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(Will get a ref to you as soon as I have one. Also how much bug we talkin here? Extra limbs? Wings? Antennae? full on Kafka's "The Metamorphosis"? (last one /hj) just wanna know for how I design the guy)
(Also personal interpretation that cicadas would essentially be storytellers/bards)

A cicada nymph child sits themself politely in the corner of the yard, picking at the dirt with worn hands, tracing out pictures and humming to themself a song their father once sang. Under normal circumstances, this child should never see battle. They would sing tales of it, perhaps, but never fight in it.
These are not normal circumstances.
The nymph is lost on what they're meant to do here. They aren't a soldier. Nobody ever told them they were one up until now. They never asked to be one. They don't quite understand what they're doing here. Nobody told them.
They grabbed one of the practice swords. Logically, if what mother said was true, they should have pens instead. They're supposedly stronger. Maybe this place is being cheap. Or maybe all soldiers are just a little stupid considering they keep using obviously weaker weapons.
They haven't a clue what to do with this object, but everyone keeps grabbing one, so they must have to as well.

most of them have antennae and wings. While extra limbs is a recessive gene, it's still fairly common. Really the design is up to you))
*a roughly seven-year-old beetle rushes past with a wooden sword, screaming about glory and honor, followed by a mosquito*
???: "YOU! NEW BLOOD. GET OVER HERE."

The nymph watches them run past. They awkwardly swish the sword in the direction the two were running. Their lower hands fiddled with each other. New blood? Was the mosquito talking to them or the beetle? 'New blood' isn't their name. But it's a weird name if it is one.

???: "You! Yeah, you! Clicker! You're new, yeah?"

‘Clicker’. Getting closer. Not quite. They pointed at themself. “My name’s Tin.” Technically, it was ‘Tinnitus’, but nobody ever called them that except mother on occasion.

???: "Close enough. Get over here."

Tin blinked at the mosquito for a moment, before setting down the sword and trotting over.

???: "Age?"

“Eight?” They hold up two fingers on each of four hands.

(Wait hold on this isn't your thread is this allowed?)

???: "How many kids do we even have this year... Ugh... ALRIGHT EVERYONE. TO THE LITTLE BUGGERS WHO DON'T ALREADY KNOW ME, I'M YOUR COMMANDER AND TRAINER. ANY DISRESPECT TOWARDS ME OR MY FELLOW STAFF WILL NOT BE TOLERATED."

*there are three bags set in the corner, but six used blankets*

Tin wrestled their own bag off their back. If the tent was full they could move. Thy were perfectly flexible.
Where to now? Had the mosquito said center of camp? Hopefully they could tell by a congregation, but otherwise they had no way of measuring what point was the center to wait at. They simply skipped out and started walking.

*the children are gathering around the center of camp*
???: "Are we all here?"

Are we?
Tin glanced around. They didn't have the slightest clue. They assumed the people in charge would know.

(you there?)

oh yeah my bad))
Commander: "From here on out, you're all soldiers. Not aspiring musicians or artists or whatever. You fight until you drop dead on the grass, or worse. Nurse Roan's the ant who'll handle whatever injuries you buggers get. She's in the tent with the red stripe on the door flap."

*most of the children have already zoned out*

Tin is still very zoned in, though it's debatable how much their brain is actually processing.
Because this all made little sense to them. They were always supposed to sing. To tell stories. Not fight or die or whatever.
War itself, in all the stories Tin had heard of it, made little sense to them. Why waste time fighting when there are so many more enjoyable things to do? People in those war stories never talked or sang. Except in the stories where they did. And doing that always seemed to fix it.
Tinnitus hummed softly to themself.

Commander: "Can you all stand in a straight line? Stand straighter! TALLER! LOOK MENACING AT LEAST SINCE MOST OF YA ARE GONNA DROP LIKE FLIES ANYWAY."

Flies were actually relatively tough from what Tin had seen of them so this expression always seemed strange to them. They stood up on their tip-toes, not that it added much to their lacking stature.

Roan: *rushes to the wire where the children were stuck, quickly untangling them both and carrying them back to the tent*

"Are they okay?" They continue to follow her for a few steps.

Roan: "Yes. This happens quite often."

"Okay. Do you want help?"

*the other children were still playing rough and tumble as always. It was going to be a long training season*

(heeeey op are people like. allowed to invade other people's rp threads? cuz someone just did that here with mine and I'd rather they not without asking)

oh yeah they should ask permission, and if needed we can move to memechat))

(I'd rather not because I like being able to read back and memechat only goes back so far)

idek which thread is which rn))

alr just ignore them then bc I cant delete other people's comments))

(oki. you're free to respond whenever)

ok))
???: "Eight? Hmf. First year?"

"Must be. I've never been here." They reasoned, looking off anywhere other than the mosquito's face.

???: *his torn wings twitched irritably* "Alright. Go find the smallest buggers' tent. You're with the Year 1s. Drop off whatever junk you have to your name and line up at the center of camp at Highest Point."

"Oh. Okay." Nothing they had was junk, they thought, but they did as told and wandered off.
They had been given no directions to their tent, but surely they could find it themself. They looked around for anything tent-like.

*there were various tents, all of them brown and big enough for perhaps five children. The smallest children ran around the tents closest to the center. Five and six, Year 1s.*

Tin nodded to themself and nudged their way into one of the tents.

Commander: *puts his head in his hands* "Why do I even bother... All you really need to know is how to shoot a gun."

What did the commander expect from a bunch of not-even-ten-year-olds?

Tin blinks back. How else is it meant to respond?

Commander: "TRAINING BEGINS TOMORROW AT THE BELL. LATE BUGGERS GET SLUGGED."

Tin simply nodded and stepped away. It hoped that was a dismissal.

*The rest of the children file away and go back to playing*

With that, Tin padded off after them. They have no intent to intrude on the seemingly established play groups. Perhaps it's better to just watch. They do so, silently observing, sat criss-cross on the ground.

*two beetles run around the tents towards the wire fences, clearly not focused on their direction until they both collided and got stuck*

The cicada flinches. They bumble over after them. It would be best they don't get slugged tomorrow.
"Are you stuck?" Their voice is small and shrill. It isn't often it's used to speak often, let alone with children Tin's own age.

???: "Yeah. Rocky, stop squirming, you'll-"
*there was a scream, as the wire dug into the other child's wings, shredding them*

Tin flinched, covering their antennae. It couldn't help. Not if they were like that. It had no idea what to do, less so with its head still ringing.
There's a nurse, right? They should get her. They scurry off. She can do this. They can't.

*Nurse Roan, was it? The tent with the red flap...*

~Red flap. Red flap.~
Their mind looped over and over as they darted past otherwise unmarked tents. The moment one had even a flash of red on the front they stumbled to a stop, nearly tripping over themself, before rushing inside.
All the energy instantly drained from them when they went to speak up, reverting right back to the quiet of before.
"Help, please. Fence."

*an ant was sitting at a desk. Nurse Roan*
Roan: "Already?"

What does THAT mean?
"Yes?"

Roan: *sighs and stands up* "I'll handle it."

"Thank you." They turned to trail behind her.

Roan: "That's alright, dear. I can handle a few ripped wings."

"Okay." They finally stepped back. "Thank you."

Roan: "I'm only doing my job."

"Okay. Well, have fun then!" And away they go, back to their watching.