Page 34 of Emerald

The cave air is cold and damp, the walls slick with moisture. Each step echoes in the emptiness, and I find myself straining to hear anything beyond my own breathing. The cave splits off into countless paths, some leading into narrow crevices, others opening into larger chambers filled with strange rock formations and more clusters of those glowing fungi. I keep moving, keeping my eyes peeled for anything that looks like an exit.

After what feels like an eternity of winding through the dark, I come across a part of the cave where the overhead stalactites drip consistently. The water trickles down, pooling onto sheets of rock that look almost like glass. I step carefully onto the slippery surface, testing my footing. The rock is smooth, wet, and incredibly treacherous. I take it slow, moving one foot after the other, keeping my balance steady.

Then I hear it—a faint skittering sound coming from somewhere to my left. My head whips in that direction, muscles tensing. Big mistake. My foot slips out from under me, and I'm sent sprawling onto the slick rock. Pain flares up as I roll across the jagged sheets, a dozen sharp edges cutting into my skin. I let out a yelp, instinctively reaching for something—anything—to stop my fall. My fingers catch on a crevice in the rock, and I cling to it desperately, hanging over what looks like a dark, bottomless chasm.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, and my fingers burn where they grip the rock. I look down, and a sick feeling twists in my stomach as I see one of the mushrooms I'd been holding slip from my grasp. It tumbles over the edge and falls, its bioluminescent light slowly swallowed by the blackness below. I swallow hard. I don't hear it hit bottom.

Okay. Deep breath. Focus.

I force myself to calm down, my heart hammering in my chest. I can't afford to freak out now. I painstakingly pull myself up, inch by inch, feeling my way along the rough surface. The rock cuts into my palms, blood trickling down my arms, but I grit my teeth and keep moving.

I finally manage to haul myself onto a smoother patch of rock, and I collapse against it, breathing heavily. My whole body is shaking, adrenaline coursing through my veins. But then I realize—there's no light. I've lost my last mushroom. I'm in total darkness.

Fear grips me, cold and sharp. I've always hated the dark—too many childhood nightmares, too many memories of being in new places.

The sound of skittering comes again, closer this time, echoing off the cave walls. My breath catches in my throat, and my mind races. I can't see it, but I can hear it—something moving, crawling, getting closer.

Panic sets in, my thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. I have to move, have to get away, but where? Which direction? My hands shake as I press them against the cold rock, trying to steady myself. The skittering is almost right on top of me now, a rapid clicking that sends a shiver down my spine. My breath comes out in short, shallow bursts, and I feel the walls closing in, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm me. Shut me down.

No. I can't lose it now. I bite down hard on my lip, forcing myself to think, to focus. I push the fear down, locking it away, and breathe deeply. The skittering noise grows louder, more insistent. My heart pounds in my ears. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the noise stops.

Silence. I stay still, barely daring to breathe, waiting for the next sound. When none comes, a shaky sigh escapes me. Relief floods in, and I feel a half-crazed giggle bubble up from my chest. I can't help it—after everything, after nearly dying, I'm here, alive. Somehow, that seems almost funny. My laughter echoes off the cave walls, a little wild, a little broken.

The adrenaline starts to drain away, leaving me feeling hollow and exhausted. I lean back against the rock, the darkness pressing in on all sides. My eyes are useless here, but my ears are still ringing from the tension, an ache that won't quite go away.

I don't know how long I spend laying there but it's long enough to cycle between pretty much all the emotions I've got on my emotional spectrum and once that's done, all that's left is extreme apathy.

As I lay there, a persistent, throbbing ache in my ears keeps me from fully relaxing. I shake my head slightly, trying to ignore it, but it only grows worse, like a pressure building inside my skull. I force my eyes shut tighter, praying for sleep to come, to escape this nightmare for just a little while. Eventually, mercifully, I feel myself slipping away, the darkness pulling me under.

Fuck it, if I'm dying here, I'm dying in my sleep.

There's no ceremony to the thought, just stony acceptance, and with that concluded, I close my eyes and let myself shut down. Maybe things will be clearer when I wake up—if I wake up.

11

Kroaicho

Ireturntotheenclave with my arms full—an array of gleaming rocks, stalactites, and other shiny treasures gathered meticulously from the deeper cave systems. Each piece is carefully chosen; each represents a piece of a hoard I am building back after losing so much in this foreign place.

One stalactite among them is particularly desirable. It glows in the most lovely striations of green among the brown. The story of each drip of mineral building it layer by layer stretching back long before I was alive. Each streak a moment in time as creatures passed by it, fought under it, nestled against it, while it changed slowly, almost imperceptibly.

It will provide such a long, rich history. A steady presence among the rocks made of incredible forces; much stronger, but less steady. A product of violence rather than a slow expansion.

Each perfect in their own way.

I cradle them close to my chest, feeling their solid weight, and imagine how they will gleam under the pale glow of the bioluminescent mushrooms scattered throughout the enclave. They are humble beginnings, yes, but even a small hoard can eventually grow into something vast and worthy.

But as I near the enclave, a sudden absence registers—a cold, creeping emptiness that sends a jolt through my core. The human. I sense it immediately. I lower the rocks gently, body twitching to full alert. The atmosphere is wrong and unbalanced.

I scan the darkened cave, my eyes narrowing into slits as I process the space. No Olivia. No muttered insults or sarcastic quips echoing in the damp air.

Just silence.

My nostrils flare, drawing in the cool, musty cave air, searching for zha's scent. Thankfully, it hasn't faded yet. Zha is nearby, but moving away—fast. I grind my teeth and clack together my tusks, my jaw tightening with irritation.

Zha is always trying to escape. Always complicating things. Why does zha make everything so difficult?

I drop to all six limbs and break into a dead sprint, my claws clicking against the damp stone as I dart through the narrow passages. The echo of my own breath reverberates against the walls, but I ignore it, focusing on the scent trail winding its way through the cave network. Zha is heading deeper into the caverns, toward more treacherous terrain. I push myself harder, muscles burning as I weave through the maze-like tunnels.

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