I wanted to work on my gem au series, but then i got distracted by school, schoolwork, and the beautifully tragic characters of Hollow Knight. Whoops.
Enjoy!
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Life…
Life a strange thing.
It's when something gains a consciousness, when it can move and make decisions and respond to outside stimuli. No one can truly pinpoint when life begins, only that it is there.
They do not know when theirs begins. There is no moment when they take a breath, open their eyes, and live. No, the beginning is a quiet, drifting thing. It is calm and soft, and they have to do nothing but wait. It's a good way to start.
Except… it doesn't stay.
They shift in their soft confinement, comfortably curled into themself. They could stay here forever.
Outside there's a sound. Sounds. It's many, it's sharp, and it jars them to wake a bit. What is shaking this peaceful, still-waiting calm from them?
A thump.
Another, paired with a crack.
Again, and again, with ever-increasing frequency. They pierce through the silence. Something stirs within them, a tugging in their chest, and they squirm.
They don't want to leave this comfortable space. Not yet. They feel too fragile to break through it, so it can't be time. Besides, whatever is out there is loud and sudden. They don't know how they would handle the transition. Best to wait.
Then their space shakes, and a clatter sounds as something hits it. They startle. Nothing happens for a moment, but. Another thump, right above their head.
A crack forms.
Another thump. Another crack.
Again. Again.
Again.
They try to move back, but it's hard. Impossible. There's nowhere to go, the shell is going to break. They aren't ready to come out, they don't want to go out and see what is making those loud, crackling noises.
Finally, a piece breaks off. They didn't know how much the shell muffled until there was nothing between them and those cracks.
Sharp, loud, with whistles and scratching and what is that horrible screeching screaming?
Their chest beats and their hands scrabble for their head. It's a clumsy movement uselessly trying to block out what the shell protected them from, and they dare not move to see what's out there. No, no, they'd rather stay right here.
They cannot close their eyes or turn far, so when a white streak flies across the corner of their vision, they can't miss it. There are so many of them.
Another hits their broken shell, and they realize they're shaking. Why won't it stop? Stop the thumping, stop the flying white streaks. They are unsettled, their chest is beating so loud, the screeching and white streaks have only become more. Stop it. Stop it!
The hole becomes gapingly wide, and their shell rolls over with the force of another hit. With nowhere to go and nothing to hold, they tumble out.
The ground is so hard against their softness, coarse and rough. It scrapes against them, and they use weak, thin arms to lift themself. Their limbs are seizing from this thing that's rising in them.
The white streaks are falling from the sky all around, and as they hit the ground they shatter. Like the shell behind them, broken pieces are scattered everywhere.
They want to hide. Find a safe place and wait until the streaks stop and their body becomes the hard protection it should be.
Then a new sound arises. Not loud, not sharp, but undeniably there.
Come, vessels.
Within those words are commands the vessels cannot deny. Stand and follow. Be empty of mind and will, pure as Void can be. They are helpless to its whims and get up on wobbly legs. They make it two steps, then stumble.
Their head bounces on the stone. A ringing joins the chaos of noise. The call, however, rises above it all.
Come to me.
They stand again, take a few steps, and fall.
It becomes repetitive, and they enter some sort of daze as they follow the voice higher and higher. Over boulders and painful shards. Between other shells –eggs- and things like themself chasing the call. They painfully pull themself onto pillars, and uselessly try jumping to platforms.
Come to me.
They are, they are going as fast as their body will allow. But they are small, and soft, and not yet ready. They don't reach the platforms and often end up getting shoved aside.
The others are much more sure-footed. They seem to effortlessly find places in the stone to dig their tiny claws and kick themselves into the air with unfailing strength. Some have wings, thin and transparent, that give them an extra boost.
The vessel tries it themself, but they don't have wings, just this soft and smooth material that is only a bit away from reaching the ground. They can see others that are the same.
Longer, shorter, more panels, fewer. Their bodies are as black as the vessel's and heads just as round. They can only be distinguished by their heights and their horns. One can barely tell what is a wing and what is the material when it is folded closed.
Come to me.
Any thoughts of those who look like them –siblings- is pushed aside. They follow. They try to jump onto the next ledge but don't get too far. Then they spot some boulders close by and use them as stepping stones to progress.
Slowly but surely they get higher, closer to the voice. They can see a light, practically blinding them, and know that is both the source and their destination. It's higher still, but they must get to it.
There are no thoughts of 'why', no cares for the scratches and dents in their shell. They must follow.
As they get higher, they see more siblings. They see more white streaks too, and broken shards. Above them, one sibling has failed a jump to a boulder embedded in the wall. There is nothing to catch them, and the vessel realizes where the white streaks are coming from.
That means…
Come to me.
They don't want to go further. They are small and soft, and the path ahead has no ground. It is only pillars spaced too far apart, and jagged spikes inviting them to fall. They won't make it.
They start shaking again. Arms hug their sides and they try to dig their feet in.
Come to me.
They move without their permission and shake harder. It slows them enough to see another sibling fly past them.
No, no, they won't make it, they won't!
The edge creeps closer.
Stop! Stop!
They once more become aware of the snapping of heads and the screams of fear and pain.
They don't want to be a white streak! They don't want to be shattered pieces!
They reach the edge.
No, they don't want to fall! They don't want to die!
The voice, deaf to their pleas, commands, Come to me.
They jump. They fall.
Father!
Their scream echoes with all the others as they descend back into the dark.
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That was shorter than i was hoping, but hopefully it came out right!
Here's some of my notes for any who are curious:
How do I talk about the Vessels cloaks without calling them skin or wings? Because I doubt they hatch with clothes, so those must be attached to them somehow.
Wait. Their mom is the Root. What if… those cloaks are petals? Some Vessels grow wings that wrap around them, and some have petals.
That's it. That's cannon now.
Please leave a comment! Tell me what you think, i adore opinions and ideas! Thanks for reading and remember to sleep at least a few hours a night. Until next time!