The warren was, despite its actual temperature, emotionally cold. Distant. Desert felt like an alien in his own home, confusing emotions still washing over him. They were not far from where they'd laid their kin, where the chrysalises festered and grew into the surrounding rock. The sheer amount of magic that laid there was nauseating- as if magic wasn't meant to exist in this hall. To say that it was a heavy weight on his mind was an understatement. The unfamiliar magic that had burst from the ground during the breeding was a testament to the strangeness of this all. No, this-

He didn't know what to do. This was a common idea that surfaced in his brain nearly every waking hour, and instinct drove him to stay, to protect. It was almost like his brother was here. If only he knew where he was. Would he approve? Would this be good? Was he leading the others well? Palefur, Doctor... Hemlocke...

His muscles drove him to pace nearly everywhere he went. It'd only been a few days since the chrysalises had begun growing, but it felt ages. He never knew how long it took for him to emerge from his chrysalis after trials- he didn't know how long it'd take for a new being to come into existence. A new being- his children.

Bile rose in the back of his throat. He- he wasn't ready to be an adult. No. He could barely take care of himself- he could barely take care of the others, he couldn't- he couldn't take care of young gembounds. Palefur? Doctor? They- they were young, but they were adults. Desert knew nothing about now-a-days, about the magic that infested this tunnel and these rooms and this nest now. When he was born, he knew what he had to do. Would they? They weren't made for trials, not in any way that they knew. They were just... Made.

This is what Vargas wanted. This is what he would do to appease his Overseer. He would bring this nest to glory, whatever that meant, through their successes in Hydra. They would survive against all odds. Desert would make sure of that.

He didn't know when he'd slept last. His wings ached, his feet were sore against the sandy dirt at the floor of the warren. His pacings directed him back and forth, back to the children growing, back to their creations. Oh, how he abhorred this waiting. He wanted this to be done, he wanted his life to have some sense of normalcy faster. He- he needed his brother, he needed to ground himself- he could feel his paranoia rising to the ceiling, as if he were scraping his face against the sky. To be fair, he wanted to. That would be better- anything would be better than this.

He couldn't look for the Seven now. Not while this was on his conscious. But when would he be able to when these guys do hatch? WHEN would they hatch? Caves above, below, surrounding him, suffocating him- Tunnel vision blocked in as he found himself in front of the yellows and reds of the gems before him. They- they must be good. They were fine. They were growing. He-

He didn't realize he was pulsing magic out from him until echoes of magic rung back behind his ear and in his brain. They were fine. They were fine. The magic here was- it was suffocating, but it was healthy for them. It was good for them.

There- there was a lot, though.

More than there should be. Was- was it the glass? No, the echo ringed out from... Nearby. Close. But it wasn't these chrysalises. It was something else, something glowing from cracks behind them. Vargas must have laid a chrysalis to rest here, before the others arrived. Yes- yeah, that must be it. But- why would it be buried so deep? Confusion washed over the unidentifiable feelings rumbling in Desert's gut. This, this was more pacing material. He'd already started again, his body passing to and fro in front of the glinting spikes surrounding the growing gems. Gems wouldn't dig that deep- were they deep like that when they were asleep? Before they woke? Was this a forgotten champion?

No, Desert didn't hate waiting. He hated not knowing. Not knowing what would happen next, not knowing how long it would take... Not knowing who that was.

This didn't sit well on his mind.

Desert took a step back. He took another. He was about to give thought more to this thing only to be interrupted by a soft sound beside him. A sudden tug out of his tunnel vision dragged him to growl softly until he realized who it was.

Ah. Hemlocke. His lifted scales lowered themselves to his skin as he calmed himself down, a huff escaping his nose as he regarded his companion. A brief look over confirmed that nothing had changed (of course, it'd only been a few days, but still). When they spoke, though, he turned back to the chrysalis, his wings drawn closer to his sides.

"Perhaps we should," Desert rumbled. "There's not much we can do about it, I don't think, though- there's still some Champions in chrysalises down at the Hydra entrance, right?" He tilted his head as he stepped closer, careful of the glass that they built up over the children. Upon closer inspection, Desert realized he couldn't even recognize the stone it held. He was usually good about them- particularly for knowing what to call someone when he inevitably forgot their name- but this one eluded him. The shimmer of it sent a shudder down his spine. As cautiously as he approached, he returned to Hemlocke's side while avoiding the glass. "It doesn't seem like a priority. Next time we see him, we can mention it. Otherwise we'd have to handle explaining how everything changed to another person." Maybe it would end up hatching along with the children, but in truth Desert Rose doubted it even would hatch at all. The others hadn't. Whatever it was, though, it wasn't dead inside, and that gave a small shock of alarm through the dragon's mind.

He shook his head. "Unless you want to call him. Your call on that one." His blue eyes met Hemlocke's face as he spoke. "I've got enough on my mind about these guys already." He threw his head in gesture to the other chrysalises waiting for their inhabitants to grow. "It's... I'm not sure what to think."

He squinted towards them, then back to Hemlocke. He could already feel himself going back into a recurrent cycle of deliberation and stepping over himself on them. Distraction seemed to be in order, and he provided with a wary "How're you holding up?" Small talk was awful, and Desert wouldn't do it if it weren't necessary in the moment to just think about anything else.

The dragon squinted once more and flicked his ear, turning away with another huff. He didn't have an excuse. But, really- did he have to excuse himself to Hemlocke? It seemed the alien nearly enjoyed finding his flaws and digging into them. Or was it seeing itself in his place? His squint only grew as he stared at the pair of garnets resting in the sand. Yes, one was his, but his teeth gritted in some sense of fussiness thinking that there was only one visibly his resting there. Was it egotistical, selfish to think this way? Perhaps.

But, he had to have some joy in life.

He raised his head to regard the chrysalis they'd discovered, anyways. "That's true. But who's to say we weren't buried that deep and brought to surface when we awoke?" How long had they been asleep? He was still unsure about it, but it wasn't too big of an issue now. They were awake. That's all that mattered."It does," he spoke on the similarity to Vargas's stone. "But I never looked that close to it. I can't... Recognize it."

When he looked to Hemlocke, he was a witness to the alien's clear discomfort. Or was it offended? He was about to speak, calm down the situation, until Hemlocke hissed to him, grinding on him like a grindstone. Its tone- it was near conspiratorial in its delivery, yet in the opposite direction. Desert could feel his hackles immediately raise, his scales going on edge instinctively to make himself look bigger. He took in a breath- He needed to be careful on how he phrased this. "We need to make calls as to when we'll hunt. We need to make calls in the trials on who to trust and destroy. We need some sort of agency to survive." His tail lashed, and his voice went lower, a growl laid under his words. "If you can't decide shit for yourself, you're a sitting duck, Hemlocke." He hated that this thing deserved a name more than him, deserved more garnets from itself, deserved a place beside the Overseer. Desert Rose? He was left high and dry, and he knew his face was sour at the line of thinking.

Yes, thinking. Deep breaths- he steeled himself, closing his eyes briefly before continuing, a newfound tightness in his chest. He had to speak before Hemlocke jumped in on him once more. "Maybe you should do some thinking, Garnet. I don't tread the line. I will very well damn step right on it if it means getting our fucking lives back. I will think all I damn well please if it means I get to live another day, if it means getting this nest back in order." His voice had grown louder, a full growl running from his mouth and into the air as his pupils shrunk to thin slits in his eyes. "I'm not going against the Masters. I'm not going against Vargas. I'm doing what I must; you should as well. And that means doing shit for yourself, like deciding if you want to tell him now or fucking later. It doesn't matter shit either way, so it was your damn call."

Well, damn, that wasn't the direction he wanted to go, but apparently he had some pent up anger boiling over at this moment. He knew it was baseless deep down and idiotic to flame at his compatriot like this, but he was tired of its complete innate sense to just wear him down. It was working if this is what the creature wanted. He was doing fine. He was building this group. Vargas didn't need to be wrapped in this shit. Desert, he had responsibility now. Maybe it was getting to his head, but his tunnel-vision shifted onto Hemlocke, pinpointed into a needle that he aimed to drill right back into its skin. What right did it have to question him in this? He wasn't a Master, an Overseer, barely even a Champion. He was just a being looking to survive, and it seemed Hemlocke, despite all its sense to live, only existed to be a mindless nobody. That made a useless servant to the Masters. No chance to grow in your rank, no chance to get higher in your station.

And yet, the one damn creature in these caves that didn't give a single thought to itself was the fucking Eyes of Vargas. It had a fucking name. It had two fucking garnets. It had- it had priority over him. He gave a particular solace in thankful thinking that it hadn't had the opportunity to give its own gem to Vargas, otherwise he wouldn't know what he would have done.

And yet, here it stood. Preaching on authority to him when it didn't realize its own.

It had failed to see reason. Of course it didn't- why should he expect as such? All this creature knew to do was run for its pitiful, empty life. Its movements were mirrored by the longer dragon, his own back arching with the length of his scales making him look like an over-sized artichoke. A dance had begun, and he would be the lead in this play.

"Maybe I simply said the damn words because, hey, I wasn't going to fucking waltz right up to him and spout off on some random ass chrysalis that might share his gem! I wasn't gonna stop you if you wanted a flaming, for once." He spat, lips curled up in seething anger. Of course it was his gem- of course they should let him know if he came back around. But, now? It was hissing at him, wings flared while his shot out as well. He was tired of being in the supposed wrong all the time. Tired of this bullshit he had to wade through the moment he decided to get up off his ass.

Each word it spoke shot glass daggers right into Desert's skin- metaphorically, of course, despite the knowledge that it could if it very well wanted to physically. He let it finish its spiel, though- oh, he let it finish, tail lashing behind him with his teeth bared and head retreating closer to his shoulders. At the accusation, though, the pent up emotions came to a head. It was- It skipped over something. "Spent too much time doing what? Thinking?" The traitorous word was spat out of his mouth like a disease. "Are you insinuating rebellion? Are you going against your own word, Garnet? Are you so worried that the moment you let yourself think that you're gonna sympathize with the new beings? Grow a gem. I thought you had more sense than that." He paced now, once more, back and forth while keeping his head directly on Hemlocke. "Vargas gave us the option to find out what they were doing. I'd much rather be around when these children emerge rather than leave them high and dry to become like all the other brainless beasts around here. Maybe, if you don't trust yourself with basic choices, maybe I shouldn't trust you with my children." He halted, head hunched low as if he were about to pounce on a bit of prey. His wings curled up to meet perpendicular to Hemlocke in defense. He'd noticed his words. He didn't care. These were his children, this was his endeavor, and he would see it through if it killed him, if it meant losing one of the few he could put faith and trust in.

But, like he said, why should he trust Hemlocke? After all, all it did was pinpoint his own weaknesses, drive stakes directly into his heart. That wasn't an ally. That was a hunter, marking its prey. Hell, it was worse than Vargas- he had the authority to warn him. Hemlocke did not. Just like it said it didn't.

The door might as well been blasted open by this point. "I've stayed because I've made my choice. I've stayed to prove my loyalty, prove my willingness to act, but I did it of my own volition. Is that what you're afraid of? Choice? You're afraid you're going to take the choice to leave, to set your death in place the moment you decide to rebel? You know you won't. Stop being a coward, Garnet, and decide to survive." His muscles tensed in preparation for a coming fight, if one ever came. Hemlocke knew not to pick fights. Desert Rose refused to throw the first punch.

They had come to a standstill.