[Trade] A Crack In The Shell

A small purple egg, almost buried in a jumble of all sorts of fabrics and materials, stirred. The first movement, breaking the previous stillness of the scene, was slight, but each subsequent one (and they occurred in quick succession, almost at regular intervals) grew in intensity, to the point where one of them shook the egg so hard that it tipped over onto its side. The fall, though potentially dangerous for such a delicate structure, turned out to have no major consequences – the nest, built from various pieces of fabric, completely cushioned the impact.

Although it might seem that this event would put an end to the sequence of uncoordinated movements for good, nothing could be further from the truth. Whatever was controlling the egg from within changed tactics after this jolt – this time, quiet, rhythmic sounds began to echo through the dark, somewhat dingy room, resembling the pecking of a sharp beak or scratching of tiny claws. Something was desperately trying to break free from the suffocating grip of the calcified shell.

Finally, a breakthrough occurred. Another in a series of quiet yet determined sounds culminated in the loudest phenomenon yet – a sudden crack. Indeed, even despite the surrounding twilight, a keen observer would have noticed that a long, winding line had appeared on the surface of the egg, revealing a lighter cross-section of the shell in places.

And yet this did not turn out to be the climax. After this unexpected event, a moment of silence fell – only an apparent calm. The mysterious creature inside the shell was no doubt regaining its strength after this prolonged, uneven struggle, only to return shortly afterwards with redoubled vigour. It didn't take much time.

The crack, superficial at first, soon split into many separate fissures across the shell’s surface, increasingly weakening the egg’s structure. Some of the fragments separated from the rest and began to collapse into the depths of the entire oval structure, held in place only by the milky-white, leathery membrane beneath the shell. Yet even this was not eternal – this final bastion, the last force offering any resistance, finally gave way. The translucent membrane tore under the pressure, exposing the mysterious force that had been trying to destroy the purple egg for a good dozen minutes.

From the opening, which grew larger by the moment, a tiny brown head emerged. The pair of orange-brown eyes set within it glinted curiously in the dim light of the room. The mysterious creature blinked every now and then, trying to get used to the new sights. It took a moment, but finally, when the faint green light emitted from the various old human devices around it had ceased to be so blinding, the little creature began to survey its surroundings. The female was intrigued by everything around her, but to tell the truth, she couldn’t quite put a name to these objects. She found herself in the middle of an enigmatic, dark place, full of human traces, completely alone. She had a lot to deal with.

Despite all the adversity and the challenges piling up before her, she was tireless. She had set herself the goal of freeing herself from the suffocating grip her egg had subjected her to over the past few weeks, and she intended to achieve this at any cost. She had already poked her head out into the outside world, so now she had to press on – like a cat that has squeezed into some mysterious hole and can only go forwards.

She fought bravely, pushing outwards to the sound of the shell cracking. At last, she freed her narrow shoulders, which were lighter in colour than her head. This allowed her to help herself with her small, three-fingered hands – at first, these short appendages attached to her sides did not seem particularly useful, but after a few minutes the female gained more dexterity, scratching at the cruel shell with unwavering determination.

Half her body was already out of the egg, so the only thing still blocking her was her hips. Fortunately, it turned out not to be too much of an obstacle. The shell had already completely given up and accepted its defeat, so it offered little resistance. A single, powerful tug was enough for the young dinosaur to finally break free.

Scoria had hatched.

She felt proud of her achievement, so she wanted it to be a grand, dramatic moment. The world, however, had other plans for her. Still covered in the slime from inside the egg, the female slipped, and her tiny legs, unaccustomed to walking, failed to keep her balanced. With a quiet squeak, Scoria tumbled down the pile of fabric, bouncing off one piece after another. When this huge (at least to her) mountain finally came to an end, only a cold, dirty floor awaited the little acrocanthosaurus. The impact almost knocked the wind out of her, painfully squeezing her delicate ribcage. Fortunately for her, hatchlings had rather flexible bones – despite the momentary pain, none of her tiny, young bones had snapped under the pressure.

Scoria needed a moment to pull herself together, but even after this minor mishap, she had no intention of giving up. Finally, she stood up and immediately realised the next problem that had befallen her – her body, covered in a sticky substance, was like a glue trap. All the crumbs, specks and fragments of various materials of unknown origin lying on the floor had stuck to her smooth scales. The female sighed in frustration – hatching was no easy task.

The greenish, dim light fully revealed the severity of her problem – Scoria was no longer composed of sleek, rounded shapes. Now the green glow aggressively highlighted the various uneven changes in her silhouette and all the sharp bits that had stuck to her body.

Preoccupied with battling adversity, Scoria failed completely to notice that her solitude was only apparent. The vast, dimly lit, overwhelming room, where the darkness seemed to lie in wait for her life like a predator, was (contrary to what she might have thought) a safe haven for her. Someone had gone to great lengths to ensure it was so.

In the corner of the dilapidated underground chamber, orange eyes glinted, strikingly similar to Scoria’s own small eyes. Basalt had been watching her every move closely, ever since the purple egg first trembled under the pressure of the determined hatchling.

And he was proud.

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