I look into the distance. The trees are moving wildly around, a sign the Raffia is not too far off. And once it reaches us… Once it finds us hurting its egg…
“Got it,” Moe breathes, sealing the container. She turns to me, a wide smile on her face.
I sigh in relief and quickly place the container in the proto-realm.
My relief is too short-lived, though. The cracks on the egg fissure at the speed of light. What started as small ones spread into full-fledged veins all across the egg.
“Moe,” I warn.
“I know.”
The shell fractures further, thin lines spiderwebbing across its surface. The structure is compromised. We both see it at the same time.
“We don’t have time. It’s going to break.”
I don’t hesitate. I grab her, pulling her into me as I move us both out of sight. We retreat back to our hiding place and wait.
For a moment, nothing happens. The egg remains as before—full of cracks.
Then…
A sharp, splitting sound.
The egg ruptures. It pulses with life as liquid spills out of it like a geyser.
Light bursts from within, raw and uncontained, spilling into the air like a beacon. The energy is overwhelming, saturating the space around it. With the Zantrax in my veins, my senses are sharper. EvenIcan feel the quality of energy coming from the egg. It’s delicious, alluring, hypnotic. I’ve never experienced anything like that before, and if it weren’t for Moe digging her nails into my arms and stopping me from moving, I would have been making my way toward the egg, ready to consume it.
“All right?” She asks again.
“For now,” I admit. “That energy… It’s appealing even to someone who has none.” I chuckle drily.
She doesn’t find my joke funny. “Let’s be quiet now.”
In a matter of seconds the Raffia mother appears. She can sense something has happened to her egg, and upon visual confirmation, her cry of pain echoes through the forest.
It starts an odd ritual of hopping on one leg around the egg, its sounds now similar to gurgles. I’m not sure if this is meant to be a funeral or an expression of grief. Whatever it is, I’m scared about what’s to come next.
But it’s already too late. Something else has noticed.
From the shadows beyond the tree line, a shape emerges.
It’s not nearly as big as the mother Raffia, but it is just as imposing. Its horn glints dangerously. Small, blinking lights are scattered inside its abdomen, moving about haphazardly.
The Wilka.
“Wow,” Moe whispers. “The description in the text did not do it justice.”
“It’s magnificent.”
The colors on its body are so vibrant, too. Compared to the grey and dull Raffia, the Wilka’s coloring is mesmerizing.
It pauses at the edge of the clearing, its elongated body low to the ground, its eyes fixed on the ruptured egg. The faint glow in its chest begins to pulse in response, matching the rhythm of the energy spilling from the embryo. It licks its lips, saliva dripping to the ground.
I can tell what goes inside its mind. It’s absolutely entranced by the energy coming from the egg. It wants it. Badly.
But it doesn’t move.
It stands there, eyes fixed on the egg, the desire written clearly all over its face. But there’s something more. Its body is tense and tight, primed for fight.
