xii. the krykna.

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Forged in flame, burning and glowing and inhuman, Zoya twists in her sleep, a star trapped beneath her skin, incinerating her from the inside out. She is falling and flying at once, soaring through galaxies with nothing at her fingertips but the pure, legendary power that awaits anxiously at her breastbone. It writhes, rising like an ancient beast, untamable, deadly, forsworn to riddle the galaxy with strife and destruction.

            But someone is calling her name, someone a thousand twisting, swirling, effervescent cosmoses away, someone who feels of gentle warmth and a cool rippling sea and something she can only describe as home. She reaches out, wondering at this presence, this softly glowing star, sensing a quietness, a tranquility, and a smooth determination in a world of anger and annihilation. The fire raging in her chest eases, retreating into her bones to lie dormant for just a little longer, and her eyes flutter, finding herself lying in the Razor Crest, Din leaning over her.

            "Zoya," he's saying, touching her shoulder gently but shaking it enough that she can feel the apprehension wreathed though his body and his words. "Zoya, sarad, wake up. Please."

            Her mouth moves soundlessly, and she coughs, pushing herself upright, eyes opening fully, the rebirth of a galaxy. Her tongue tastes of ash, and her voice is just as rough and flaking when she asks, "What?", as if she hasn't been dreaming of flame and annihilation, hasn't been scorching from the inside out, bones made of stardust and aching blood.

            "Are you okay?"

             Zoya nods, and even the small movement hurts. Her whole body feels hyperaware, every single brush of her clothing against her skin is an irritant; every gust of cool wind through the Razor Crest's broken wall feels like rough metal grating across her face. The same sensitivity from her dream, carried over into the waking world. It feels wrong, like trying to cram a rifle into a pistol-sized holster.

            Sensing his concern rising with every second longer she remains silent, Zoya forces her lips to turn up. "Just a weird dream, is all."

            "You were burning up," he tells her, concerned. "I couldn't get you to wake up." A pause, and then: "I was worried."

            Zoya remembers the voice that cut through the void, reached her through a hurricane of flame. Din. You brought me home, she wants to say, but her tongue feels coated in sand and she coughs again, pushing a hand to her chest as the grains scour her throat.

            "Are you okay?" he says again, and one of his gloves brushes the side of her neck, feeling like a harsh scrape, rough gravel on silk.

            Before she can respond, a droid's voice lashes through the freezing space, one that is bone-chillingly familiar, and her dreams are instantly forgotten as her hand searches for her blaster. It's drawn and aimed towards the sound before Zoya realizes she's moved, the grooves of the hilt cutting uncomfortably into her hypersensitive palms. One quick glance at Din says that he's done the same. They freeze, mirror images of each other, two sides of the same silver coin.

            "Mandalorian," Zero says, bug-eyed and as traitorous looking as she remembers it being. "This cannot wait until morning. Do not be alarmed."

            "Too late," mutters Zoya, flicking off the safety.

            Before anyone can move again, the droid hurries to add, "I bypassed the droid's security protocols and accessed its vocabulator."

            Her eyes find the Frog Lady, standing behind the droid, speaking into a small metal device. Wound into tight coils, her muscles ache to be released, but she remains stiff even as she lets her blaster lower to aim at the ground, metal stinging her palms.

            "What the hell are you doing?" Din snaps, and shoves is blaster back into the holster at his hip in such an angry, aggressive way that Zoya finds she's quite unable to look away. "That droid is a killer."

            The Frog Lady completely ignores this, and Zoya pries her eyes away from Din and the fresh heat circulating through her bloodstream as the amphibian says through Zero, "These eggs are the last brood of my life cycle. My husband has risked his life to carve out an existence for us on the only planet that is hospitable to our species. We fought too hard and suffered too much to resign ourselves to the extinction of our family line. I must demand that you hold true to the deal that you agreed to."

            "Look, lady, the deal is off. We're lucky if we get off this frozen tomb with our lives," says Din, though his voice is tight.

            "I thought honoring one's word was a part of the Mandalorian's code. I guess those are just stories for children."

            Zoya can practically feel the way the words cut into Din's soul, the gold at his very center. He remains quiet for a moment, still crouched beside her, and she reaches quietly for his hand, resting upon the ground beside her thigh. He looks up when she slides her fingers over his, and twists his wrist so his palm faces upwards, curling his own gloved fingers around hers. Then, her movements tentative, though she knows they've shared much more intimacy than this, Zoya uses her other hand to brush away some of the dust that clings to his visor, sensitive skin burning with every touch. A resigned sigh passes through his helmet's modulator, and he gives her hand a soft squeeze before rising and snatching a box from beside the wall.

            "This was not a part of the deal," he grumbles as he ducks outside the Razor Crest.

            "That was a dirty move," says Zoya.

            The Frog Lady shrugs. "Everything I said was true." For a few moments, everything is silent, and then she adds, "And he is a good man. I knew he would not allow my family to die out."

            Zoya watches the spot where Din disappeared. "He is a good man," she agrees, voice a feather in the silent void of the ship. Still, it seems loud, slamming through the curves of her skull, even as her senses begin to ease and draw back into themselves, relax into normality. "Better than most—if not all of them."

            Quiet resumes, for so long that Zoya thinks the Frog Lady has fallen asleep—until she speaks through Zero again, her words gentle, curious, despite the robotic monotone the droid speaks them in. "You love him?"

            She blinks. Turns sharp, knife-edged. "What?"

            "You love him?" the Frog Lady repeats, unperturbed.

            Does the galaxy have stars, is the world too full of violence for the space it encompasses, do we burn too bright to live such short lives—do I live and breathe? All of this and more, she wants to say, but thinks only, because why else would she be here, where else does she fit in the world if not within the haven of Din's arms?

            Her eyes flick to the hole in the side of the Razor Crest. "Yes," she says. "I do."

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Outside, sparks crackle on broken, ruined wiring, miniature lightning spidering into the snowfall. Zoya finds Din on the other side of the Crest, kneeling before a ripped open area of the ship, wiring and machinery spilling out organlike from the wound.

            "How bad is it?" she says.

            He nearly jumps. "Fuck."

            "What?"

            "When did you get so quiet?"

            Offended, she protests, "I've always been quiet."

            "I knew you were there the second I stepped onto the Crest the first time you tried to ambush me."

            Zoya scowls.

            "It's not good," Din continues, oblivious.

            Shoving down the teasing reply she really wants to say, because she knows he's trying hard to focus, Zoya asks, "Can you fix it? Or are we . . . stuck here. Forever."

            "We'll be fine," Din replies, even though it doesn't sound like he means it. "It's just going to take time."

            "Okay," she murmurs, and reaches out a hand before really thinking about it, brushing against the back of his helmet, as if there was hair there for her to curl her fingers through. A flush rises hot on her cheeks, and she spins away before he looks up, moving back around the ship.

            As she ducks inside, the Frog Lady, still waiting near Zero, asks, "Did you tell him?"

            "Tell him what?" says Zoya distractedly, kicking the snow off her boots as she goes back over the interaction in her head, cursing her stupidity.

            "That you love him."

            "Shh!" she hisses, darting a glance back as if Din had followed her. "What are you doing?"

            "Just asking." The amphibian's eyes narrow judgmentally. "I know that means you didn't."

            "Of course I didn't," Zoya mutters.

            The Frog Lady remains quiet for a few long, drawn out seconds, before moving away from the wall, saying one last thing through Zero. "I am going out. There may be a hot spring, somewhere in the cave system, and it will be good for me and to incubate my eggs."

            "You can't go by yourself," Zoya protests.

            The Frog Lady lifts her shoulders, large brown eyes soft but determined, as if to say then come, and hefts the capsule.

            "Fine." Checking the blaster tucked safely into her holster, Zoya ducks out of the Crest behind the Frog Lady, shivering a little as the cold slams into her full force once again. Without wasting a beat, the amphibian marches off, following a small path that slides between two blueish glaciers dripping with snow. And before she follows, for a moment, Zoya thinks to call out to Din, to tell him where they're going, but with embarrassment still fresh in her mind and upon her cheeks, she thinks better of it. I can take care of myself. And her.

            It doesn't take much time for the Frog Lady to find a hot spring, tucked inside a swelling cave deep within the ice. Darkness hangs from the walls, foreboding and sinister, but the pool is a soft, glowing turquoise in the stillness, and the steam rising from the surface looks inviting enough to ignore the unknown dangers of the cave. All Zoya's misgivings melt away as she watches the Frog Lady remove her robes and sink into the warm water after releasing her eggs to bob amongst the ripples.

            As if sensing her envy, the Frog Lady catches her attention, and lifts her arm, gesturing to the warm water while garbling in her native tongue.

            "Me?" Zoya says.

            She nods.

            "But your eggs—"

            The amphibian waves an unconcerned hand.

            It's really the only encouragement Zoya needs. Less than a minute later, her clothes are piled carefully out of reach of the water, and she melts beneath the surface with a satisfied sigh, careful to keep her hair dry so it doesn't freeze to her skull when she gets out. Remembering a band she always leaves in one of her pockets, she retrieves it and pulls her hair up, piling it into a haphazard knot on the crown of her head.

            "This is amazing," she mumbles, slipping lower to rest against the edge of the pool, neck-deep in the aquamarine water. "Great idea." The water is so warm and comforting that it eases up goosebumps along her skin, and though her face remains out of the water, the steam slowly softens the chip of ice that her nose has become until a light sheen of sweat glows upon her skin.

            The Frog Lady replies with something in her language that sounds rather self-satisfied, and slips through the pool, moving her eggs carefully through the warm water while keeping them in the same area, close enough to keep eyes on all of them at once.

            "I think it's very brave," Zoya says, "what you're doing. For you family."

            The Frog's eyes soften, and she lifts a hand up out of the pool, trying to communicate through a gesture what cannot breach the boundaries of an unshared spoken tongue. Zoya understands, and slides through the water, lifting her own hand to press her palm against the Frog Lady's.

            And for a tranquil, gentle moment, they stay that way, something unspoken but understood warm between them.

            Until Din shatters it.

            "You can't leave the ship," he reprimands, storming into the cave with the child held in his arms. "It's not safe out here."

            The Frog Lady erupts into defensive chatter in response as Din reaches the edge of the pool, kneeling to set the child by its brink. He watches the cyan waters curiously, eyes catching upon the eggs bobbing upon the surface. Din, however, freezes mid-crouch, his stare halting first upon the two sets of clothes by the bank—one neatly folded, the other in a small pile—then upon Zoya, drifting near the edge with the tiny ripples of the hot spring gliding against her bare collarbone.

            Unaware, at first, Zoya tilts her head. "It's fine," she says. "I was paying attention."

            His movements seem to stutter, pause-play-stop-breath-play, before he glides back into motion, kneeling closer to where capsule sits and where the eggs float. "Your blaster isn't near the edge," he mutters finally, keeping his helmet tilted down. Then, reaching for the eggs: "Let's gather these up."

            Then—oh. The epiphany strikes. Zoya realizes her state of dress, the events that have transpired between them, the distraction and shock turning his movements into stop-motion film. Her chin tilts down, dipping beneath the water as she sinks lower, some measure of satisfaction trilling through her body. Despite his attempts to keep his voice flat, businesslike, Zoya knows him well enough now to notice the fluctuations in his tone, the hints of something swimming beneath an outwardly serene surface.

            Oblivious—or, considering their previous conversation, maybe not so much—the Frog Lady begins to speak again, protesting as Din scoops up the eggs one by one and plops them into the capsule.

            "I know it's warm," he says, keeping his gaze on the water. "But night's coming fast, and I can't protect you out here." Still obviously dissented and grumbling, the Frog Lady begrudgingly begins to help him move her eggs.

            Zoya glides easily through the pool to help, collecting the eggs that have floated further away and bringing them closer to the edge, offering them up to Din. Turquoise water slides in streams down her arm, miniature rivers puddling in the hollows by her throat, rolling off the curves of her shoulder. Such a simple thing, but riveting, mesmerizing, especially in the hazy light. She should be glad that the pool is murky enough in color to obscure her, but with how Din lingers more and more at the trails of water across her skin before turning away, Zoya finds herself wishing it was not.

            As the final eggs plop into the pod, she moves her hands up onto the edge of the pool, making her words as innocent as possible whilst looking up at Din through her water-darkened lashes. "Will you help me with my clothes?"

            "Wh—I—um—y-your clothes?"

            Restraining a snicker, Zoya nods. "Please. It's cold."

            "U-Um, I can, do you, should I—" Every stutter seems to raise his voice in volume, and she can no longer hide her grin.

            "Just move them closer so I can reach," she says.

            "Oh." Relaxing a little, Din does as she asks, setting them as near to the edge as he can without risking them falling into the pool.

            Before he moves away, she catches his gloved hand with her fingers, water beaded across her skin. "You can help me put them on too, if you want." This time, she can't keep the teasing tone from her voice, and he snorts, ducking his head.

            "I—"

            A terrified cry comes from deeper within the cave. Din and Zoya and the Frog Lady all whirl, searching for the source, to see the child toddling as fast as he can between clumps of what look like growths from the floor of the cave, crying for help. All around him, the growths begin to shake and open. Without thinking twice, all humor evaporated in the wake of the child's fear, Zoya surges from the water, yanking on her clothes over skin still dripping wet, uncaring when they catch and stick. As Din scoops the child from the ground, closing the capsule tight, the Frog Lady does the same.

            Holster strapped to her hip, Zoya spins to look at what's coming out of the ground. Scuttling, six-legged creatures, skin the color of ash, awfully familiar and bone-chilling, even as small as they might be. Her mind summons horror stories told by Ayaan when they were children late at night, terrifying stories of travelers and small dokma eaten alive by gruesome monsters rising in the dark.

            Fear renders her immobile as one even larger than Ayaan had described rises from the recesses of the cave, a terrifying shadow from her nightmares brought into the light, a salivating, fanged monster.

            The word slices between her teeth.

            "Krykna."

a/n: i have to apologize again for the lack of updates especially for this story 😭 i am aware it's been 3 months and i am so so sorry for the wait. i've been working and been focusing a lot more on an original story when i do end up having free time to write, something i could potentially publish one day, so writing my fics has kind of taken a backseat to all that. but anyways!!! here is this ! i definitely plan to finish this story no matter how long it takes, tysm for bearing with my inconsistent ass hshsjsks

also. found this, so. at least i'm self aware

i mean... my gpa is good too 🥸