Sergei's arrival over a day later was one of limping, panting exhaustion. Whatever had happened to him, it had been brutal: the barbearian was covered in oozing wounds, his chest and forelimbs both cut deeply. One arm was hanging wrong, and the other was clutched around a spear along with several gemstones clasped in his paw.

As he descended down, among the darkness and the whispers, he flinched miserably.

This was the power Tema had spoken of. And Sergei knew, instinctively and pathetically, that he was not worthy. It was with shame bowing his head that he shuffled down into the voidlit space, stifling any whimpers before they could escape him.

Once in, he looked around with widened eyes. This place was... eerie. A strange cold pervaded, and its light had changed everything inside to unrecognizable colors. Sergei suddenly wanted to be done, and gone from here, his little piece of legacy--his gift to Tema, his weapon against the Hive--deposited.

The problem was, he'd failed in his attempts to wrest a gemstone from a Lacerta beast: something strong and vicious, something that could have provided a true ally, a guardian, a soldier.

He had no idea if what lay within the stones were monster, or mouse.

He made his way to an open space, away from the growing chrysalises. Ignoring the unsettling sounds that crowded in on him, he knelt, and opened his palm to look at the three gemstones he carried.

The Hypersthene was the first he'd found, and so it was the one he'd try, first, to bring to life. He didn't plan to revive them all: only one. The second and third were backups. Maybe he'd give those, too, to Tema--for later. If he saw her.

The others--the blue-streaked Dumortierite, and the gray-black, striated, organic-looking Kyanite--were the backup gemstones. He would try the blue one last, if this one failed.

Taking a breath, Sergei set down the striped Hypersthene, and pressed his warm palm down over it, claws hiding it from view. He knew how to do this, in theory. He'd just... never done it before.

To his dismay, the magic failed: a lashing back, a crack, the stone snapping and fracturing under his palm.

He set the shards aside miserably. A failure not once, but twice, now; all that effort and he'd simply broken the beautiful stone, extinguishing whatever life had lain within.

Sergei next attempted the striated kyanite, its almost organic twists eerie enough to make him think it had once been something of interest. He pressed his palm to this one, miserably muttering to it to please not break.

It didn't.

There was the faintest spark, a flicker, a glimmer--and this spark of life settled into the Kyanite, and the Kyanite, into the bone-white stone below. Black stone, I think, he thought, eyeing it and thinking of the voidlight.

Almost belatedly he realized it had worked. That he had succeeded.

He took a breath, pressing a palm one last time to the stone, fighting back choking emotion. "Grow," he murmured to it. "Fight Hive. Kill them. Learn from Tema. She is-... a good warrior. She will teach you," he said, deciding on the words only as they left his lips.

Then he pushed up, turning to shuffle from the cave.

A thousand unseen eyes seemed to watch him.

They were not interested in him, but nor were they indifferent. The pressure that throbbed through this place seemed to make it harder for Sergei to move; corruption flowed through this place, and tainted him as he walked.

He would catch words in the whispers, meaning in all that gibberish. Promises of violence. Assurances of destruction.

What sort, and whose, was left unsaid; it seemed enough to promise it.

It would feel, for a moment, as though a single massive claw ran lightly along his side: parting his fur, running over the open wounds that oozed there.

And he would understand: it did not matter what the child would have been. Here, it would become something more.

He froze, beady eyes peering around the voidlit space as the whispers crowded in. He felt a shiver run through him as the touch of chaos made itself known: an inherent unpredictability, a violent potential, a flicker that might run this way or that.

This was to be his this child's fate.

Given his own cowardice... his own failures, again and again... that was for the best. Another Gembound might have been horrified, either at the realization of what he was doing, or the threat of this place and what it meant for a mere child.

For Sergei, the promise of strength was enough. It settled his fears-... whatever the young one was, it would grow strong.

Not like him. Better than him.

He held that thought as he picked his way back through the steep tunnel, knowing he must find a place to rest.

exit Sergei