There was no light.
There was no need to breathe.
Shakti felt like it was back in its mud pools–pressure pushing it down, the weight easing the fire in its gut.
Thump-thump
All it could feel was a silent heartbeat pulsing all around it. The sound was deafening– yet as soon as Shakti focused on it, it disappeared.
Always at the edge of its consciousness. Asking for attention.
To be fed.
For control.
Shakti convulsed as its body tried to regurgitate more acid– dry gagging until the pain doubled over throughout itself.
The trog was no stranger to heartburn but this was the longest it ever lasted.
Unspoken words invaded its thoughts, seeping into Shakti's mind. Words that felt foreign, yet the trog understood.
'More'
'So hungry'
'Feed me'
'Acid'
The words boiled inside it like bile waiting to digest its meal– primal, urgent.
Thump-thump
Shakti's claw dug into the wooden table it lay on– splinters sliding themselves underneath its skin.
A raw, shuddering screech escaped the half-conscious trog as it arched its back in pain and anger.
Anger from Shakti for not having full control.
Anger from the egg for not being fed.
The ajkun could feel the acid running through its veins– the egg nestling itself deeper inside the creature's body. Pushing and burning organs and bones alike– pushing its will. It was killing its host.
It was also dying.
She reached for the egg with her currents following the acid it was pumping throughout the creature's body– when the eye of the kanabal appeared before her mind's awareness. The pupil swam frantically in the red pools of its iris, seeking connection.
It's kin.
She gasped, stepping back, her feathers stood at the sight of the beast convulsing again in her hut. It spat out drops of bile that blistered its skin in seconds. The skin boiled and oozed off yet as far as she could tell the thing didn't feel pain from it instead it looked soothed by the bile burning through its flesh.
Shakti's body trembled as its breathing slowed.
Thump-thump
"What name do you wear, creature?" She couldn't decide if she should heal the kanabal or put this thing out of its misery.
It looked at the Ajkun, mouth still foaming, one arm trembling.
"Shakti" In between breaths the trog formed a toothy grin– arrogant, proud at hearing its own name.
"Who sent you here, Shakti?" she asked aloud, voice low, commanding. "What cursed current led your path to me?" The bile burned flesh, mutated it as she asked, forming patches of new skin that didn't match the old.
And when it spoke, it was in the Suq tongue—not just the words, but the cadence, the gravity of it.
"I seek what is mine."
"And what is that?" The ajkun asked with false curiosity.
"Everything"
Thump-thump
The ajkun was used to the arrogance of hatchlings. Blinded by ambition and seeking control of the currents. Yet Shakti's arrogance felt strange.
As if it was the currents themselves.