Page 57 of Emerald

"Come on, Kroaicho," I say, rubbing my temples. "Why are you being so stubborn about this? I just need a bundle of dry sticks. You act like I'm asking you to fetch molten lava."

He remains silent, eyes narrowing slightly. I notice the faint hue of dark purple beginning to ripple through his violet skin—annoyance, no doubt. This entire conversation has been like pulling teeth, and I don't have the patience for it right now.

I stop talking, biting back the next sarcastic remark that's bubbling up my throat. Instead, an idea flickers in my mind. Slowly, I stand, brushing the dust from my backside. A glint catches in my eyes as I turn to face Kroaicho, and I watch as he shifts uneasily, clearly picking up on the sudden shift in my mood.

"You don't get it, do you?" I say, voice lowering. I begin to pace in front of the dead creature, gesturing with my hands like a storyteller about to weave an epic. "Fire, Kroaicho. Fire is more than just warmth or a way to cook. It's beauty. It's life. Do you know what it feels like to watch a flame dance? To hear the crackle as it devours wood, the glow it casts, the power it holds?"

Kroaicho stares at me, visibly perplexed. The blue of confusion flashes across his skin, but I don't let up. I'm gaining momentum now, and my words flowing faster.

“I know of fire and it is not special,” he says, but I ignore him.

"Fire," I continue, "is the heartbeat of survival. It's primal, yet it holds the essence of everything. Do you know what it feels like to sit beside a fire, the warmth seeping into your bones, to watch the flames flicker and twist, casting shadows that seem to breathe?"

I can feel the passion in my voice building, and I know I've got his attention now.

"It's not just about cooking, Kroaicho," I add, moving closer to him, my tone conspiratorial. "It's about control. About turning chaos into something beautiful, something… necessary. Fire is freedom. It's everything."

Kroaicho's expression has shifted, and I don't miss the way he leans slightly forward, curious despite his earlier reluctance. I press on, hoping to seal the deal.

"Imagine," I whisper, "how valuable fire could be. How much it could add to your collection? A living, breathing thing of beauty you can command. That's what sticks bring. That's what I need."

For a long moment, Kroaicho doesn't move. His massive arms remain crossed, but there's a flicker of light beneath his skin, the faintest glow of orange beginning to spread from his chest outward. Without a word, he lowers onto all six limbs and, with a sudden burst of energy, sprints out of the cave, his six limbs moving in unison like a machine.

I blink, stunned by the suddenness of his exit. It's so quiet now, the only sound is the gentle hum of the glowing mushrooms on the cave walls. I exhale slowly, a grin pulling at my lips. That worked a little too well.

Kroaicho's gone for only a surprisingly short amount of time before I hear the familiar sound of his claws clacking against the stone floor. I turn to see him re-entering the cave, a huge armload of sticks piled high in his arms. His skin is glowing brightly now, a mixture of white and orange, as he strides toward me with an excitement that I haven't seen before.

"These?" Kroaicho asks, dropping the sticks with a dramatic flair that sends a few tumbling and clattering across the cave floor, puffs of leaves falling more slowly.

I stare at the pile, momentarily speechless. "Uh, yeah. That… that's perfect, actually."

Kroaicho's face is lit up a bright yellow glow. I almost ask about the color, but decide I’m more hungry than curious.

"Good," he says, almost puffing out his chest. "Now… what's next?"

I suppress a laugh, nodding appreciatively at him. "Now," I say, reaching down to gather a few of the sticks, "we build the fire."

As I set to work arranging the sticks, Kroaicho settles beside me, clearly fascinated by the process. His tusks twitch with excitement, and I can't help but smile at how completely different he is compared to just a few minutes ago. I've never seen him this animated before.

"You seem awfully interested in this fire now," I tease, glancing up at him.

Kroaicho looks down at me, his orange glow intensifying. "You made it sound… significant. Like a treasure of sorts."

"Fire's more important than most treasures," I reply, flicking the stones together to create sparks. "Speaking of treasures, though…" I pause, looking at him as I keep striking the stones. "Tell me about your home. You know, before you ended up here."

Kroaicho's expression shifts slightly, his orange glow dimming just a bit. He seems to consider my question for a moment before answering, voice low and heavy.

"My hoard," he begins, his eyes distant, "was vast. It filled an entire cavern—a cavern much larger than this." He gestures around the cave as if comparing the meager space to its former glory. "There were piles of gemstones, metals from worlds you can't even imagine. Each item carefully selected, and meticulously placed. I had ancient relics, machines that hummed with power, weapons forged by civilizations long dead."

I strike the rocks again, sparks flying, but my mind is captured by Kroaicho's words. His voice takes on a reverent tone as he continues, the details pouring out like a dam breaking.

"The walls of my hoard glittered with crystals that caught the carefully reflected light of our planet's twin suns. It was not just a collection—it was a legacy. The heart of my people, the zhasie. Each treasure had a story, a history. And I was its keeper."

I listen, mesmerized by the richness of his memories, but I notice a subtle shift in his tone—a dark undercurrent of anger. His skin darkens to a shade of violet, and he grits his tusks.

“What was your favorite?” I ask.

Suddenly, his skin lights blue and light purple, signaling… embarrassment? He wiggles, then sighs. “It was my most recent addition. Snatched in a dangerous trip to the lava fields. Such a rich, whirling, complex glow of green…”

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