Page 33 of Emerald

"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 maori 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 akoru, a spiral that symbolizes new life and growth. Another is ahei matau, a fishhook pattern representing strength and good fortune. I work on a third, amanaia, 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.

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