ORIGIN

The gemstone that lay there--half-tangled in branches and more than half-covered by moss--had grown thin. Its starshot steel had cracked, razor-narrow lines parting one shard from the next.

A small figure, dark with wet, huddled half-asleep within, its heat escaping the new opening in wisps of steam. A black-taloned foot emerged, claws hooking over the lip of the gap, pulling, finding no give, and then retreating.

Another instinct took over: a quiet burst of magicka, a flash of color from the other glittering grey stone, the one settled against the new chick's chest: and the Specularite chrysalis gave way with a sharp sound not unlike a rap of hooves on rock.

A large hole now lay open in the little rock, a thin trickle of liquid pouring forth--and now the taloned foot reemerged. It was followed closely by a watchful, wary yellow eye, and a black-tipped beak; the sodden hatchling peered into the world around him. Out at the jungle, blurry to his new eyes--out at the Eyes, shimmering with hidden malevolence.

There was, at least at first, no one there--and the new child found faint, if distinct, fear in this unwanted solitude. He huddled back, and gave a short, loud chirp--a cry for help; a cry for parents that would never come.

He heard the scratching of claws on bark--and he wasn't in the tree; his stone was down amongst the tangles of foliage beneath. Rainstorm, however, managed to find him after some skilled clambering, and he was left blinking out of his cracked chrysalis at the strange blue-hued bird. Hey there, they said, and he was left trying to puzzle out the meaning of this.

He was freshly-born. He had never seen his reflection; if he had, he might've wondered at their vague similarities. Beaks and feathers, scaled legs and black masks--but instead he was left a little bewildered.

"Hey there," he chirped, imitating the sound back, pushing past his fear. And then, finding some courage, he carefully--gaze flicking up to watch Rainstorm warily--picked his way from his chrysalis.

Feathers ruffled, and settled back into place: it was cold out here. Or colder than it had been in the comfort of his gemstone, anyway.

He regarded the stranger as his feet sank into the moss; they seemed unthreatening, at least. He fought for concentration, fought to form a coherent thought, a set of words. "I am-..." he paused. What was the right word..? "Baby." Okay, good--that was a description. But it wasn't him, was it?

And a name came to him, and he puffed himself up a little as he struggled out the second sentence.

"I am-... Blitz."

The urge to engage the only stranger he'd ever met in conversation took him. Keep them here, his subconscious murmured. It would be impolite to only talk about himself! ...But his repertoire was limited, to say the least, and Blitz struggled for a third set of words. "Who... are you?"

Parroting, as a child does--as a child learns--Blitz was not exactly the best of conversational partners. "Rainstorm," he murmured, and thought this word over.

It brought with it images of flashing lights and shaking leaves, of dark sky filled with sheets of falling water. He'd never seen such a thing, and how he knew it was beyond him, but he didn't particularly think of that. Instead he peered at the bird before him, wondering why it was a rainstorm. ...The color, maybe? "Why are... you Rainstorm?" he managed, in broken words uttered between clicks of his small, hooked beak.

Blitz then took the time to look around. There were trees, yes--towering all around them; there were other plants, ferns and moss and tangles of vines. So this was the world..? It was overwhelming to the little fledgling. What was he meant to do? What was his task? What was this place like? At least Rainstorm was with him; to be alone now, that he wasn't sure he could bear. Even the thought of it terrified him.

So he drew closer to the pigeon, huddling near as if fearful of the large, living world around them, and he spoke. "It's big," he confided, his voice a half-whisper as he glanced warily around Eridanus.

Blitz considered, head tilting to one side. Imagery of pattering rain and roaring winds rose in his mind, and these were followed by thoughts of a flash--a flickering streak, bright and blinding. Lightning.

"I'm the lightning in the storm," he said slowly, pronouncing each word with care. And then he drew himself up proudly. That was him: quick, bright, a flash--here then gone, devastating and impossible to catch.

But this proud self-reflection was slowly drained away as Rainstorm spoke of the caves' size. They didn't say much, but it left Blitz looking around him again, slowly, wondering.

Bigger than you think. Well, that didn't tell him much. He didn't know how big to think they were! Were they four times the size of what he could see? Were they a thousand? -Infinite?

"...How big?" he asked, his voice hushed with awe.

It was frightening, to think they might be in a place so vast. But exciting, too; what might there be to see? To explore? He looked back to the other bird, about to comment, then realized he'd never answered their other remark. He didn't want to be rude, so he did so now. "Making those storms would be... strong. Are you--old? Have you been... to many places?"

The little bird turned, eyeing the other little bird, and thinking. So they were both babies, then. And the world was big! ...Where did that leave them?

A faint spirit of adventure, bolstered by boldness and trembling with nervousness, flickered through him. "Want to... explore? Together."

Blitz hopped fully-clear from his destroyed chrysalis, turning to peer back at it curiously, at its shimmering opaque shell. How pretty a stone, and how strange, that it had spawned him - glittering white specks across gunmetal gray, where his own body was fresh snow-white and jet-black plumage. He looked at the rock, then down across his own feathers, and then out at the world. From gray, to color; and what a change! As he inspected Eridanus, his mind was near-overwhelmed by the constantly shifting leaves, the rustling green that seemed to whisper from every direction at once. He tugged a taloned foot free of gemstone shards, and stepped clear, onto soft moss; and this had him peering down again, in curiosity.

Excitement, courage, life flowed through him, and he reared back and spread his wings. His hooked beak parted slightly as he concentrated, and that life-force spluttered forth, an invisible shove that sent sticks and leaves skittering out of his path.

Me! That was me! he thought, excitedly. Wings folded back against his sides and he puffed out proudly, staring out at Eridanus.

He looked to Rainstorm, then--to see if they were game. To see if they wanted to explore this world, to learn about it together.