truth. She pays for it with her life. But it is already too late. The ants rise in revolt.

Her role is not to rule, but to believe – and to lose everything when that belief is betrayed.

– Crown = power born of idealism, not tyranny

– Screens = distortion of truth through media power

– Throne = isolation at the heart of propaganda

– Voice = faith turned into a weapon – and finally released

– Death = martyr’s deliverance, the price of truth

There are good reasons for this, Antolini. Lately, more and more rumors have reached my ears – that out there, things are going too far with... discipline. Lately, even children are being hunted like criminals, if what I hear is true.

It’s true that I believed – and still believe – in everything we once repeated like a prayer, my son. But tell me, what is the connection between our former ideals and what’s happening out there now? What kind of freedom will we speak of to children who receive beatings instead of knowledge at school? To workers who live in ignorance? To engineers who tremble with fear at every foreigner, because he might be a spy or a terrorist?

But this... this is... madness. Not even the greatest goal can justify a single tear from a child. Is that really so hard to understand?

Tearful words! Do I speak tearful words – I, who for years sent my best sons to their deaths in countless wars! And all in the name of the future and progress, in the name of that ant strength and will which you now so proudly wave above your head! Antazonia above all! Antazonia above all! How many times I have repeated those words, blind with pride and foolishness! How many times!

📘 Book I
– An ever-present face and voice in the anthill — through nightly speeches and patriotic broadcasts
– Faithful and passionate — calls her children to sacrifice themselves for the utopia
– Isolated at the heart of the anthill, hidden from reality, but not without feeling
– Her meeting with Anne and Pouchy plants doubt in the system she created
– Learns the truth from General Antolini — the collapse of her faith is a personal catastrophe
– Delivers a final broadcast speech — not a call, but a confession
– Dies, but sparks a revolt: her last act becomes the catalyst for change

📗 Book II
– Her memory remains as a symbol of faith betrayed by its own utopia
– The new Queen is her distorted mirror — but without the ideals

📙 Book III
– Does not appear

– Was she blinded by her own faith – or simply afraid to question it?

– Did she suspect the truth, but never dare to speak it aloud?

– Isn’t she the moral heart of the trilogy – the one who changes, confesses, and pays the price?

– Some say her spirit still whispers through the walls of the anthill – not as a ruler, but as a memory.

Mr Eagle is the classic father figure – not in mythical purity, but in wounded complexity. He symbolizes authority, structure, and care, but also ambition, denial, and compromise. He is a parent who provides and protects, yet quietly lets things slip through his talons until it’s almost too late.

At first, everything seems in order: a dignified single father raising two boys in a broken world. But beneath the surface lie guilt, pride, and a workaholic instinct to manage rather than to feel. Eagle carries within him the wound of a departed partner – and an unspoken suspicion that the fault was his.

Mr Eagle doesn’t fall as a villain. He slips downward. He becomes a prison camp commandant – not out of cruelty, but exhaustion. He fills his days with crossword puzzles, not because he’s content, but because he’s lost faith in change. He is not evil. He is tired.

And yet – when it truly matters, he returns. Not in triumph, but in tears. He admits his failure. Seeks forgiveness. And in that fragile moment of honesty, he becomes the father he was always meant to be.

Mr Eagle is not a hero. He is something rarer: someone who almost fails completely – and yet doesn’t.

– Wings = strength that once lifted him, now folded in shame

– Beak = words sharp as weapons, but often left unspoken

– Medals = pride, tarnished and heavy

– Empty seat = the absence of the mother, the absence of moral clarity

– Crosswords = escape from responsibility

And please, don’t forget: I don’t want you playing with your food. I’ve told you a thousand times that well-mannered birds don’t play with their food.

What do you mean “gone,” what nonsense is that? You don’t know – how can that be? Your breakfast has disappeared, the calendar shows the wrong date! One might think there are ghosts roaming around here. Makes me want to spank you rather than take you to your lesson!

So this is where we’ve ended up? Standing against each other.

Hurry, hurry! For the first time in my life I’m breaking my military oath. Damn it, I feel awful!

📘 Book I

– Appears as a strict but devoted single father

– Hints of guilt surrounding the mother's disappearance

– Emotionally distant from his sons despite all efforts

📗 Book II

– Takes on the role of commandant at a mountain prison camp

– Bureaucratic and apathetic, hides behind routine

– Faces a sharp conflict with his sons

– Eventually breaks down and admits his moral failure

– Receives forgiveness in a deeply emotional scene of family reconciliation

📙 Book III

– Lives in self-imposed exile as a “noble outlaw” on the island

– Aids Anne’s group and protects the residents of the “Belly of the Whale”

– Leads the defense against General Huba’s attack

– Remains a complex, but ultimately dignified figure

– Did the prison camp break his moral backbone – or was it already broken?

– Is the reconciliation with his sons truly lasting?

– Does he still see himself as a leader… or as someone who failed twice?

– Was he ever the parent his children hoped for?

Ullie and Ollie are a double echo – not of their father, but of what he failed to become. They grow up without guidance, yet full of confidence in their superiority. Left to raise themselves in a broken nest, they become clever, cruel, and self-satisfied creatures. Their bond is unshakable, but their moral compass spins without direction.

They are the classic image of sons of a fallen patriarch: sharp claws, sharp words, a desperate desire not to repeat his mistakes – and yet, in the beginning, they do exactly that. Their cruelty is performative, their sense of superiority a suit of armor. But beneath it lies hunger. Not just for power, but for something to believe in.

What sets them apart isn’t their strength, but their ability to change. They begin as petty tyrants, focused only on victory. But the encounter with Anne – the same girl who once humiliated them – shakes them. Slowly, unevenly, and not all at once. Pride gives way to loyalty. Cynicism turns into something like trust.

They are what many students are before they become teachers: reactive, wounded, theatrical. They hide their vulnerability behind jokes and mockery. But in the end, they fight – not because they believe in good, but because someone showed them it still exists.

Ullie and Ollie are not villains. They are mirrors. And when they stop reflecting others, they become something rare: individuals. Not sons. Not shadows. But themselves.

– Molting = a mirrored identity, diverging paths

– A broken egg = loss of innocence, the breakdown of the home

– A nest = a refuge and a prison

– Sky = promise of freedom, fear of falling

– Beak against beak = eternal rivalry, silent brotherly bond

Hmm, well… You really tricked us with your questions. Those elephant riddles are actually quite… funny.

Look, we’ve decided it would be a shame to eat such an interesting toy. I mean, you really are very good. So we’re offering you the chance to stay with us. As, well, a favorite toy of sorts.

Hey, that was just plain mean, bro! I may tease you, but I don’t stoop to stuff like that. Ugh, I can’t stand it when you get so petty. Oh, and by the way, that pettiness? Totally from our dad – just so you know!

Would you look at that nerve! We’re about to eat her, and she’s offering us help. Ullie, give me the camera – let’s take a picture of her. We’re not likely to meet another brat like this again.

Shut your beak! If you say one more word, you better start praying. Every time you show up, we get into trouble. Just look at us now, arguing like we don’t have enough problems already.

📘 Book I

– Introduced as spoiled, cruel children

– Challenge Anne to a “game of intelligence” but cheat using a computer

– Defeated by her illogical questions

– Threaten her, but she escapes – wounding their pride

📗 Book II

– Now grown up; harbor resentment toward Anne

– She strikes a nerve – family honor

– Join her mission, later reconcile with their father

– Begin to take responsibility

📙 Book III

– Appear as independent outlaws on the island

– Decide to help defend the “Whale’s Belly”

– Act as free agents and allies

– No longer defined by their father – or by each other

– Have they always been close – or were they bound by rivalry?

– Have they truly forgiven their father… or simply outgrown him?

– Which of the two is more dangerous – and does it even matter?

– Would they have changed without Anne – or would they have forever remained mere reflections of their father?