Page 2

2

Kroaicho

On waking, the sound of my involuntary chittering resonates off the damp walls of my cave, and after a few stretches to be rid of the kinks crippling my movement, I run a claw down the side of the ancient case I've been scratching my back on lately.

To say that I am embarrassed will be underselling the sheer expanse of indignation I feel at the moment.

They have continued to taunt me.

I don't need to see my reflection to know that my pigmentation has changed. I should calm myself.

I cast a satisfied glance at the small pile of glittering, hardened, rarely found volcanic rocks to the side, and preen at the sight of them, taking pleasure in the endorphic rush that paints my skin yellow.

Braving the heights of Mount Rev'ercha to gain access to its lava pits and navigating those as well was no easy feat. Many zhasie preferred to hedge their risk by sticking to the cooled rocks that found their way to the banks of the expansive lava lake within the mountain, but a few of the more unhinged zhasie, that being myself for the most part, were more than happy to skip across the rock-littered mass of burning mountain to retrieve as much as one could carry from the more abundant rocks on the other side.

I pull out the best prize from where I tucked it before sleeping off the trials and insults of yesterday. A melted and reformed gemstone, its perfect, alluringly green, glittering depths pulling the eye in whirls of delight.

The pain in my muscles and the after effects of the red fear that pulsed through me making me feel slightly ill. I remember that final leap to get away from the whole thieving lot of them. It pushed me to my limits.

The other zhasie often weave tales, shouted from their cave entrances, that put my sanity into question. But they are the ones being odd.

Treasure is the ultimate goal. There is no risk not worth taking for this singular process, especially when there is a story to be remembered from the gathering. I certainly will never forget that leap, or the red fear and the orange triumph.

Remembering the stories behind the treasure are what give them value. It’s what makes them important, which is why so many are jealous of my hoard. The risks I take and the tales they tell only increase the significance.

They call me a fool, but I know it’s because they are jealous.

A gust of wind blows into the cave, quenching my mental tirade and forcing me to seek warmth behind my pile.

It also reminds me of the reason I am pouting in the first place, and almost immediately the glow of my skin turns a dark purple, taking on a more vivid than usual hue that does a proper job conveying just how annoyed I am with myself.

I look back to my most beautiful treasure, the green depths of it all but showing me the story of how I found it… but also reminding me of what I have neglected. The green mocks me in its beauty, pointing out my lack of zhannel.

Hoarding season has passed with a resounding success, but with that success came a failure I didn't even realize was a failure until I was in my cave watching the signs of the cold season trickle in.

I've entered hibernation season without securing an offspring of my own. Again.

It's not like I intended to go unmated, but my manic need to hunt for shiny things has taken precedence over something as inane as finding zhasie to collaborate with in bringing life.

This is not the first time this has happened though, nor the second, nor the third either, so even that excuse is lacking in more ways than acceptable to even my own mind.

My zhann would be berating me now if zha were here, calling me a fool for valuing the sparkle of synthetic materials over the biological imperative to reproduce. The thought of my zhann’s lectures sends a red hue rippling across my skin, but I shake it off. I don't need to be dwelling on those depressing thoughts now.

A skitter of movement catches my attention. A xhenl, bright flashes of blue thrumming over its trailing tendrils as it moves farther back into the cave. My limbs twitch with the desire to capture it, but once again I hear the words of my zhann.

Never keep pets. They only distract you from your true purpose .

I let out a long sigh, returning to berating myself. This hoard is large enough to have a zhannel and yet another season passes.

Deciding to put such grim reflections aside, I settle into my hoard, a sprawling collection of shiny rocks, leaves, and synthetic materials. My skin lights up the items around me with an orange glow, signaling my joy. It's a simple pleasure, to admire the bright things I've amassed. The value doesn't matter; it's the shine that counts.

Not many zhasie would agree, but thankfully, when you're of the first brood of a Primarch zha, many would be hard-pressed to try to convince you otherwise.

Even though there was no remedy for zhasie terming you insane.

I run a claw over a particularly lustrous piece of metal, feeling its smooth surface. It glimmers beautifully under the orange light of my bioluminescence.

Then I turn back to staring in the green, whirling depths of my favorite treasure.

The urge to gather things with a zhannel in mind tugs at me. The instinct to mate is fading now, but it will surge again after the long sleep.

Once I've taken care of that, I can be back here, alone, with my treasures.

A sudden noise from the entrance of my cave jolts me from my thoughts. I turn, my bioluminescent skin shifting to a wary blue. Standing there is a genali, their heavy-duty suit a stark contrast to the natural beauty of my hoard.

I know about them; even recluse like the zhasie have heard of their bloodthirsty campaigns across the system. Ever since the manticorid empire halted their own advancement, the genali have been quick to seize the opportunity to spread their disgusting, slime-covered presence.

The genali stands at the entrance of my cave, its bulbous, wet body coiled with tension. Its skin glistens in the dim light, reflecting an array of colors that rival my own bioluminescence. It has one of my shiny objects in its grasp, turning it over as if mocking my collection.

"What are you doing here?" I demand in its deplorable language, my voice a low growl. My skin flickers with shades of violet, my anger barely contained. None of their stories are worth hearing, though the longer I look, the more are whispered to me.

No. No story associated with them is worth collecting as treasure.

The genali tilts its head, its eyes locking onto mine. "Admiring your collection," it says smoothly, the words dripping with disdain. "Such a… peculiar hobby."

"This is my home, my sanctuary," I snap, the orange glow of joy replaced entirely by the dark purple of annoyance. "You have no right to be here."

The genali's lips curl wide. "You zhasie are so territorial. I merely wanted to see what you had that was so worth protecting."

"Get out," I say, my voice trembling with barely restrained rage. My bioluminescent skin flashes a warning pulse of deep purple. “You deserve none of the stories.”

The genali doesn't move. Instead, it reaches for another of my treasures, a particularly beautiful piece of synthetic material. The sight of it in the genali's grasp sends a surge of fury through me, my skin now a bright violet.

"I said, get out!" I roar, my muscles tensing as I prepare to lunge.

The genali finally drops the object, but not before giving it a disdainful toss. It clatters against the cave wall, causing me to tense. The genali steps back, still watching me with that infuriating smirk.

"No."

More genali step into my cave, their ugly eyes scanning my hoard. I hiss, my skin flashing an angry light purple. More of them swarm in, each one trampling over my precious collection. Rage bubbles up inside me as they start destroying my hoard, smashing my shiny treasures under their heavy boots.

"You filthy slimes!" I roar, my voice echoing through the cave. "Get out of here!"

But they don't listen. Instead, they continue their rampage, tearing apart the collection I've spent years building. My anger surges, and I lunge at the nearest genali, my massive arms swinging. I feel a satisfying crunch as my fist connects with its helmet, but it doesn’t go down. Instead, more of them surround me, their suits glinting menacingly under the dim light.

I rear up on my back limbs, letting my front limbs dangle for a moment before launching into the fray. My hands grab, tear, and crush, but there are too many of them. Formidable as my physiology is, it's not enough against their numbers and their protective suits.

Desperation fuels me as I release a high-pressure mist from my snout, a rarely used secretion meant to make other species sleep. It's my best defense, but the genali are immune to it. Their suits shield them from my misting secretions, and instead of them falling asleep, I start feeling dizzy from the effort.

I pump more and more mist into the air, hoping to overwhelm them, but it's draining me quickly. My vision blurs, and I stumble, my body weakening. The genali close in, their hands grabbing at me, pinning me down.

I fight back with all I have, but it's not enough. They are too many. One of them strikes me hard across the head, and I feel my consciousness slipping away. The last thing I see before everything goes black is my hoard, my beautiful, shiny hoard, being trampled under their feet. The glittering green of my latest treasure fading.