ORIGIN

His claws toyed fitfully with the surface of the stone. It was large, a rich green, though tinged with yellow rather than the bluer hue of emeralds; the toxic glow of his own eyes reflected back at him in uneven shimmers across its surface. Is it late? he wondered. I should have kept track of the days. What if it is weak? This third thought was sudden, and brought with it a spike of unfamiliar dismay, laced, even, with faint fear. Vargas did not want to have put forth this effort, made this... this gesture, for nothing. But what gesture is it? What does this mean? It is simply another creation, he told himself.

And then the stone began to crack.

There was a dim flicker of green, a soft glow that infused the stone. Magicka flared up, weak, and faded, and a moment later the gemstone cracked and began to fall away.

The creature that tumbled forth was wretched, and pathetic: spindly twigs twisted into gangly shape, far smaller than its chrysalis might have suggested. What looked like branches flailed briefly on the rock, and rasping coughs, with the high pitch of a child, echoed. The creature then unfurled its limbs and pushed half-upright, lifting a too-large head to look around.

Its body looked like sticks and vines, all entwined, and the faint glow lingered both in its abandoned stone and across its entire body. The green glow pulsed here and there, and then faded, leaving its chest and eyes alight. And its head was not unlike Vargas's, but its eyes placed down its wooden skull; the spines were mere thorns, for now, and it couldn't have been more than a couple feet high.

It twisted that head to stare up at Vargas, and let out a quiet squeak.

His dismay... grew.

It was tiny, and spindly, and-... But these creatures grow, do they not? They do not start off as they should. Vargas thought about this for a long moment, and then reached down, plucking it up by its spine and setting it down on four feet. Even then, it stumbled, and he steadied it for a moment before carefully speaking.

"I am Overseer Vargas," he began, and yet his standard authoritative introduction seemed... somehow hollow. Was this official-? Was he going to keep this one to himself, or share it with the caves? He still had not decided, and after hesitation he went on. "Your name is Titanite." Ahh, the hypocrisy. Returning the caves to a time of designation, but granting his own favored child a name... But in truth, Vargas had lost track, in his long sleep, of the designation numbers. How many Titanites had there been, since his rest?

Perhaps a new system. Gemstone, N for new, and number? He pondered this for a moment, until he realized that the child was staring up at him in silence--in eerie, tree-like silence--as if waiting for more.

"-Do you understand so far?" he asked.

The child stared up at Vargas, and after a long moment, in which it might have seemed that no response was forthcoming, it made... a sound.

It was like the rustle of wind through leaves, and the scrape of branches over trees. It was the voice of Titanite, of the tree-like beast: one that Vargas would remember from ages past, but born anew. "I... am... Tiii... tahn... ite."

A long pause. Its stare remained wholly unblinking. "You... are... Over... sehr... Vahr... gahss..."

Titanite struggled to stand upright, on two hind legs--and collapsed back forward, heavily, onto four. Its small sticks-and-vines body tumbled a little before catching itself, and it twisted its head to stare up at Vargas again.

"I... eat," it demanded.

Relief flooded through him. The dismay was swept away with it, forgotten.

The creature was small, yes; but so had its other parent been. It might grow, or again it might not, but small creations had their use. What was important was that it was sharp. Already it was trying to stand, and its focus was incredibly intent. It was still staring at him, unblinking, unmoving, having correctly absorbed his meaning and then making a demand of its own.

"Good," Vargas said; "then I will teach you how to hunt." He turned, sweeping to his feet and pacing a few yards off--then turned, staring back. "Come," he told the child, and turned back away again.

"Huuunt," the child echoed in that eerie near-whisper. Its body came up, jerky, like a half-broken puppet, its awkward limbs shifting and jutting this way and that as it stumbled after Vargas. Its demeanor was almost cat-like, intent and focused, but its movement was anything but. There was no adult grace to it, only scraping branches and slipping vines.

As he followed Vargas along the stone, he looked about, too, at the breadth of Canis. He nearly fell when passing a scattering of bones, twisting his head to stare back at them as he passed. "Stickssss," he offered, and shifted his bright stare up to his father. It was a question, of sorts, or an assumption.

He did not know where they were going, and he knew nothing of the world around him, but fear did not factor in. In fairness, with a creature like Vargas guiding him, it was hard for that not to be the case--but Titanite did not know fear. In time he might, but for now he knew only a sort of vague reptilian cunning, and this was what lit his eyes as he studied his father ahead of him.

Vargas turned, peering back at Titanite. His eyes flicked to the indicated bones.

"Bones," he corrected. He briefly eyed Titanite's body. Was the creature's skeleton internal, or not? Would it be considered bone, or wood? He had no idea. "They are not like you," he added, turning back away again.

As he paced deeper into Canis, kicking bones indifferently aside (with no real malice to it, simply to make way), he spoke further. "Most creatures are bone, flesh and blood. You were designed after plant-life. Or, at least, your other parent was," he went on. "He was... relentless." Memories again flickered through him--the quiet aloofness, the determination despite Titanite One-Eight-Nine's complete unsuitability for the tests. The ferocity of his rebellion. "He failed, but he had qualities strong enough to merit continuation of... certain aspects of his design," Vargas explained, his tone somehow subdued. He didn't expect the child to fully understand; even fully-adult new creations needed a little time to adjust.

"But if you pay close attention, you will not fail as he did. I will teach you," the Overseer said. "And we will begin," and here he stopped, nodding down at a cluster of rank-smelling stones, "with rats."

"Booone. Flllesh, and bloood. Desiiigned." The child echoed various words in its hissing voice as Vargas spoke, continuing on as they walked; it was perhaps committing what it could to memory, or maybe it was simply tasting them, feeling the sensation of the syllables in its strange mouth. "Relent...lessss... Failed," it murmured.

When Vargas stopped, it slowed and paced slowly, carefully, to come around alongside the far larger creature. It stared out at the large rocks, and then peered up at its father, pausing to plop down on its branch-twisted haunches in a rather undignified way.

"Ratttssssss," it rasped; and then, waited.

"Rats," Vargas agreed, repeating himself again. "And mice," he added, and then thought, but mice are for the weak. Mice, tiny mice, were there for those who couldn't hack killing the larger, more savage rats. "Rats bite back. They're smart. You have to hide yourself. Hunt them. You can use magic to trick them," he went on. "Like this."

Shadows swirled around him, briefly, until he was coated in black, a shadow all his own; his glow faded in it, and quietly he slipped forward, melding into the darkness between the larger fortresses.

"They won't see you, like this. Come," he instructed, pausing to wait among the bones.

The child followed, when ordered to: mostly quiet, but with branches scraping along the rock here and there. He watched Vargas' black shape, seeming to whirl now and then with moving shadows, and concentrated on it with critical attention.

Rather than turn black, the faint green glow within the child spread: taking over its body, illuminating it in a soft and pulsing shroud. Motes of green light seemed to drift and flash about it.

Titanite looked down over itself.

"No," it decided; and what it meant to say was 'wrong,' but really, it almost sounded like rebellion.