ORIGIN

Click.

The sound echoed. It came from a shining, metallic chrysalis sandwiched between the edges of wall and ground at one end of the bathhouse. Only a sliver of the chrysalis was visible, the rest hidden beneath dirt and debris. Charred marks and old stains scarred the wall to one side, and weeds had grown up and around the sliver of chromite.

Click.

Though nothing else was there just then to see it, there was a small, dark shape moving within. It was awakening. Its growing awareness told it that it was trapped, and must break free, and while there was an instinctive urgency to this it wasn't an emotional one. The creature within did not feel terror, or frustration.

It thrust mandibles for the shell around it but could find no purchase. Scythe-like forelimbs, though their angles were limited by the crush of the chrysalis, snapped forward clumsily again, curving through the natal fluid to strike its prison.

Click.

The third time carved a hole through thinned rock, and the liquid rushed out. The arc of the arm-blade protruded through, a sharp hook, and twisted, pulling away. It appeared again, a sharp smack levering more stone away.

The child that at last spilled forth, once the last of the stone was broken, caught itself in a stagger: one scythe pressed down to the floor, the other half-lifted, as the insectoid head raised to look around it. Its mandibles widened in surprise: here was the world. Here was existence! Then they slowly closed, and the creature pushed upright.

It was perhaps four feet of metallic plating, agile and... wet. A juvenile, but one well-formed and with a faint blue glow to its metal-shielded gaze, as it peered around it. The steam of the baths still rose, here, the ruins open for its exploration. It was free.

And it had no idea what to do now.

The unnamed, alien creature sat in empty silence. It was empty-headed silence, too. No thoughts ran through its brain. It just... sat there, awkwardly perched on its hind haunches, taking in the air.

It observed the trickle of water. It looked at the markings on the walls, not knowing what they meant. It-

Something scurried past. It was a bit in the distance, but Chromite's head snapped that way, its metal-shielded eyes following it. It hesitated only briefly: instinct drove it and it stood, starting after the... whatever-it-had-been.

It hadn't ever tried to be stealthy, before. It hadn't tried to be anything. It was still wet from the chrysalis, and it was a disproportionate mess of scythes and egg-shaped head. But instinct was enough: it crept forward, mantis-arms held up, its steps slow and careful.

What it saw was a rat: something very nearly as large as the child was, covered in grimy russet fur.

Chromite simply watched, hesitating. It felt it should... do something, but what that something was, it didn't know.

It watched as the rat sniffed here and there. Its claws were scratching the ground as it moved, and Chromite made a note of the sound it made, committing that to memory. It was... searching for something, Chromite thought.

Its curiosity piqued, the alien crept closer. It managed to stay silent, or near enough so that the rat was not alerted to its presence. Then, the rat began to dig. Chromite watched, fascinated.

Thus far, it was the only thing it had found that was at all interesting.

Chromite crept even closer, leaning down. The rat was still oblivious, and the alien tried to catch its scent in silence. It smelled... well, ratty. Warm and a little dirty, though Chromite didn't know what urine smelled like--but this rat carried that odor. It took note of this, and then reached forward, trying to gently pick the rat up in its scythe-like pincers.

As it reached, the rat whirled, and suddenly Chromite was faced with the fury of a terrified, startled rodent a couple of feet long. It leapt for Chromite's face, chittering and snapping, and he scrambled back--trying and failing to shield himself with his forelimbs.

He skittered backward two steps, fell, and tumbled clumsily onto his back. He scrambled up, heart racing, but the rat was--gone.

It was gone, sped off into the tunnel's myriad hidden places, no doubt run back to its family. And Chromite?

Chromite was left staring, filled with horror, and bearing the new knowledge that wild animals did not like to be grabbed.

The big-eyed bug spun, blinking behind the metal bars that shielded its eyes. It stared up at Tectus, frozen for a moment.

Surprise didn't even begin to describe what it felt. It had no experience to draw upon, but the giant thing didn't seem threatening, at least. Just-... bright. But her voice was a reassuring rumble, and it tilted its head as it took what she said and assimilated it into its new knowledge.

It turned, peering after the rat, then looked at Tectus--still frozen, scythes still held midair.

Mandibles clicked as it sought to find a reply, to form language of some kind.

"Will not... hesitate." There. That was agreement, and it made sense, but... Chromite hesitated. "When do... When... to act?" As in: when was the right moment to leap? To grab? If it were to successfully pick up rats?

Chromite stared up, its strange eyes bright and attentive. "Practice," it repeated, tasting the word for the first time. It considered.

Then, it looked around.

"Yes... rats? Rats... practice," it managed, and then started to wander off in search of them. It didn't seem to understand that Tectus might be offering training, sparring. Instead, it was on the lookout for more rats, or mice, and none of them were actually anywhere near it, at the moment.

Chromite blinked, and turned, head tilting this way and that in an oddly birdlike gesture. Then it instinctively dropped low.

That instinct was clearly there, but it was not honed by experience. The child--merely minutes from hatching--crouched, and began to stalk forward. To its credit, when its claws clicked over-loud on the rock, it did adjust to be quieter: but the stalking was too fast. It tried to scurry over and "stalk" in a circle mere inches from the rock, ignorant of the fact that its prey would realistically not let it get so close.

It was probably comical, or would have been to anyone but an Overseer of the caves: the clumsy, disproportionate bug-like alien stalking with extreme focus, eyes locked on target, scythes raised... inches from the stone.