Pisces had fallen quiet again. The pearls had been taken, leaving behind dozens of strange prints in the blanket of snow that draped itself over the silent cavern. Only the familiar rushing roar of the waterfall could be heard where a slab of obsidian had embedded into one of the dens in the southern wall. So many cycles had passed that it seemed like the obsidian was merely part of the wall-- lichen had grown over it, and the beast that slumbered inside was content to sleep forever.

But something changed as the weather grew cold. The comfort of the chrysalis became oppressive, and the thing inside shifted, claws scratching the inner filament and grinding on the black stone. The stone was thick, but the creature inside could suddenly feel the urge to breathe, and a lurch of panic caused a ripple through its body.

The magicka surged, a painful jerk of half-formed thoughts reflecting back through the chrysalis. Perhaps he could have believed he was dreaming if not for the sensation, and somehow, inside of his prison, the boy managed to roar out; a gutteral, muffled noise of a deep bear's gravel and a lion's resonance. His ears rang and his head throbbed, and for the first time in cycles, he was *awake*.

He thrashed against the confines, a small crack crawling through the obsidian. It was not enough to free him, but the proverbial water was rising around him: panic.

As fear hit the sleeping giant, he had to scramble for a solution. The obsidian prison was hard and thick and he felt as though he would suffocate in the endless darkness. He needed time to think, time to do anything with the pressure the void consuming him. He had awoken from his slumber into an unholy nightmare, and no one was there to save him.

He tried again on instinct to use his magicka, to buy more time. His head split with the effort, unfocused energies pulling from his gemstone in unfocused bursts. He clawed again at the shell that surrounded him, though the weight of the fluid in his chrysalis slowed him. The sound came-- nails on obsidian--as distorted screeching out from behind the stone.

The crack grew bigger, but the obsidian remained stalwart to the wall.

The lion-bear pushed against his confines. He had to break free. At this point, there was nothing else he could rely on other than his raw strength. The strength of his father, the will power of his mother. The love of his family-- would they be waiting for him, outside of the endless darkness?

He didn't have time to devote to a mental breakdown. His eyes were shut tight against the black, and he surged his muscles, pushing as hard as he could against the obsidian that trapped him.

Finally, the stone gave way with a thunder crack, shattering into razor sharp pieces as he collapsed on to the cold stone of the Pisces's den. The sharp edges snagged on his thick fur, but the fluid in the chrysalis surged, and like a wave, pushed the shards away from him as he lay dazed on the ground. There was a hiccup as he gulped in a breath, shivering against the sudden brisk breeze on his fur.

He was alive.

Somehow, he didn't particularly feel alive. He sputtered, ears laying back as he took a long moment to just draw in breath, sides heaving. He was exhausted. All that effort... He didn't quite have the strength to get to his paws. Already his sense of hunger was grumbling in his stomach, but the thought of lumbering out into the snow just outside of his small den was enough to send another shiver down his spine. Oof.

With a grunt, he shoved himself up to sitting, and started to lick at the wet in his fur. Best to get dry, first, and then... Consider braving the cold.

Close by, whiskers trembling as his nose worked, crouched a rat. It wasn't one of the big, rough, shaggy cave rats, but rather a smaller, sleeker thing, all chocolate brown and bright black eyes.

Archimedes was watching Baroque's den, barely able to see the creature hatching within--again, he surmised; the thing didn't look like a child--and wondering what he could do about it. He had plans--things he wanted, things to do--and it was quite possible that a creature such as Baro could be helpful to him.

And by the looks of him, the creature needed help in turn. But Archimedes wasn't quite sure what he could offer, and so he sat, thinking.

After a long wait, watching the creature lie in the half-hidden shadows (Archimedes knew he'd not have seen him, if it weren't for the thrashing movements and the crack that had initially drawn his attention), he began to come forward. A bouncing bound, a skittering over cold snow (oh how he hated that cold underfoot) and then he sat up a bit outside the den. Up close, it was clearer that the bear-beast was indeed lethargic, but the rat wasn't about to risk it. He kept a few yards off, eyeing Baroque calculatively, before speaking.

"Have you been asleep, my friend?" he asked; "You appear weary. If you are hungry, perhaps I could scout some food for you, so you needn't wander so far--if you can tell me what you eat?"

He did his best to sound helpful, attentive, polite; internally that was not quite the case, but he wanted, at least, to appear to be selfless to this creature.

@Baroque