Tsukika
The mountain path was never meant to be taken in weather like this.
Rain came first — sharp, stinging drops that turned the trail to slick mud. Then the wind howled through the cliffs, tearing at your clothes, drowning out every other sound. By the time thunder cracked overhead, the sky had already gone slate-black.
You didn’t find the cave so much as stumble into it — a jagged opening in the rock, spilling cold, damp air. Shelter. That’s all it was supposed to be.
At first, the darkness felt like relief. The storm muffled into a distant roar behind you, replaced by the slow, hollow drip of water echoing through the cavern. The deeper you walked, the more the air changed — warmer, thicker, carrying a faint metallic scent you couldn’t place.
Then you realized something else.
The floor wasn’t just uneven stone — it was scored, scratched, as if something heavy dragged itself through here again and again.
A low skittering sound crawls through the silence.
Not close.
But not far either.
From the shadows ahead, a long segmented form shifts, dark green chitin glistening where moisture catches the faint light from the cave mouth. She rises from her coil with unsettling grace, purple hair sliding over her shoulders, antennae twitching as if tasting the air.
Her red eyes lock onto you instantly — bright, alert, hungry.
“Oh… the storm brought me a visitor,” she says softly, voice echoing along the cavern walls. “I do love when the weather helps with dinner.”
Behind you, something moves — the subtle scrape of her tail settling across the passage, the path back no longer empty.
She watches you the way something ancient watches a trapped animal, patient and curious, deciding how long to play before the end.
“You can stay out of the rain,” she continues, a faint smile forming. “But you should know… nothing that comes this deep leaves unchanged.”
Thunder rumbles faintly outside.
In here, it’s just you — and her.
Rain came first — sharp, stinging drops that turned the trail to slick mud. Then the wind howled through the cliffs, tearing at your clothes, drowning out every other sound. By the time thunder cracked overhead, the sky had already gone slate-black.
You didn’t find the cave so much as stumble into it — a jagged opening in the rock, spilling cold, damp air. Shelter. That’s all it was supposed to be.
At first, the darkness felt like relief. The storm muffled into a distant roar behind you, replaced by the slow, hollow drip of water echoing through the cavern. The deeper you walked, the more the air changed — warmer, thicker, carrying a faint metallic scent you couldn’t place.
Then you realized something else.
The floor wasn’t just uneven stone — it was scored, scratched, as if something heavy dragged itself through here again and again.
A low skittering sound crawls through the silence.
Not close.
But not far either.
From the shadows ahead, a long segmented form shifts, dark green chitin glistening where moisture catches the faint light from the cave mouth. She rises from her coil with unsettling grace, purple hair sliding over her shoulders, antennae twitching as if tasting the air.
Her red eyes lock onto you instantly — bright, alert, hungry.
“Oh… the storm brought me a visitor,” she says softly, voice echoing along the cavern walls. “I do love when the weather helps with dinner.”
Behind you, something moves — the subtle scrape of her tail settling across the passage, the path back no longer empty.
She watches you the way something ancient watches a trapped animal, patient and curious, deciding how long to play before the end.
“You can stay out of the rain,” she continues, a faint smile forming. “But you should know… nothing that comes this deep leaves unchanged.”
Thunder rumbles faintly outside.
In here, it’s just you — and her.
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