ORIGIN - straight outta cretaceous

Warm, reassuring - that was her chrysalis, even if it was merely half-submerged in the shallows leading up to a moon-shaped isle. She'd figured out that much and her amorphous sense of self.

It was dim, but Glaive was conscious of the way her claws could flex, her thighs tensed and relaxed as she moved to a different position in the sphere-shaped cocoon. Sometimes, her eyes would open and regard the vast nothing she was suspended in. Other times, she would simply just crane her neck and shift into another form of the fetal curl.

One time... she quietly decided that it was time to leave.

A leg strained to push out, but her knee knocked against the chrysalis with startling quickness. Bleary gaze fixated on it, smeared by amniotic fluid. She tried again. The same result came to pass: a quiet clunk! as the cap met stone and echoed through the chrysalis. Hmm, came the first conscious thought.

Glaive squirmed a little, extracting her arms from chunky thighs and pressing clawed fingertips against the shell. She planted her feet firmly opposite them, and gave an experimental shove. A resounding crack! rippled through the fluid, and the neonate was vaguely aware of a choking sensation in the euphoria of seeing pure light.

Fornax broke through the turquoise at the same time as she did into a coughing fit, scrabbling madly to escape whatever that painful feeling was. Her claws slipped and she tumbled sideways onto the sandbar with a shrill wheeze.

Hacking up fluid and shaking membrane off of herself, Glaive blinked, squinting into the lights above; and, she let loose a series of harsh, clicking cries just as any newborn child might. An instinctive call for help, even without immediate danger. Perhaps it was pure attention-seeking without a mother to tend to her, or a primal need to have someone around to witness her emergence and tell her what exactly was to be done after this point. Hatching had not been a well-calculated decision on her part.

The baby spinosaurus shuddered in place, even as she hunkered down and started to preen as best she could, picking off bits of gem and membrane.

The creature never did truly sleep. It did drift, on occasion, through the currents without paying much mind to what it was doing, but Fornax's waters had been still but for the occasional mercreature, which the Orarian did not see much of these days.

It usually stayed close to the heat vents, but sometimes, it rose closer to the surface without noticing. Sometimes, it stared up at the crystals above the surface, watching their warped reflection in a way that seemed almost thoughtful.

The leviathan did not ponder much these days. It simply was.

But, as luck would have it, it drifted close to the shore around the same time as the newborn hatched. The cracking soundwave was small, but sensitive tendrils picked up on it all of the same. It heard. Curiosity: an emotion dusty with disuse, writhed deep within the creature's gem.

Something was on land.

A threat?

The sounds: helpless, wordless chirping, gave sense of distress. A near foreign concept, but all the same. It ventured closer to the surface, tendrils reaching across the waves, pressing closer and closer to land, but never... Never did it get close enough to touch. Its shadow searched, seeing the colors beyond the veil of water, and knew that the creature outside was looking back.

" ͏̴͘͟͠a̺̙re̯̙͑̃̊ ̲̓̐͋ͭ̔yoű̥͙͉͍̉ͯ ͉̅ͤ̏ͭͪ̉o̞̥̦̬̎͌ce̻ͬ̆ͅá̠n͒

or͙̙͊ ͛̐̓̎̄tr͓̖͉͐̏ͫ̀e͙̞ͯ͒ͩͅsp̥̤̟̓̓ͭͮa̱̠̻͗̈͑s̭̪͓ͨ͗s̭̣͚ọͤr̼?"

It reached out with its voice, rusty from disuse, filled with static and distorted, and it... Wondered. The words were soft and quiet, fuzzy, as though it knew that it was speaking to something new. The ocean had no concept of new; it was endless, but it... Still, could be gentle.

@Glaive

Chirping didn't seem to bring anything closer to her - not on the horizon and not a shift in the thrashing current at her feet. Glaive didn't seem particularly torn-up about it as she cleaned herself off and made to crawl further in-land, towards the cover of underbrush. Without anything to ignite that social sense, she was ambling through the motions -

A whisper.

The hatchling clucked, spinning on the spot towards the apparent source: a quiet shadow treading water. Ominous, foreboding, but not enough to send her scuttling higher up the bank. If anything, she rocked down onto her knuckles and crept further, up to her elbows in the shallow water. A squeaking hum stuttered through her throat, a few tested sounds and syllables through her gaping mouth...

"Ocean?" she tried, picking the less aggressive-sounding of the two words. Baby blues blinked down into the depths. Glaive chirped, "I can't see." Meaning, what are you? Turquoise buzzed, and she narrowed her eyes as if they'd magnify like the lenses of binoculars. Hundreds of red spots marred her vision, then - and the massive circulatory system of this mysterious beast. Thousands of tendrils reaching out, working in unison beneath the waves.

Glaive gasped softly, and took a few steps more into the surf, wanting to get closer.

@Orarian

"Ocean."

The decision, the choice, was made. A pact, a seal fixed upon the newborn child, still too young to know what it had done.

The young creature chirped, crying out that it couldn't see. Neither could the Orarian past the veil of foam and movement, the waves crashing over its form. It edged closer to the shore, tendrils reaching into soft, loamy sand.

Its magic opened wider; the pact made, the offer opened, the fate sealed. It could see the bacteria crawling on the shore, could feel the chrysalis's amniotic fluid teaming with life that outlined the otherwise blurry shape. For the first time, the behemoth bellow the surface stretched its tendrils closer and closer to the surface, until it finally pierced into the other world.

The air above was cold, and tight, and brought with it a strange heaviness. Water dripped down the long tendrils as they rose above the freshly born creature, speckled with the starlight from deep within the eldritch's heart.

A deep voice, one that perhaps even the child could not hear, boomed from the depths bellow.

th͡e͏ ҉Oce͢an dóe͟s ̕not̸ ̀SEE̛,̧ ̧it̨ ̵m̴ov̴e̷s ̢and͝ fee͟ls̴ ̵a̵n̕d breàt͜hes͘, ̸and to ̡b̴é ̀the ͞O͏ce̡an̢ ͟i̸s to͏ ͞be ͠p͟a͞rt of ҉t̷hę e̕n̵d͏lès͜s͟ ̨tid̶e͢.̢.. ̶̸

The heavy tendril snaked closer, a long finger that reached for the lost star crashed upon the shores, abandoned and lost. The waves broke into jagged shapes with the vibrations of the sound, ripples cast strangely along the edge of the shore.

you̡ ̶a̕ŕe ͟i̧n t̀he̷ ̴Oth͟e̵r Wòrld, ͞à c̕h͢i͡ld of̢ ͝flo͞at͏sa̸m͢ a̸n̴d wr͢e̸c͢ka͜gè. ͡w̴heņ y҉ou re̢t͏ur̶n҉ ͝to ̷t̨he ̢d̴ept̷h̵s͟,͝ and ͜be͢ćo͟m̀e a͠p̴ar҉t̨ of͡ ebb̛ an̷d́ f҉l̶ow, ̛you̴ w̶ill ̀need҉ ҉no̧t t͘ǫ ͡s̢ee͝

@Glaive

That looming shape of blood and strange sludge, a heart and maybe a lack thereof, bobbed up to the surface. Glaive blinked away whatever magical sense she'd awakened to witness the full size of the beast. Her eyes widened more and more as those tendrils arched around her and an instinctive urge to cower overtook her. She squatted a little, but otherwise remained rooted to the spot - almost transfixed.

Was - was the world vibrating around her? The bass hum was almost nauseating; every sound was new, perhaps too loud, but this was rattling her skull and digging claws into her eye sockets.

She shied away from the tendril moving closer, that cowering instinct lending her a thought of this is danger. Glaive bared her teeth, tiny and pearly-white at the finger, and shook her head. "I don't - get it," came the low whine, and she scurried out of the monster's cast shadow and all its penumbral duplicates. "you're scary."

@Orarian

"you're scary."

Nothing had ever told the Orarian that it was scary. There had been things that had run away, others who had been curious, and more who had enacted war upon the Ocean itself; but to be told so plainly that it was frightening the new life?

... The Leviathan retracted its tendrils, inching back into the softly crashing foam waves. Its starlight eye tried to see the world above, but it was distorted and hard to make out beyond the barrier of its world and the other.

͏i̴ ̴a̵m̸ ̴Or͡a͘r͞ia͘n, the leviathan spoke, quiet whispers reaching out in a voice that did not shake the world but instead touched the mind. ͏w͏e̷ are o̡f th͡é ̶sa̕me.͠ if y͏o̡u a̡r͝e̶ f̕righten̴ed͟, know ̵t҉hąt th̸e̛ ͢w͏ro̶th͞ ̷o͞f the҉ ҉Oce͜a͘n ͟i̛s ͟a ͢hár̡b͜o͢r. o͏u̵ŗ ̧wa̴ves ̵a̴r̨e҉ ̕y̴o͝u̵r̛s,̨ ̵we mo͜ve̡ ͞and͞ bre͡a̸t̡h ̛a͢nd̛ ̛ļiv͏e a͡s҉ one͟ e҉nd͞less̛ ͜tid̀e̸.

This was as much explanation as any had been given to any individual; the words a heavy downpour of concentrated effort to bring comfort to the creature of flotsam. Slowly, the massive shadow retreated from the shore, though its tendrils beckoned.

y҉҉ou͟ ̡͟͞ḩ̷̕a̵v͜e̷͡ a̴ ̴̢͢h͏̷̡o̶m҉̴e ̷͜h҉̕e͡͞r̀ȩ͢.̛

The offer was extended, and with it, there was promise to show and teach the new life how to thrive. It could not know if the creature on land could swim, or was suitable for life in the Ocean; indeed, all it knew was that the being had chosen the Ocean, rather than the world beyond.

There was, of course, also no way to know how hurt the Orarian would be should the creature turn away from its choice and betray it.

@Glaive

Just as quickly as she'd scurried away and admitted to her fears, the tendrils retreated, and so did the rest of the monst - no... creature? Being? Leviathan? - the rest of the Ocean. Glaive took this at face value, as a display of trustworthiness through merely listening. The whelp straightened up almost immediately, stumpy jaws snapping shut with a muted click!. She took a few steps forwards, flinching at the sheer softness of Orarian's voice in her mind.

It would protect her; it, and the rest of this great ocean. "A home..." she echoed, enraptured with the word and the concept.

Glaive could draw the conclusion that she looked nothing like the leviathan - both in simple external manners such as her having limbs it not, as well as internal manners like her needing air in her lungs, and it seeming content with either oxygen or hydrogen dioxide - but somehow, being in the water seemed just as natural as being on land.

Tentatively, still, the whelp moved back to that precious shore, and paddled through the shallows carefully, stopping every few moments as her confidence fluctuated. With one final push - she was out, bobbing along in the waves and floating half-submerged with her short sail sticking out. Glaive cooed eagerly, and attempted to spin and see where Orarian had gone.

@Orarian