ORIGIN

Long, slow blinks introduced the shimmer of pink eyes to the world again.

His chrysalis had grown into an unsightly tumor of glistening morganite against the side of his tree. The last thing he remembered, he had curled up against the bark and closed his eyes, wishing that all the faces he had drawn into the tree would become real again. Dragon, Gracie, Arkrael, Lituus. Slowly, they had all vanished from him - no matter how hard he tried to keep them together, they vanished, slipping from his claws like idle breaths.

He tried so hard to be better. To be Good. To give himself and the rest of them purpose - and for what? To lose them.

A part of himself wanted to blame them. That maybe they had found something better in the cave. Someone who could give them more than what he could, with his feeble, weak attempts at faith and love; but it was exactly that thought that would lead him back around to blaming himself. His inability to provide. His insubstantial presence. That he just wasn't enough - he never would be.

Yet, for some reason, after having locked himself away inside his chrysalis, the cave had decided to wake him again. Piece by piece, the chrysalis peeled away until Ghanyarah was left blinking into the light again, awakening to a world he hoped, at first, had changed. But as he arched his neck and slowly pushed out of the remains of his chrysalis, he realized it was all the same. It was always the same.

A long sigh slipped from his throat as he sat nestled in the wreckage of roots and gemstone, contemplating sleeping again. The last time he had emerged, the cave had nothing for him.

He had long since realized he couldn't expect anything from it.

The soft cracking of gemstone, the gentle thud of rock into roots.

Dragon had spent the last years quietly hunting, bringing his offerings to rot at the side of the Heart of Cetus. He wasn't sure if his Father ever took them, and ate them--or if they simply putrefied there. He kept at it, nonetheless--as he had done--fulfilling his promise. Yet there were times when he wondered at the fates of the rest of the Children. Czernobog and, yes, Ghanyarah--the two who had fought so bravely in Polaris, by his side. The messengers Eve and Willow; Tal'at, the smallest of them all. The half-known lion who had slinked in and out of his life like the strange cat he had always been.

He was not prone to bouts of melancholy, but he did wonder about them, and fondly. As fondly as an alligator could.

Recently he had been noticing more and more youths hatching in the caves--and he, as he always had, took some measure of pride in looking after them at least a little. There was some side of him, some primeval instinctive side, that wanted to lift the children in his jaws, carry them to safety, and guard them until they could fend for themselves--and so, at times, he did just that.

Both of these things combined had him thinking, these days, a great deal about the old Children: there were those once more interested in the caves, in their secrets. Could he, should he, gather a new generation of them?

He kept his hearing alert, then, for the sounds of hatching--enough that he could inspect every youth that he could, examine them, aid them. Impress upon them the importance of his own values, and hopefully, gain an ally for the future. He wondered, as he dragged his lame, scarred body heavily through the swamp, what this new gem might be: another bird, wet with mist and flailing in the reeds? A cat, perhaps, skulking away among the roots? There had been plenty of both in the last cycle or so.

What he did not expect to see--the last thing, in fact, that he had expected--was to happen upon exactly one of his brothers still so present in his own mind.

His massive bulk thrust through the marsh grass and he stopped dead, blinking dark eyes at what he saw before him. What couldn't be there. In a deep and rumbling voice which was quieted by disbelief, he spoke.

"Ghanyarah..?" he asked, his tone one of wonder. "Brother?"

Long seconds ticked past. He had forgotten how torturous time could be when one was awake, breathing, thinking. He watched the stillness in the trees for just a moment and then convinced himself that there was nothing out there. No reason for him to be awake. He could close his eyes and the morganite gems would build themselves back up around him, as they often did. Ghanyarah was beginning to grow accustomed to living inside the chrysalis, as nothing more than an idle mind, an occasional heartbeat. At least there, he could dream. At least he could be at peace.

And sleep did threaten to tug at his mind. He felt himself drifting, so much that he didn't even hear the sound of the foliage shifting beneath the weight of an approaching predator. And when the notion that he was no longer alone finally greeted him as the smell of warmth and rot on the roof of his mouth, he didn't bother to open his eyes. Was there much difference in sleep and death? Or would it simply be finality - an end to the harrowing struggle of his aching heart?

An end would be nice.

Dreams began to form on the fringe on his mind. He shifted just slightly, making himself comfortable for the onset of sleep once again.

And then a voice punctured the haze.

At first, he thought it was part of the dream. A regular hallucination of his heart's desires manifesting as thoughts, memories. His name. A voice he knew. But then the voice spoke something else: a word that had not occurred in his dreams, only in the life he had once lived.

Brother.

Ghanyarah opened his eyes again. Standing among the bending verdure, the hefty reptile had come to him as if the cave itself was promising that there had been reason to wake him. That there was purpose in his emergence. It was Dragon, in the flesh. His brother.

The komodo stared at him for a long moment, silent. His tongue flickered out and tasted the air.

"Brother," he confirmed quietly. And yet, despite the air of calm that enveloped him, a million questions surged through his mind as he beheld the alligator. In their fervor to be answered, none could quite form themselves on the tip of his tongue. Ghanyarah slowly withdrew from the tree, heaving his bulk toward his kin with cautious, slow steps. His head bobbed slightly, regarding the alligator as if seeking evidence that he was a mirage. But, like his smell on the air, like his weight in the loam, the alligator was real.

He blinked, and, unable to produce words that might surmise his bewilderment, he only lowered his head with gracious remorse. With the hope that in all their time apart, Ghanyarah had not failed him - that Dragon had come back for him - that he would never leave him again.

Dragon peered, the euphoric joy at seeing his old friend alive and well quelled almost at once by the realization that something was wrong. That Ghanyarah was not well. He crawled another pace or two forward before letting himself fall with a heavy splash into the soaked muck. His brother appeared... morose, perhaps. Sad? Grieving?

Dragon looked him over. He could not remember if this was how he had looked--finned and powerful; or if this was a new development. And his tree-... How long had it been? The alligator lifted dark eyes to peer over the old carvings scarred into the bark, the old drawings of the other Children. Of himself.

He slowly shoved the front of his snout into the mud, letting out a few gurgling bubbles of thought, before raising himself back upright.

"Have you slept?" he asked, at last, tone quizzical past the rumbling bass. He had heard of this happening--of others slipping into long rests, dreamless or so he thought. Sleeps from which they often reemerged, sometimes greatly changed. He knew that it could happen after injury; had his brother been wounded? He couldn't have guessed at the depths of Ghanyarah's own melancholy, nor the reasons for it; he himself was simply glad to see him, and concerned for his well-being.

Dragon gave a huff. "Are you injured?" he asked. And then, a flood--a warning, tumbling from his mind and out of his toothy jaws before he had time to even consider his words. It seemed imperative, somehow, that his brother be told--before something else might happen. "You must be warned, things are--strange. Things waken in the caves, brother. There is much hidden from us. I... Seek it, but there is little I have found," he admitted, more quietly, the realization only now striking him.

For all we have sought, where has it gotten us? Mysteries upon mysteries, but at least-...

"We are still alive," Dragon added, finishing his thought aloud, and more gladly. His boat-like face seemed to split into a grin--but it was the expression he always wore, really, the natural curve of his face, now echoed by his tone. "You are alive. This is good! It is good to see you. What has happened?!"

His eyes fell to the dirt, to the sight of his blunted claws impacting the supple layer of loam below. A memory of his expansive carvings, his drawings in the bark of his tree. Most of the trunk within his immediate reach ought to be covered by now. He was suddenly returning to all those days he had spent on his own, yearning. Wishing only that he could be reunited with the ones he called his brothers - perhaps, even friends. Thoughts of who to blame for the absences flitted in his head, but they were quickly subdued by that feeling of yearning stirring once more. How badly he had missed them. He could not begrudge them for what was inevitable in the past.

And it seemed Dragon wouldn't either. His tongue flickered at the alligator's question. Ghanyarah raised his eyes just a sliver toward the alligator, his head tipping in a nod. He had slept. He didn't know how long for, though. It couldn't have been too long; he didn't feel as stiff as he expected to, just... tired. Overwhelmed, even. But predominantly empty, except for the ache.

At the next question, he shook his head, suffering a small sigh. "No, brother," he answered briefly before Dragon launched into a quick, unexpected digression about the status of the caves. Ghanyarah listened with piqued interest. A truth was woven deep beneath the stonework of the tunnels, and he had always known his brother to pursue it - but to suddenly suggest that truth was eroding its way to surface? Perhaps something had changed in the caves.

What mattered most, however, was that they were alive. We, his brother said at first. You. Was it only him and Dragon that survived? What of the others? He focused on the alligator's final question, pulling himself up to stand just a little closer to Dragon, finding himself relishing in the alligator's presence. It was just enough to begin abating the ache in his chest already. "Too much, and so little, my brother," Ghanyarah began. "I was attacked many, many cycles ago. I remember few of the details, but... I had been harmed grievously. I slept, and then awoke again, and the caves were quiet."

Everyone was gone, except for Leon and Makyna.

"I patrolled Cetus for as long as I could. I had even succeeded in gaining allies - but one by one, they left, brother. I had great aspirations to create a fellowship, like you. But I could not. My solitude brought upon a somnolence I was not strong enough to outlast. I... I had failed, brother."

To be honest, the details were still a little cloudy to Ghanyarah. He remembered that overpowering feeling of love. The determination he had to protect... someone. Something. A tiny creature, helpless, like... like his son once had been. Netil. No... Lituus. He remembered her clearly now, her small face, her smaller voice; like a mote of dust he held upon his claw. She withered with the age of the memory.

"Please, tell me the Children of Rot still thrive?"

Dragon gave a gentle snort at the other reptile's question, dark eyes drifting off to stare into the misty black. Guilt tugged at him; what a thing to ask. And how could he answer...? "One by one, they drifted away?" How absolutely anti-climactic, and yet--was it not the truth?

"I do not know where most of them went," he answered grimly. "The lion wandered off. Czernobog was injured, as you, and I believe that he slept--he may sleep still. Eve took her child--the Oliver--far from here. I believe she feared our influence; I do not know. He wanders, but I do not think he is one of us. I miss them," Dragon added abruptly, in a sudden two-word display of emotion that, despite its brevity, no other would have been privy to.

"I have lived alone for a long time. Though now there are... new ones. Young ones, they have asked if I would allow them to be Children. Ones from other caves, coming here. I believe they sense what I do: that there are things stirring. Or perhaps I merely imagine it." Dragon paused.

Vague memories stirred, those of the incoherent voice in Polaris, the glowing runes on the walls. The lion that had spoken to him, uneasily, of the Eyes. "...Though I do not think that I do. If they come to me, to speak of all of this--would you wish to listen, to join? You are as much a master of the Children as I was. They have admitted, now--the Elders--that they serve other masters, brother."

Dragon fell silent, and then huffed softly. This was not how he imagined meeting Ghanyarah once again--sullying it with his own constant fear-mongering and "WE MUST ACT" bellowing. He wondered if he could have, perhaps, simply answered the question without launching into it all; yet was it not related? Still, some faint sense of shame moved him into speaking further.

"I am sorry that I speak of such things; I ought to merely be telling you again, that it is good to see you. For it is."

He listened as Dragon rattled off the fates of their companions. The hog would have made sufficient backup for them if they needed a show of force - it was unfortunate that he would find himself injured and unavailable. Ghanyarah wondered if they would be able to find his chrysalis, if that was what had happened to him. Then again, he was certain that he and Dragon were both powerful enough to provide the muscle in the event that something aggressed them. And then came the subject of Eve, and Ghanyarah felt a tug of dismay at Dragon's suggestion that the crow would think so little of them. Did she believe they would corrupt her son? Or did she neglect their search of answers in favor of something more tangible? Did she believe at all, in the cause they fought for?

He bobbed his head with agreement to Dragon's statement. He missed them, too - although not as much as the alligator might have. His own heart ached for ones that filled his voids in different ways.

Still, there was hope in their plight. Dragon spoke of younglings that felt the influence of the change in the caves. They shared a desire with him to find the truth. A desire that Dragon now imparted on Ghanyarah, imploring him to seek it out, to perhaps help guide the younglings by his side. The komodo flicked his tongue thoughtfully, perhaps even sympathetically - if such an emotion could be dredged up from the labyrinthine tangle of sentiments that had somehow been cultivated in him - as Dragon quickly apologized for the subject.

"I have wanted nothing more than to be in your company again," Ghanyarah confessed. "You need not apologize for the sanction that drives you. If the pursuit of knowledge is your quest, you know that I search by your side, for as long as you will allow me."

He was remembering everything that transpired during the silence of the caves now. His friend Lituus, their allies, their plans - the Aether Clan. It had fallen apart, but it was not forgotten. Ghanyarah would resolve to bring his allies together a different way. To guard them, protect them, perhaps even foster their growth in the light of this new truth. With Dragon.

The komodo stepped forward and canted his head toward his companion. "Please, tell me of the progress you have made so far," he began, and then paused, a whistle sliding from his nose. "Perhaps while we walk to the water's edge. I cannot remember the last time I was quenched."

The alligator turned, easygoing and thoughtful, to start the shuffling trudge back down to the water's edge. Moisture already beaded and ran down his dark hide, but he knew what Ghanyarah meant: the actual, flowing channels of murky water that flowed through Cetus, or the great black lake welling at its center. He most certainly did not mean the mud-muck that squelched underfoot here.

With a last and considering glance back at Ghanyarah's tree, Dragon made his way down through the swamp. Quiet splashing and strained huffing accompanied this; his lame right hind leg still gave him trouble, twisted and withered ever since the long-ago battle with Raheerah. His bulk moved slowly enough on four good legs; on three, it was a genuine chore to haul himself through the marsh. At least once we reach the water, it will be easier.

As he moved, Dragon turned his attention to Ghanyarah, and to the question his brother had asked. He mostly ignored the komodo's burst of sentiment--if only because he felt it needed no reaction. They had of coursed missed one another; if only the others were here, as well. "The progress in your absence? I do not know if you mean personal, or with the Children, or simply knowledge of the caves," he rumbled. ""I still limp." He said this with loud, dry humor, sliding down a wet bank to splash into a shallower water channel. From this he turned, angling toward the Heart.

He glanced back once to ensure that Ghanyarah was able to keep up with him; not a hard task, but he was unsure how the long sleep might have affected his brother. He then plodded forward, mind turning to Ghanyarah's tree, and the Divine of Cetus. "I have simply lived here, since they left. Lived as Father does, quiet in the dark, hidden, aiming for survival. He said that we would learn all, if we lived long enough. And I have grown."

Idly he took a massive mouthful of water, blowing bubbles in the channel as he half-dragged, half-floated his way along. It was a bit narrow for him, but it was still easier than walking. Past the "thbbpbpbpbb" of the rising bubbles came an idle hum; he then lifted his head again to continue. "With the caves as a whole? I still do not know, even, why the one great tree has faces on it, screaming, and twisted bodies. Perhaps we should seek that knowledge first--to know our own home," he said thoughtfully. "Elsewhere, the Eyes that father once spoke of--Eyes that he said would consume even the Betrayer--have appeared. They would eat minds, he says; and I am told that they might. They drag others into darkness, and they are lost there until the Eyes release them. There are birds made of light--they give trinkets for those who aid them. I am doing so with caution. I do not believe their motives." He aimed to extend his magicka a little, to flex the false wings the birds had granted him. Up they swept, black and blood red, like vast bat wings arching up into Cetus' mist--but they did nothing. They clearly granted no flight to the heavy reptile; they were merely for display. But at least it was a particularly impressive display.

"If I manage to gather others, I think our aim should be to seek more information on these... Elders and their goals. Do you remember that ice-bird, Tenzin? He admits he cannot tell us all because even they--the Elders, and I presume even our Father--serve other masters. I believe our Father has turned from that duty and aims to merely survive, now. The Betrayer? I do not know. Perhaps what she betrayed was their purpose."

Dragon huffed, sliding at last into deeper water, turning to peer at Ghanyarah as he ruddered his way in a slow circle with great sweeps of his ridged tail. "I do not know if Father even lives. I have not seen him in many cycles, but I continue to add to the offerings. Tell me, brother: who was it who attacked you? Who sent you back into sleep? Must we hunt?"

Ghanyarah set his gaze upon the muddy hillocks between the trees where he knew the murky waters of the swamp to lie ahead. He was imagining the water rushing up against his limbs, reaching between his scales, cooling his hide; the feeling of true peace, of comfort. At his heart, Ghanyarah was a beast of the water. It was amazing how he had managed to keep himself away from it for so long, but the longer he was awake, the more he found himself thirsting for it.

He listened to Dragon, cocking his head curiously as the alligator mentioned his limp. Yes... that he had remembered, too. That was the fight with the massive black beast in Polaris, was it not? He mentioned Father again - Aquarian, and nodded once more. Ghanyarah must have been sleeping then, to have not noticed Dragon this whole time. It seemed he had affixed to something Aquarian had told him. That if they lived long enough, they would learn everything.

He wanted desperately to know what there was in the cave to be learned. Aside from anguish and loss, that is.

Then came the goals he had made. To investigate the writhing, screaming tree - Ghanyarah knew it as the Divine. But, there was something else of greater importance. Perhaps more dire than anything else. The Eyes. Had he ever seen the Eyes?

That, he could not remember. But he made a note of it for later.

Ghanyarah was dwelling on everything Dragon told him, even marveled at the display of the glossy, shadowy wings, when the alligator turned his questions back to him.

"I remember little, just that it was a... canine, of some make. White fur. She afflicted me with unshakeable sickness," he replied. He had been in Polaris when it happened. And Leon had been there, too. Where was the bear now? Had he succumbed to some unfortunate death as well?

"At the moment, I do not believe it is necessary to hunt her. I have not seen her since then. What I feel to be of greater importance is this mandate of yours - to rebuild the Children of Rot. To find the truth. Perhaps our first mission should be to uncover the secrets of the Eyes," he suggested. While it might have made sense to pursue the Divine, as far as he could tell, the tree was hardly as troublesome as these Eyes his friend spoke of. "Will you take me to visit them?"

A white canine. A dog, a wolf? A fox, perhaps? ...Are foxes canines? Dragon was unsure. Regardless, he couldn't really think of any white dogs or wolves off the top of his head.

"Hrm. I do not know anyone by that description. But I will keep an eye out for her, brother," Dragon promised sombrely. If he found the one who had attacked Ghanyarah--unless she had a damn good reason--he would do his utmost to tear her limb from limb and incinerate what remained.

Presuming, that was, that she was even still alive, somewhere in the caves.

He turned his attention back to Ghanyarah's speaking, exhaling. He agreed, in theory--though he still felt a faint and uneasy prickling at the mention of the Eyes.

"...It would need to be approached carefully," he began, thoughtful. He turned himself in the lake, his ridged tail slowly propelling him with strong, slow sweeps. Quiet, he began swimming out toward the Heart, taking a moment to embrace the cool peace the black water offered.

"I would like to regather the children, yes; and if you think the Eyes are wise, then that is what we will first pursue. But," he added, with a warning tone--and again drifted in a semi-circle so that a moment later, he was solemnly facing Ghanyarah again. "We cannot all go together. Should it lash out, we cannot lose us all. We cannot ever risk losing all the knowledge, the sum of all we've gathered, or it will have all been for nothing. I will take you to the eyes, yes, and perhaps another; but it may be wise to send others--perhaps those with wings, if we can find them--to seek mention of them in the pictures carved upon the walls. And do not," he added, in a tone of quiet warning, "swim in them."

For a moment Dragon blew bubbles into the water of the swamp, and then he spoke further. "Let me try and gather who I can gather, and we will go from there. I will need a little time. And I must ask them, too, what they wish to do--how they wish to tackle things. But I imagine that you are right."

Dragon turned, angling along the shoreline, vaguely for the offering pile: he'd head there, and make his call. They'd see who answered.