Oliver had spent only three days in his chrysalis after inadvertantly restoring life to the Sugilite--but since then, he'd hardly left Venari's den. He didn't think to wonder whether she might be irritated by his constant offers of vague and generic "help;" he'd spent time, instead, baubling stones and planting a variety of food and decorative plants around the exit. He suspected she was a little bemused, but she liked light, so his oddly industrious work had continued. All the den's little exterior meadow needed was a touch of glass to become its own solarium.
But the reason he'd stayed here to begin with was the chrysalis--his child, a thought which terrified him. He'd never planned to create a child. Not that he had anything against it; it was just that Oliver was, himself, in many ways still childlike. Not childish--but childlike. Wide-eyed, tentative, gentle. He didn't see himself as strong enough, old enough, or experienced enough to raise another Gembound, despite his comparatively "old" age. So he was nervous: fretting a little, trying not to worry, but planning relentlessly on how to raise a kid. He tried to remember what his parents--Black and Eve, the dog and the crow--had taught himself and his sister, White. He made mental notes.
Teach them to be a good Gembound. Teach them kindness. Caution. Teach them about magic and food and places. But those latter topics--survival--factored in after the "morality" bits. It said something about Oliver, perhaps, that the Gembound valued kindness over actually staying alive, but that was who he was.
Meanwhile, he kept himself almost frantically busy by planting pretty things--baubled stones and shining seeds--all around the ever-expanding sugilite (and my, it had grown large for a child's-!) He'd wondered, until now, what the resulting child might look like. Something like Venari, maybe-? Like a huge, carapaced huntress? Or maybe a phoenix, like Tenzin; or--or something else entirely!
Thump.
He dropped his basket of plants, ear-tufts perking up, pale blue eyes shooting to the Sugilite.
Thump-thump-thump.
He scrambled to it, scaled forepaws pressing to the stone. He was about to call out to the child within--to encourage it, to ask if it needed help--when the chrysalis outright shattered.
Ear-tufts flattened again, then cautiously rose, as Oliver first skittered back and then leaned forward, peering in awe as this--his first child--emerged. His eyes travelled over the dark feathers--like mine! -no... better, prettier!--and the somewhat puppy-like face, the horns, the glint of purple gemstone at the chest. He swallowed down his nervousness: he had to be here for this child.
Its little cry of wonder struck him to his core, softened a parental instinct he hadn't known that he possessed. His heart melted, just a little, and he blinked.
"Hey," he greeted, softly, slowly drawing closer in as gentle a manner as he could. "I'm Oliver. I'm--you're--I'm your parent," he told him. "You're--my child."
His face quirked into something like a smile, somehow almost bittersweet. "Welcome," he said.