The creature awoke with tense muscles, expecting the familiar urge to hunt, to flee, to survive.But today… today there was something more.
A lingering echo.
The song of the dying still buzzed in its bones, like a loose tooth it didn't dare to pull.
It remained motionless, listening to the sounds of the abyss:
— The constant dripping of water on rock (was it water? Or tears from the stone?).— The distant creak of something dying (or perhaps something being born?).— Its own breathing, slow, measured (since when had it counted its inhalations?).
Today, it would not hunt.Today, it would observe.
The tunnel narrowed until it nearly crushed her, but a glow called to her.
She crawled toward it, ribs scraping against the stone, until she emerged into an impossible cavern:
The ceiling was covered in crystal thorns growing downward, each one trapping drops of moisture that glinted like pupils. When her claws touched the ground, it crunched—not stone, but the empty shells of tiny, translucent creatures, as brittle as memories.
A drop fell from the crystal thorns onto her forehead.
Cold. Sweet.
Rain?
She had no word for it, but her tongue slid out to taste the moisture, seeking more.
The walls whispered. Not with voice, but with movement: hundreds of those crystalline beings twisted in the shadows, their bodies vibrating in unison.
One landed on her claw.
The creature held its breath.
The insect had six wings of living ice, and in its abdomen pulsed a bluish light.
Is this… life?Or just another thing dying?
Before she could decide whether to kill it or protect it, the being took flight, leaving behind a trail of glowing dust that dissolved in the air like a sigh.Beyond the garden, the stone changed.
The walls here weren't random—someone (or something?) had carved them.
Deep spirals. Repeating shapes. Claw marks, but not from battle… from intention.
The creature ran her fingers over the grooves.
Something inside her resonated, like the buzz of crystal insects.
This is a language.
Not of sound.
Of scars.
Of memories etched in rock.
One symbol caught her attention: three intersecting lines, like claws halting something.
When she touched it, an image flashed in her mind:
— Fire. (What was fire?).— Voices. (What were voices?).— Pain. (That, she knew).
She pulled her claw back as if the stone had burned her.
The abyss was not just a place.
It was a grave of stories.
At the center of the chamber, she found the bones.
They weren't scattered like those of prey. They were arranged.
A skull faced upward, its empty sockets aligned with a crack in the ceiling through which filtered… light? No—just darkness slightly less dense.
Among the bones, objects:
— A fang tied with black fibers (a ritual?).— Perforated stones strung like necklaces (decoration?).— A flat slab marked by burned finger traces (art?).
The creature picked up the fang.
And then she felt:
— Grass crushed beneath feet that were not claws.— The taste of ripe fruit (what was fruit?).— Laughter (her own, or someone else's?).
She dropped the object.
These bones weren't from victims.
They were from someone.
And for the first time, the creature understood fear.
Not of dying.
But of having been.
Suddenly, she saw something… something that glowed, and felt curiosity. The creature followed the shining trail without knowing why.
It was like chasing a fallen star across the abyss floor. She stepped carefully, fascinated by how the phosphorescent substance clung to her claws, painting them a pale blue.
Is it food? Is it poison?
She brought her fingers to her mouth.
The taste was neither sweet nor bitter. It was… new.
She grimaced, but didn't spit it out. She wanted to understand.
She found the creature in a pool of still water.
It wasn't like the others. It had no teeth, no claws. It was round, soft, and when she touched it curiously, it vibrated, emitting a deep sound that echoed through the cavern.
The creature jumped back, startled.
But the sound didn't hurt. It was… beautiful.
She approached again, this time more carefully.
The gelatinous thing shrank slightly but didn't flee. It seemed to be waiting.
The creature extended a claw and gently pressed it into its body.
The prey didn't protest. It only changed color, turning golden where she touched it.
A game?
She didn't know the word, but the feeling in her chest was light—like the bubbles that sometimes rose from the depths.
For the first time, she didn't want to kill.
She wanted to know.
Without thinking, she tore off a small piece.
The creature didn't bleed. It only trembled and drifted away slowly, leaving behind a trail brighter than before.
The piece in her claw pulsed like a tiny heart.
She watched it, tilting her head.
Then, she tasted it.
The flavor was different now: warm, like sunlit stones (what was the sun?).
And then…
Her skin remembered.
Where the creature's liquid touched her arm, the skin darkened, adopting the same golden hue she had seen moments ago.
The creature turned her arm, amazed.
Is this me? Or is it her?
She didn't understand, but she liked it.
She rubbed the rest of the liquid on her chest, laughing (was that laughter?) as her body lit up with glowing color.
The feast lasted until a sound startled her.
Something was watching from above.
Humans.
This time, she didn't feel fear. Only curiosity.
One of them pointed a weapon at her, but the other stopped him.
"Just a kharis larva," he said. "Not worth it."
They left, but the creature didn't understand their words.
She only saw their faces.
And for the first time, she noticed something in them:
They have colors too.
Red in their cheeks. Blue on their lips.
Can I be like them?
She looked down at her own body, now stained with gold, and felt something without a name.
Something between wonder and longing.
Before sleep, she found more of those glowing creatures.
This time, she didn't touch them.
She sat nearby, watching how they changed color as the underground algae swayed over them.
And without knowing why, she raised her own golden arm, trying to mimic the motion.
The abyss had given her her first toy.
And her first waking dream:
What other colors might I be made of?