The black Kyanite had grown, a weave of organic-looking streaks raising in lines along its surface. And it had, over time, become Oiled. This one was not small, though it wasn't overly large yet: the child within had a great deal of growth ahead.

Pressure and time had built, as if to compress carbon to diamond, until awareness rose from the chaotic depths of Oil and the child within opened glowing eyes. Suffocation. An unpleasant realization, as lungs drew in too early, inhaling only fluid.

What might later become massive limbs were, for now, small and stunted--dense, yes, but comparatively weak when trying to crack through stone. The chrysalis's surface was opaque, so the child within saw nothing of the world outside.

Oberon only knew that he was trapped. Fear, gurgling, clawing--the rasp of keratin across rock. A struggle and a drowning. He fought, only the slimmest cracks opening in the stone, though at least the Oil began to leak away.

What a monumental struggle, despite only being a cub trapped in stone.

@Tema

Tema had been here. She had been here through the eternal seconds that passed, followed by the hours and the days. How long had it been now since her children should have hatched? Her ears pricked at every sound, her eyes flicked about the hole catching nothing but glimpses of voidlight off the floor. No cracking, no movement. The whispers even seemed quiet for a while, as if the whole cave waited with bated breath for something. She set her nose upon the altar, seeking comfort she knew she would not find. They needed to hatch soon. Tema did not want to know the consequences if they did not.

She was unaware at first, as her child struggled within its stone. The youngest of the batch, her gifted child, was already overtaking her own. While its elder siblings slept soundly, if they could even be called elder now, it was... drowning. The first to wake and the first to fail, how humourous she would find it if only she knew.

And then it scratched. And then it cracked. No more than a hairline fracture appeared in the stone, and she jumped to her feet, ready to tear away that wretched stone and- Wait. The word rang through her mind like a warning more than a command. She wanted nothing more than to help it, to release her child from its prison into the oily pool at its feet, to welcome it readily into the arms of chaos. But chaos was not kind. It was unpredictable. As unpredictable as their late hatching, as the youngest, not even her own, taking the lead in the race that would be their lives. As unpredictable as the strength of their stones. It had to have the strength to escape. It needed to be motivated, to be strong. It was of no use otherwise, and so she waited, paw still raised and eyes locked on that tiny fracture.

@Oberon (Feel free to add interjections at any point from Chaos, of course <3)

The cub within the chrysalis floundered. The oversized horns atop his head--horns that were formed of gemstone, calcified in their ludicrous comparative size--would be (should he survive) proportionate at adulthood. For now, they were a horrific handicap, a weight that dragged him back and dropped him back into the drowning muck.

That muck was Oil, infused with Chaos, and it already seeped through his veins; sudden vicious violence roiled through him. Anger, hatred, flickers of battles and war in imagery he didn't understand but which spiked emotions high. What had been terror became rage as the little cub lashed against the gemstone crack.

Were he fully grown, the eruption from shattering Kyanite, and its subsequent roar, would have been impressive. But in this case, what Tema would see was an oversized paw with black claws rip and tear at the gap and open it, and then a cub with heavy horns weighing down his head: a cub that tumbled out gracelessly into an Oily puddle, his 'roar' a choking, high-pitched keening filled with anger. It was a rather awful sound that only a baby bear could make.

Oberon didn't see Tema, at first; he didn't see anything, instead hunched over and choking up Oil as his lungs drew in their first real breaths. His eyes only opened, blinking the goop away, after a moment of this, squinting around. He glanced at Tema, then turned, savagely (almost comically, given his size and clumsiness) attacking the remains of his chrysalis as though he hadn't yet really noticed her. His first priority was teaching this rock a lesson.

@Tema

She waited, paw still raised and breath still held for what seemed like another eternity as claws, tiny compared to hers, pierced through the crystalline shell. They were dark, and Tema felt a fondness grip her heart as Chaos' influence on her child became evident. He escaped and she gasped, eyes wet with emotions she could not yet place. Pride, as her cub whirled around only to punish its captor. Joy, an overwhelming swell of it that dropped her paw back to the cave's oil-slick floor. The horns, the fangs, the oil, the viscous nature; he was exactly what she had asked for. A soldier, or so he would become.

"Quite the show you put on there." She did not coo, her children were above the baby-talk, but she did speak kindly to the cub as she admired the work of her Master, of her friend. A lovely gift, he was. His hatching was not much different from her own, a clumsy tumble onto damp ground. It was bittersweet to think of, but the present was, for once, much more pressing than the past. "I am your Mother, little soldier." She offered no other name, not yet, not wanting to confuse it so early in life. She wondered if it had already seen the visions, in its slumber. Would Chaos reveal itself to her firstborn so soon? As if the thought itself was enough to transform her, Tema's face began to feel wet. She had almost thought she was bleeding until she saw it: oil, white in the void-light, a message from her Master. She had done well, and finally, her efforts were being rewarded. At least one child made it.

She would have to give him a name, to introduce himself properly. Had he already found one? Tema's name came to her sometime after hatching, but this was her child, not a child of the caves. "Have you named yourself so soon? I would like to give you one, to present you properly." She dipped her nose down, nudging and licking to clean up his unkempt fur; an impossible task for a grizzly. She wanted to talk more, to tell him about how important this place was and how important of a task she had for him, but it was much too soon.

@Oberon

The shadows in the room thickened.

Whether it was response to the Chaos child's birth, or the sudden snap-into-place of the grip of Chaos upon the mother bear, or perhaps a bit of both, could not be known. But that oppressive, claustrophobic press of heat and whispers crowded in, seeming to hold both bears firmly in place as those disembodied voices filled their skulls.

The words were like bees: buzzing, angry, yet incoherent: a whirling, crowded cloud of chaos. It was impossible to make them out. It was impossible to focus on anything but them. With them came visions; nothing exceptional, though to a creature of chaos, welcome all the same: violence and victory, bloodthirsty triumph. Visions of war, to accompany the urging whispers.

Then--it faded, dimming gradually back to the quiet, ominous murmur the Hole generally played host to. It was no message. Maybe an acknowledgment. Or maybe a recognition of like-to-like, a resonant frequency of madness.

The little cub had inherited Sergei's... savagery, maybe, or stupidity--simplicity, if one were kind; it remained to be seen which it might be. He dropped to all fours, turning in a clumsy cub's shuffle to peer at Tema. Maybe he was just young: maybe that's why he had to struggle to think over what she was saying.

Her praise, such as it was, which ignited a fierce pride inside him. Then whiplash, confusion, as he recognized "mother" and attempted to parse meaning from the sounds. It was... a bond. He felt that truth; it meant a bond. He did not feel a bond, just yet, but he understood the meaning. Tentative loyalty threaded into the place that it might one day fill. And... name?

The cub shook his head once, as if to clear it--to find an answer--and then came the whispers, the crowding smoke, to fill his brain before he could acknowledge. He bawled angrily, swiping at the air, both irritated at its sound and claustrophobic nature and annoyed at the sensation of being trapped. He tried to turn, to attack behind him (there was nothing there); and either down to childish clumsiness or the press of power around him, he fell on his rump, instead. The massive weight of his currently oversized horns tipped him backward, but he managed to correct, landing on his side.

By the time the chaos had cleared, he was mostly up again, looking to Tema with that same feral ferocity. His voice came in a tiny, high-pitched growl. "Name," he echoed to her, and if that wasn't clear, he added: "Good one."

He was requesting one from her, then, or acknowledging her authority to grant it to him. And demanding one that suited his very tiny power.

@Tema

Tema watched patiently as he processed, twisting to view her better and shaking away the brain fog that came with hatching. She had been lost and confused when she woke from her chrysalis again after an unexpected slumber, and she knew that the best remedy was time. Time and food, which she would very soon teach him to hunt. All that raw emotion needed to be channelled, honed into something more productive.

The room began to swell, and she could feel her connection to the Void grow stronger as it did. One last hopeful prayer before the hatching of her child had been answered, and she could feel the change under her skin. Tema inhaled the smoke greedily, letting it choke her senses and heat her lungs. It was nothing compared to some of the shows she had been given, but it was an acknowledgment. A reminder that It was there, that It had seen him. A reminder of their task. Visions of battles, of war and blood and sweet Chaos. All the things that her child would bring to life outside of visions and dreams. The oil that had begun to leak from her felt like more than the slow dropping of tar now, a steady stream of warmth seeping into her fur and crowding the edges of her vision. She smiled, and the oil found its way to her lips, staining every strand of fur it crawled along.

The cub recovered well from the interruption, and she wondered if his angry swipes were in response to the visions or in denial of its calling. Only time, and her influence, would tell. For now, he was demanding of her. Was that right? There was no question in the statement, no room for argument in the cub's attempt at a growl. She felt a swell of pride, barely overshadowing the annoyance that sat in her throat. He would learn when to use this voice, she scolded herself. "Yes, a good one. A strong one." She agreed, licking her lips clean as she thought. The taste of it was different than that of rotting lessers and corrupted magic, almost like it made her hungrier despite settling just as thick in her belly.

A good name, a strong name. A name fit for a soldier, but better. He was the first of her litter, the first of her army. He would become the role model, and be responsible in her absence. He needed to be a leader. A king. "Oberon." The word came to her as soon as she looked into his little eyes, full of fire. "You have so much ahead of you, my little soldier. But for now, are you hungry?" She could feel her own stomach tumbling, having sat around so much oil for so many long days. She would let him collect himself if he needed it, allow him to ask his questions and balance his disproportional horns, and then his training would begin.

@Oberon (I'm kicking my feet reading your Oberon posts, the little menace!)

It was hard for a tiny cub to hold onto the savage authority he'd mustered (all an act, one that would've been so easily crumbled by the snarl of this Mother of his), while at the same time trying to figure out what all these new sounds meant.

Soldier.

Hungry.

Oberon.

These were the ones that resonated, and as he hesitated--princely viciousness battling with childlike confusion--he repeated that last one. "Oberon." His pronunciation was clumsy. Tongue and teeth stumbled on these new obstacles, these syllables and sounds he'd never uttered, but which came to him nonetheless.

Then 'soldier' and 'hungry' fought for dominance. He wanted to be the first one. He already was the second one; he could feel it, though he didn't truly know it, yet. But he felt that first sting and stir of a biting in his gut, and he shook himself and growled (more a high-pitched stutter) at the sensation.

"I am. Hungry," he agreed, struggling to make it a single sentence. "I'm hungry." Glowing eyes closed as he focused on the words--then opened, glaring, trusting, demanding, at Tema. Oberon took two stumbling steps toward Mother, ready to follow her to...

...well, to wherever they were going.

hehehe i'm GLAD, he's a li'l shit-

@Tema

Her cub.

It was a strange thought to her still, that this little ball of fluff and fury was hers, so eager to prove itself. He processed things slowly, as all young ones did, and her focus drifted both solemn and scornful toward her unhatched brood. It gave her a focus, she supposed. Unfortunately for the cub, he would prove to be a test of her abilities before his siblings awoke. It was not that she intended this disquieting thought -- she would give her all when it came to pleasing the void -- but Tema's only experience with children had been when she was one. She was trusting, naive, and she would have to use that trust to show her Oberon the right path.

A smile settled on her face as Oberon declared himself hungry, as much a question as it was both a demand and a statement; never just one way to understand his words. (A politician.) She was uncertain how she would feel about raising a gembound, but now? Oh, she was eager. Eager to teach, to watch, to learn. He stepped towards her easily, not afraid of her hulking size compared to his own, ready to follow. It would be the perfect first lesson, a crash-course introduction to chaos.

"Well, we can't have that!" She laughed, turning from her disappointments towards the literal light at the end of the tunnel. She began to ascend out of the voidlight, listening for tiny paw steps and trusting that they would not be far behind. "It's time to put those teeth of yours to work, don't you think?"

@Oberon (this can be an exit, or continue into the tunnel to find something small to crunch on- I'm more than welcome to move to an Eridanus thread as well)

Teeth.

The word resonated, and he became suddenly aware of his teeth. Thick but still forming. Sharp. Strong. He bared them, gnashed them, and considered them, before acknowledging Tema's words with another too-heavy nod, his horns nearly toppling him to the ground.

Then he was up, stumbling, staggering. He followed, assuming she would lead, shaking himself and huffing a baby-bear sound in annoyance at this whole 'effort' thing. Movement. Balance. Thinking. All of it was a challenge, but that gnawing in his gut pushed him onward.

"Teeth," he agreed, and his growl would've been guttural if it wasn't so young--almost a squeak.

exit Oberon?
@Tema
SO sorry for the delay, and I'm fine with whatever!