Page 10

10

Olivia

I keep my gaze fixed on the rippling water as I continue to wash, trying to focus on the coolness against my skin rather than the unnerving presence of Kroaicho behind me. At least my throat is no longer raw with thirst.

The dim, bluish light from the glowing rocks beneath the water casts an ethereal glow on the cave walls, creating dancing shadows that almost distract me from the weight of the creature's stare. Almost.

I need to think. There has to be a way out of this mess. Maybe, just maybe, I can convince this… creature… to let me go. I pause at that thought, scrubbing my arm absently as I mull it over. The way it moves, the way it speaks—everything about it is so… alien. It’s so fucking huge and scary it just screams male, but I’m too angry with it to let it turn into a person.

My mind lands back on it with satisfaction and anger.

Then I feel guilty for some reason. Then angry. Frustration bubbles up, and I let out a huff, letting that line of thought die a natural death. It's a waste of time trying to pin it down with human concepts.

Instead, I go back to my original idea. Maybe I can reason with it. I've seen hints of rationality behind those unnerving eyes, those oddly hooked, slitted pupils that narrow and widen with each passing emotion. It can speak. It understands.

I still don’t know what it wants, which has me on edge. Humans are confusing as hell, but one constant remains. Everyone always wants something. Homework, taxes, someone to admit they are lesser than them. Someone to torment or someone to make them feel better about themselves because they are trying to “fix” you.

I just need to figure out what it wants.

Surely that means there's some logic buried in there somewhere, right? But then I remember the way it referred to me as its property, and I grimace. I catch myself rubbing my arm a bit too hard, the skin turning red under my nails.

My gaze drifts toward Kroaicho for a moment, and I catch it watching me. Its eyes—those strange, unblinking, almost-too-large eyes—are tracing my curves. I can't help but roll my eyes. Typical. At least that much I recognize. "Enjoying getting an eyeful?" I snap, sarcasm dripping from every word.

So much for pulling out logic. I roll my eyes at myself, but I’m still too angry to push past the snark.

Kroaicho blinks slowly, its bioluminescent skin shifting to a soft shade of blue. The color pulses, faint and almost pretty in the low light—a thought I immediately stomp down with a mental boot. I don't have time to find anything about this thing “pretty.” It shifts its gaze to my face, looking genuinely puzzled. "Eyeful?" it repeats, voice a low, rumbling growl that echoes slightly in the cavern. "I do not understand. How can one's eyes be full? Is that why you rotate them?”

It shudders for some unknown reason when it says it.

I feel an eyebrow twitch in frustration. So much for my attempt at teasing. "You know, for supposedly intelligent sentient life, you're pretty slow on the uptake. Ever heard of wit? The holy grail for your species, I’m sure."

I look around for a sharp rock and start hacking off the long green hair, taking out my frustration on it.

Kroaicho’s blue deepens to a darker shade, and I see its brow furrow slightly. "Wit," it says slowly, testing the word like it's tasting it for the first time. "I know this. But you speak of it as if it is…somehow precious?" It tilts its head, genuinely perplexed. "What does wit have to do with treasure?"

I blink, my mouth opening and closing for a second as I process that. Holy crap, it actually knows what wit is? Then I realize it must have picked up the term from me or somewhere else, but doesn't understand the reference. It's hard to remember sometimes that I'm talking to an alien, not another human.

It’s still blowing my mind that its speaking English, and getting better and better at it. It’s unsettling.

I let out a breath, trying to stay patient. "It's just a saying we have back on Earth. 'Holy grail' means something treasured, something everyone wants."

Kroaicho's eyes widen slightly, and its skin glows a more vibrant blue. "Treasure…" it murmurs, the word rolling off its tongue like it's savoring it.

Then it switches to its own language. "How does one acquire this treasure of wit?"

I pause, a new thought forming in the back of my mind. This thing values treasure? That makes sense with all of the “hoard” mutterings. Maybe there's a way to exploit that. But for now, I play it off.

When I open my mouth to reply, there is a sharp pain for a moment and then I’m making the same odd chittering sound it does. "Well—”

Its skin flares a brilliant orange after the first word of its language. “You also learn languages like zhasie do?”

“Not before I was taken,” I admit, mind still fucked that these clicks and chitters actually mean something.

“Anyway,” I click out tersely in its odd language, “you can't just get wit. It's more like… you have it or you don't. It's about being quick on your feet. Making clever remarks. You know, saying things that make people think."

Kroaicho's brow furrows even deeper, and I can see it struggling to piece together what I'm saying. "I… see. So, wit is both a treasure and a state of being?"

I can't help but laugh, the sound echoing off the cave walls. "Sure, let's go with that. It's a treasure and a state of being. You're catching on."

It nods in a slow, deliberate motion. "And how does one know if they possess wit?"

This is ridiculous. I shake my head, feeling a smile tug at the corners of my lips despite myself. "Usually, people with wit don't have to ask if they have it. It's pretty self-evident."

The creature's face twists slightly, its bioluminescent skin flashing a brief purple before settling back to blue. "Self-evident." It nods again, as if deep in thought. "This seems… inefficient. There would be guessing and some of those would be wrong. So how could it be self-evident?"

I bark out another laugh. "Inefficient? Seriously? You have a lot to learn about humans. I go through all of my life guessing."

It tilts its head again, eyes narrowing slightly. "Indeed. Your kind seems very perplexing. You use many words to convey simple ideas. Some of them contradictory."

I smirk. "Being steady and clear would be boring. Life's too short to be boring."

Kroaicho's eyes narrow further, and I can see the confusion etched into every line of its alien features. "Your lifespan is short, yet you choose to complicate it further? This does not seem wise."

I roll my eyes again. "Yeah, well, wisdom's overrated. And besides, some of us prefer to enjoy life, not just survive it."

I cringe, hoping it doesn’t recognize my bravado. As if I would leave my room if I could get away with completely shutting myself away forever.

The creature falls silent for a moment, its eyes fixed on me in that unnerving, unblinking way. I can't tell if it's pondering my words or just trying to figure out if I've gone mad. The truth is, it's probably a bit of both.

We lapse into a tense silence, and I go back to washing myself, hoping the cool water will help clear my head. I'm not sure what's worse—the conversation or the fact that I'm actually starting to feel like I'm getting through to it, even if just a little.

"You speak of enjoyment," Kroaicho says suddenly, breaking the silence. "Is this a human form of treasure? For us, the treasure is what brings the enjoyment."

I sigh, deciding to play along. "Sure, why not? Enjoyment is a kind of treasure too. Different from wit, but valuable in its own way."

Its eyes flicker with a hint of understanding. "Many treasures exist among your kind."

"Yep. Wit, enjoyment, freedom… the list goes on." I feel a pang of something sharp in my chest as I say that last word, my mind drifting back to my initial thoughts. Freedom. Now there's a treasure I'd give anything for right now.

Kroaicho's head tilts again, more sharply this time, like a bird of prey zeroing in on its target. "Freedom," it echoes, voice softer, almost contemplative. "Another treasure. But this one you do not possess."

I stiffen, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise. "Not yet," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "But I will."

It stares at me for a long moment, and I can see a strange flicker in its eyes—curiosity, maybe, or something else I can't quite place. Then it shakes its head, almost like it's shaking off a thought. "This is… confusing," it mutters, more to itself than to me. “Where is the story in that?”

"Well, welcome to my world," I say dryly as I try to figure out what it means about a story. "You think you're the only one confused here?"

It gives me that same odd look, and I see the color on its skin start to shift again, a gradient of blue swirling over its skin and between the spikes jutting from its shoulders.

“You are confused also,” it chitters slowly.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I retort.

I’m feeling more and more desperate to know with each passing moment.

“Nothing,” it chitters back, limbs twitching, lighting up blue. “You are here to shine.”

“What the fuck does that even mean? Don’t lie to me. Just say it,” I chitter back, unsure of how I know that the clicks I’m adding mean I’m angry.

Swirls of red join the blue and it gets even twitchier. “Perhaps it is better to be… elsewhere."

I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I've seen that look before, the way its eyes dart around, the way its skin flares slightly. I have a hunch about what it means, and I can't let this conversation end like this. Not when I'm starting to get somewhere.

"Hey, hey!" I blurt out, trying to keep its attention. "You're not leaving already, are you? What's wrong? Too much wit for one day?"

It glances back at me, and I swear I see a flicker of something like annoyance in its eyes. "It is not wit that confounds me," it says slowly. "It is… you."

I narrow my eyes at that, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I’ve heard a version of it my whole life, but for some reason it feels like even more of an insult from such a lumbering alien oaf.

Kroaicho looks me over once more, but this time its gaze is different—more hesitant, more guarded. "You are… unpredictable," it says finally. "This is unsettling."

I feel a smirk tug at my lips. "Well, get used to it. That's just how I roll."

“Is that a method of conveyance?” it asks.

“No. I mean that is how I operate. My main state of being,” I tell it.

“Unpredictable?”

“Yes,” I say, my chittering firm, though I’m lying.

I’m pretty simple, actually. I like peace and long stretches of quiet. Not a whole lot matters more than that. But I can be unpredictable if that’s what gets under its stupid light-up skin.

It watches me for another long moment, its skin flashing with an almost imperceptible glow. Then it turns away, its muscles tensing as if preparing to leave. "I will be… elsewhere," it says, sounding flustered.

And just like that, it starts to move away, the tension in its posture clear as day. I get the feeling it's more confused than ever—by me, by this whole situation. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe.

It's a crack in the armor I can use.

I watch it leave, a thousand new thoughts swirling in my mind. The water ripples around me as I stand there, my body still half-submerged, but my brain already working on a new plan. If I'm going to get out of here, I'll need every bit of wit and every ounce of treasure I can muster.

Freedom. Yeah, I'm coming for you. Just wait and see.

***

The water is cold against my skin, a numbing chill that keeps me alert even as I scrub the last of the grime from my arms. My bath is done, and I've stretched my time as long as I can without drawing suspicion. The glowing rocks beneath the surface flicker softly, like underwater stars, casting shifting patterns on the cave walls. I can feel Kroaicho's presence behind me before I see it. There's a slight tremor in the water, a shift in the air that prickles the back of my neck. I turn, squinting against the darkness, and there it is—its towering, shadowy form looming over the dimly lit cave.

"Finished?" its voice rumbles out, echoing in the space. I give a curt nod, biting back a retort. No point in pushing it any further right now. It steps forward, its bioluminescent skin pulsing a dull, steady blue—a sign of calmness, or at least neutrality, if I've interpreted its moods right.

Without another word, it grabs me by the arm—not harshly, but firm enough that I know better than to resist. We make our way back to the enclave, the cave twisting and turning like a stone labyrinth. My feet, still slick with water, slip a little on the wet stone, but I manage to keep pace. Kroaicho is quiet, its focus seemingly elsewhere, muttering under its breath in that guttural language of its kind. I only catch fragments, words like “treasure”, “centerpiece”, and “hoard”, but I don't bother deciphering its gibberish. I'm more concerned with my current state—trapped, cold, and plotting a way out.

When we reach the cave from before, Kroaicho releases my arm and, without a backward glance, turns to leave. "I will return," it growls, as it often does, as if I have any choice in the matter. Then it's gone, its heavy footsteps fading into the winding passages beyond.

I exhale, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. This bigger cave isn't much better than the bath cave—dark, and damp, with only the soft glow of bioluminescent mushrooms scattered around the walls to provide light. There's a larger cluster near where I'm sitting, their soft blue hues casting strange shadows across the ground and thankfully also the same heat as before. I find a patch of softer soil nearby and settle down, reaching for a sharp-edged rock.

I feel the numbers and the mind stutters wanting to push back up into my mind from where I shut them away. I need to keep my mind busy, so I resume drawing.

***

For hours, I've been etching out designs—small, intricate patterns reminiscent of the māori tattoos I memorized on Earth. I draw them small, not only to conserve space but also to test my ability to maintain detail. My fingers trace the lines, carefully carving them into the soil. Each drawing feels like a lifeline, a tether to a past life that seems so far away now.

One is a koru , a spiral that symbolizes new life and growth. Another is a hei matau , a fishhook pattern representing strength and good fortune. I work on a third, a manaia , the guardian symbol, with its beak-like curves and intricate inner swirls. The ground around me is slowly filling up with these tiny pieces of art, and as I finish the last one, I find myself staring at it for a long moment. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—I've just been sitting here on my behind like an idiot, completely unsupervised.

I freeze, a wave of embarrassment washing over me.

Stupid, Olivia. Really stupid.

Who knows how long Kroaicho will be gone? I could've used this time to plan, to escape. I glance around the darkened cave, my heart starting to pound. Now's as good a time as any.

I move quickly, scooping up several of the larger bioluminescent mushrooms. Their soft glow barely lights the way, but it's better than nothing. Holding them like a makeshift lantern, I pick a direction—any direction that isn't the one Kroaicho took—and start moving.

The cave air is cold and damp, the walls slick with moisture. Each step echoes in the emptiness, and I find myself straining to hear anything beyond my own breathing. The cave splits off into countless paths, some leading into narrow crevices, others opening into larger chambers filled with strange rock formations and more clusters of those glowing fungi. I keep moving, keeping my eyes peeled for anything that looks like an exit.

After what feels like an eternity of winding through the dark, I come across a part of the cave where the overhead stalactites drip consistently. The water trickles down, pooling onto sheets of rock that look almost like glass. I step carefully onto the slippery surface, testing my footing. The rock is smooth, wet, and incredibly treacherous. I take it slow, moving one foot after the other, keeping my balance steady.

Then I hear it—a faint skittering sound coming from somewhere to my left. My head whips in that direction, muscles tensing. Big mistake. My foot slips out from under me, and I'm sent sprawling onto the slick rock. Pain flares up as I roll across the jagged sheets, a dozen sharp edges cutting into my skin. I let out a yelp, instinctively reaching for something—anything—to stop my fall. My fingers catch on a crevice in the rock, and I cling to it desperately, hanging over what looks like a dark, bottomless chasm.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, and my fingers burn where they grip the rock. I look down, and a sick feeling twists in my stomach as I see one of the mushrooms I'd been holding slip from my grasp. It tumbles over the edge and falls, its bioluminescent light slowly swallowed by the blackness below. I swallow hard. I don't hear it hit bottom.

Okay. Deep breath. Focus.

I force myself to calm down, my heart hammering in my chest. I can't afford to freak out now. I painstakingly pull myself up, inch by inch, feeling my way along the rough surface. The rock cuts into my palms, blood trickling down my arms, but I grit my teeth and keep moving.

I finally manage to haul myself onto a smoother patch of rock, and I collapse against it, breathing heavily. My whole body is shaking, adrenaline coursing through my veins. But then I realize—there's no light. I've lost my last mushroom. I'm in total darkness.

Fear grips me, cold and sharp. I've always hated the dark—too many childhood nightmares, too many memories of being in new places.

The sound of skittering comes again, closer this time, echoing off the cave walls. My breath catches in my throat, and my mind races. I can't see it, but I can hear it—something moving, crawling, getting closer.

Panic sets in, my thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. I have to move, have to get away, but where? Which direction? My hands shake as I press them against the cold rock, trying to steady myself. The skittering is almost right on top of me now, a rapid clicking that sends a shiver down my spine. My breath comes out in short, shallow bursts, and I feel the walls closing in, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm me. Shut me down.

No. I can't lose it now. I bite down hard on my lip, forcing myself to think, to focus. I push the fear down, locking it away, and breathe deeply. The skittering noise grows louder, more insistent. My heart pounds in my ears. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the noise stops.

Silence. I stay still, barely daring to breathe, waiting for the next sound. When none comes, a shaky sigh escapes me. Relief floods in, and I feel a half-crazed giggle bubble up from my chest. I can't help it—after everything, after nearly dying, I'm here, alive. Somehow, that seems almost funny. My laughter echoes off the cave walls, a little wild, a little broken.

The adrenaline starts to drain away, leaving me feeling hollow and exhausted. I lean back against the rock, the darkness pressing in on all sides. My eyes are useless here, but my ears are still ringing from the tension, an ache that won't quite go away.

I don't know how long I spend laying there but it's long enough to cycle between pretty much all the emotions I've got on my emotional spectrum and once that's done, all that's left is extreme apathy.

As I lay there, a persistent, throbbing ache in my ears keeps me from fully relaxing. I shake my head slightly, trying to ignore it, but it only grows worse, like a pressure building inside my skull. I force my eyes shut tighter, praying for sleep to come, to escape this nightmare for just a little while. Eventually, mercifully, I feel myself slipping away, the darkness pulling me under.

Fuck it, if I'm dying here, I'm dying in my sleep.

There's no ceremony to the thought, just stony acceptance, and with that concluded, I close my eyes and let myself shut down. Maybe things will be clearer when I wake up—if I wake up.