Page 46 of Emerald

I shake my head and continue the drawing, forcing myself to focus. The pattern is complex, a blend ofkorushapes representing new life, and thick bold lines that twist and intertwine like vines. As I work, the irritation bubbling inside me, both from being stuck here and from the damned physical reaction I can't seem to shake, begins to dull.

I've never felt this before. I've lived my entire life thinking I was aromantic, never once feeling the pull of attraction or desire that everyone around me seemed to experience so easily. After my mother got sick just after my high school homecoming, I didn't even have time to think about it. Taking care of her became my world, and I had no interest in anyone else. I just assumed that was my life.

But now, on this alien planet, with Kroaicho hovering around me, I'm suddenly dealing with feelings I don't fully understand. Arousal. Curiosity about my kidnapper. Stockholm syndrome in space up next?

Great.

A part of me feels… intrigued, even thrilled by the sudden awakening, but most of me is just frustrated. I only really tried sex before because I was curious and it was the “normal” thing to want.

Of course, this would happen now, when I'm stuck in a cave with an alien captor. My life couldn't get more fucked up if it tried.

I let out a huff, dragging the stick harder against the cave floor, and mutter under my breath, "This is just bloody brilliant, isn't it? Trapped on an alien planet, my body doing god-knows-what, and the only other sentient being I have to talk to is a glow-in-the-dark creep. Fantastic."

The scratching of the stick against the dirt is soothing, though. The more I focus, the more the world around me fades away. It's like the drawings pull me into a trance, blocking out everything—Kroaicho, the cave, the weird sensations creeping through my body. I can forget for a moment that I'm trapped here, that my life has taken a sharp left turn into insanity.

I'm so deep in concentration that I don't notice Kroaicho moving until it's right beside me.

"Fuck!" I jolt, dropping the stick as I whip my head toward it. The alien has crept up on all six limbs, now crouching just a few feet away. It halts in place, its eyes wide, skin flickering between red and dark purple. The startled look on its face would almost be funny if my heart wasn't hammering in my chest.

"What the hell, Kroaicho?" I snap, giving it a scorching look.

Its skin pulses again, this time a deeper shade of purple, clearly picking up on my irritation. With a soft huff, it drops down into a sitting position a few feet away, its limbs folding neatly under its body.

"Apologies," it mutters, its voice unusually low. "I did not mean to startle you."

I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline. "Yeah, well, maybe don't sneak up on people like that."

Kroaicho remains silent for a moment, its glowing eyes fixed on me before they flick downward to the floor where my drawing lies half-finished. "What… is that?" it asks after a long pause, its tone laced with curiosity.

I blink at the question, thrown off by the sudden shift in topic. For a second, I consider snapping back, but something about the genuine confusion in its voice makes me hold my tongue. Instead, I follow its gaze to the drawing, realizing I've run out of inspiration to keep going. Once I lose focus, getting back into that mental space is nearly impossible.

I sigh and lean back on my hands. "It's… a drawing," I say simply, figuring there's no harm in explaining.

"A drawing?" Kroaicho repeats, sounding even more confused. "Why?"

I frown at the question, unsure how to explain something that feels so fundamental to me. "I don't know… because it's what I'm good at. I wanted to be an artist before all this." I wave vaguely around me, gesturing to the cave and the general mess that is my life right now.

Kroaicho tilts its head, the purple hue fading slightly from its skin. "An artist. What is that?"

Of course, the alien wouldn't understand. I purse my lips, thinking for a moment before rephrasing. "It's someone who makes… treasures." That seems like a simpler way to explain it.

Kroaicho's eyes narrow, as if it's trying to puzzle out the meaning of my words. "Why not just find them?" it asks, the concept of creating something seemingly foreign to it.

I let out a soft laugh, despite myself. "Because it's more fun to create than to find."

It shakes its head, clearly not convinced. "There is no greater joy than discovery. To find something long lost, something rare and precious. That is true fulfillment."

I raise an eyebrow, unable to argue too much. "I guess you're not wrong. But why make that your only purpose?”

“Because of the Sundering,” it chitters back. “We moved to caves to survive, but we still needed to salvage the remaining treasures of our civilization. I only know of that because of the treasure story passed on to me by my zhann. Treasure is a means of reclaiming something that might be otherwise unappreciated and respecting the value of that story.”

“Huh,” I say, caught off guard by how… interesting that sounds. It challenges everything I’ve thought of about possessions. “But what does that have to do with me? With me as part of your hoard?”

“You are the most beautiful of it and your story is unique,” it responds. “Your story is still being told, not like the rest of my hoard.”

I blink, then blink again, absorbing what it is communicating, trying to bridge the gap between what I thought it has been saying and this new explanation. I look at the rocks surrounding us, but I can’t imagine much of a story for them besides them sitting around.

Instead, I try to think of an item attached to my own memories, and it doesn’t take long. “I always liked looking for these swirling purple shells on the black beaches near my childhood home." The memory slips out before I can stop it, a bittersweet pang following close behind.

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