ORIGIN

The alligator lay quiet beside the black Heart of Cetus.

The waters were still, cool, and shrouded with mist--as they always were--and the offering pile, untouched for weeks, stood high with rotting fish. At the bottom of the pile, the mud ran thick with putrescence. What lay down there was nearly a month old--dead fish, the carcasses of deer, the twisted limbs of half-burnt cave spiders. The Children kept the pile ready for Aquarian--but at the moment, it seemed, he slept.

Dragon's thoughts ran as deep as these still waters. And they were equally as dark.

The new cave--he'd heard about its opening; he did not know what it meant. Astraea had gone in. Nemean, perched atop his head. Betrayer, he thought softly.

But Aquarian remained submerged, and so he could not ask his father what was going on. What it all meant.

Aquarian had told him to survive, in order to learn. For the longest time, Dragon had felt as though they were all playing a waiting game--to survive for a hundred years to gradually uncover bits and pieces. But perhaps his meaning had been far more sinister: perhaps by merely living long enough, Dragon and his Children of Rot were to survive into another era of horrors.

And then there was the matter of Khloros.

Dragon pondered this--pondered what it meant. Could it possibly be mere coincidence..? Was it a tool they could use; a message from a savior, in the nick of time? Or was it just one of a thousand tumbling stones set off by an avalanche already in motion--something far above, and far ahead? And how would we know the difference?

These were the grim thoughts running through his mind as he lay half-submerged in the mud, the black water pooled up to his flanks, his head slightly tilted down so that dark eyes could watch the surface. The rank stench of the pile did not bother him--and he'd be easy to mistake for a log in the mist.

His ruminations were not, it seemed, to continue uninterrupted.

The alligator turned his head only slightly, eyeing the newcomer--a child, by the looks of things, as they so often were who came here blithely full of joy and life. A few secrets tended to replace that happiness with grim and quiet knowledge, even fear; but then, this one likely wouldn't stay long. Something about it screamed "sunshine and happiness" to the scarred-up reptile. And neither of those things did particularly well in Cetus.

Dragon shuffled a little more, so as better to face the stranger. Ahh, well. Better for me not to get too lost in these thoughts, regardless. He'd never been a particularly brooding type.

"My name is Dragon. And there are Gembound who live everywhere," he replied. "This cave is a dangerous one, child. What brings you here?"

...This isn't right.

Dragon stared.

This kid, out of nowhere, had turned up and first asked about those who lived here, and then about "secrets." That wasn't how Gembound acted. No. Normal Gembound wandered in, not knowing a damn thing--they might ask about the weather, or why there was mud, or why there was a giant fucking rotting pile of fish behind the alligator. But to immediately ask of the Children, and their purpose..? And how had she seen him, in the first place? He was a dark, ridged shape in a dark swamp, a log shrouded in mist, yet somehow she had picked him right out. And there was no way any of his odor was scentable over the rank stench of rot.

This "Zyros" was a spy; she had to be. Astraea, or Nemean, perhaps, had sent her to find out what the Children were really doing. There was no other explanation for this behavior. Quickly, the alligator came up with a plan--and put it into action.

"Secrets? I am sure there are plenty of secrets," he answered in a rumbling chuckle. "But if it is knowledge you seek, why do you ignore what lies in front of you? You are asking of secrets--yet you are not asking about what you can see. Why do you not ask of the secrets of the stinking pile of rotting, putrescent dead flesh behind me, or the unknowable depths of this black pool? Do those not interest you..?"

Answer that, then, spy; we'll see how clever you are. But then--would a spy actually be so stupid..? To come right out and ask these questions? His gaze travelled over the joey's form. Perhaps they know of my weakness, my kindness toward children, and thought to send me one as a spy; but children are only so smart.

Well, now she was acting more the normal child, at least. Dragon half-glanced back toward the pile.

"It is not a matter of 'liking' to eat it. We must eat it. And that is why the caves are dangerous for ones like you. Not far from here--not far at all--I once killed and ate a creature not too unlike you before I realized that it could even speak. There are predators here, and you are prey--use caution, little one."

As for why it was here, well... If she were a spy, would it be giving out unknown knowledge? Most likely. He doubted that Astraea or Nemean knew that Aquarian was allied--if that was not too strong a word--with the Children.

He sat, for a moment, silent in the muck, debating what to say. At last, he settled on indirect honesty--a sort of misdirection, if not an outright white lie. "Flesh is an important part of the caves. Many of us must kill to survive; we eat what we kill, and by the weakness of our prey, we thrive. It is survival of the strongest, the quickest, the swiftest, the smartest. We, the living, stand on a tower of the dead that have come before us. In their demise, in our survival, death has shaped the living to be what we are now."

Which didn't really explain anything about the giant, rotting pile of fish, but hey.

Wilder had arrived.

And the kangaroo joey was chattering on just like the kitten had used to do.

Dragon slowly closed his eyes. I am going to hate every moment of this, he thought to himself, dourly. At length, he opened them again, turning to Wilder. For the time being, he chose to ignore Zyros' questions entirely, or rather, dismiss them with a simple--"Perhaps you are too young to understand the explanation I gave. Give it time."

He then spoke to Wilder. The cat had been absent, and he had received, of course, word of her supposed madness, betrayal, all that nonsense. He was more prone to believe one of his own members, but Pride had not been anything but an ally to them, and Wilder had had her share of bizarre, garbled-speech fits of idiocy in the past.

"The goose," he said to her, simply. "Explain."

He didn't tell Zyros to leave, nor explain what was going on; his question was toward Wilder, and he waited in silence.