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Strongest-of-∀-Clutch Dialectic-and-Theoretical-Linguist Hobbyist-Lapidary Chrysocolla of the Glass-Artisans and Accoladed Biologists2 knows they’re important.
They have 𝜆 prenomen, and their family name takes over IVV𝓁 seconds to sing, for crying out loud. The longer an Eridian’s name is, the more connections they have, and the more they know. Furthermore, Chrysocolla and their family are from the first class, meaning they’re more genteel than most, and they have the social and fiscal capital to show for it.
By all means, Chrysocolla is someone.
Chrysocolla has dedicated their life to learning everything there is to learn, so that nobody can say they’re uneducated. Nobody can talk to them like they’re less-than, because Chrysocolla knows how the first class treats the second, and that’s not something they ever want to experience.
Sure, they feel the occasional stab of guilt whenever they hear a smaller Eridian speaking the dialects of the under-city, the piedmont and fens, or the sandstone canyons. That kind of Eridian is part of the second class, which generally means they don’t have access to the kinds of privilege Chrysocolla knows well.
Chrysocolla always tried not to think about that for too long.
Still does, even now.
But back when they accepted the charmingly insistent offer of courtship from Dextrous-Way-Finder Best-of-Its-Year Opal, with a family name that spoke of its long-standing entrenchment in the second class, Chrysocolla’s life changed.
For the better in a lot of ways.
For worse, in some.
Back then, Opal was tenacious, and it refused to shy away from a challenge.
Chrysocolla certainly was a challenge, back then.
They still are.
But Opal never gave up on them, even though Chrysocolla tried to get it to.
In a lot of ways, they matched: named for stones that weren’t much use to anyway, so they made use of themselves, and each other.
Opal and Chrysocolla were supposed to be together forever.
That’s how it was, how it was always going to be.
And for IIV∀∀ years, that’s how it stayed.
But then 🎝♩♪♪♪ began to change, and that change catalyzed all other sorts of change, too, until even the fixed unchanging constants of ♬🎝♪𝅘𝅥🎝♩♪♪♪ began to shift.
The days were still I𝓁𝓁𝓁+𝓁 seconds long, and the average pressure of ♬🎝♪𝅘𝅥🎝♩♪♪♪’s atmosphere was still VI𝜆𝜆+.V𝜆I+ kilopascals, and the magnetic field was as tangible as ever.
But it was getting colder.
Eridians can tolerate the cold, as a rule. They can tolerate high pressure, also.
But when an atmosphere as hot and dense as ♬🎝♪𝅘𝅥🎝♩♪♪♪’s starts to cool down, the pressure decreases, because the molecules in the air don’t have as much energy to move quickly. Temperature and pressure are married, you see, so when one of them gets sick, so does the other. Consider it a nosocomial infection.
And what Eridians can’t tolerate is low pressure—I𝓁𝓁𝓁s of experiments prove it. The tiny reserves of water in their bodies changes state from liquid to gas when the pressure drops below a certain threshold, and that’s a horrible way to go.
Being a linguist by trade, Chrysocolla hasn’t observed it happen, but they have friends in physiology labs who have.
And when enormous thrums of scientists convened to determine a solution for the microorganisms that were stealing heat from 🎝♩♪♪♪, they chose to construct a flying machine and dock it to the ♩♪🎝🎝♩♪♩♩♫ so that Eridians can travel to one of the only stars where heat loss has not been observed, a medium-sized beast entitled ♩♫♪♪🎝♩.
The first trial of astroventors—star-goers—boiled alive in their carapaces.
They pressurized the environment of the next trial.
Once they had finalized a roughly rhomboid machine that the aeroengineers named a spaceship, the people of Erid launched a collection of VV second-class workers, ranging from engineers to pilots. The other IV astroventors were first class, and they were the scientists.
Beloved-Clever-Stubborn Opal was one of the VV second-class astroventors, despite Chrysocolla’s pleading.
[I’ve heard the way they listen to me], it said to them. [Beautiful-Smart Chrysocolla’s second-class mate. I don’t want that to be all I’m known for, and the same for you. Besides, I want to save the star that warms the ground my beloved walks on.]
[But], Chrysocolla had protested, seizing one of Opal’s pods. It was uncharacteristically touchy for an Eridian, but this was important, so they tightened their grip. [But it doesn’t have to be you, 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♩! Please, let someone else go!]
Opal always said Chrysocolla didn’t understand, that people flared their vents rudely when it walked past, that Eridians of the first class were disdainful of the second.
Of course, Chrysocolla knew that, but that never stopped them from loving Opal—so why should it stop anyone else?
[Don’t leave me], Chrysocolla had begged. They hated to use their size against their mate—their 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♩, their provider—but they were desperate, and they had no other choice. They were taller than Opal by a large margin, nearly triple, but that never mattered to Opal. [Who will take care of me, 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♩? Who will listen to me sleep? Whose sleep will I listen to?]
But Opal only shuddered, shaking its carapace from side to side mournfully. [You can return to your parents, your clutchmates. They’ll welcome you back without me. I’ll always listen to you sleep, beloved, because I’ll be all around you, in the Great Silence outside of our planet.]
[But it’s silent], Chrysocolla howled, frustrated, tugging Opal’s pod harder. [That’s the whole point! It’s emptiness! Nothing’s up there except—]
[Except stars], said Opal. [Stars that are dying. Stars that we can save. Oh, I cherish you. Let me cherish you by saving you.]
If there was anything to be said about Opal, it was that it was a very good 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♩. It didn’t help that it was second class while Chrysocolla was first class, but Opal didn’t let that stop it. Opal never let anything stop it, even Chrysocolla, in cases of emergency.
So when Opal left Erid aboard the spaceship, Chrysocolla swore—they would wait for Opal to return, as it promised, or else they would die alone.
It has been I∀𝓁+ years since that spaceship with no name vanished from Chrysocolla’s hearing.
It has been an eternity since they last heard their mate’s voice.
To Eridians, cold is hell.
To Chrysocolla, silence is hell.
Their family pretended to be sad for Opal leaving, but that was clearly a lie, and when Chrysocolla couldn’t force themself to go about their life as normal, their family quickly left them behind, too.
Chrysocolla is a first-class Eridian, a linguist, a jeweler. They’re tall, with long legs and a nice-sounding carapace. They were—are—a good 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♪ for their 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♩.
There were others who wanted Chrysocolla before Opal managed to do what those others couldn’t, and those others try again once Opal’s gone, but Chrysocolla doesn’t yield.
Chrysocolla is a good 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♪.
I’m a good 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♪, they think to themselves over and over as they struggle to fall asleep every cycle, alone in their room.
Nobody wants to guard an Eridian who’s waiting for their mate to return.
Especially not a second-class mate.
Especially not Rocky, who can be aggressive when other 𝅗𝅥♩♩🎜♩♩ get too rough around Chrysocolla.
No, Chrysocolla is alone, and it’s killing them.