Chapter Text
I had never truly understood the meaning of loneliness—until now. Back home, I was always in the company of clutchmates and egg-layers, my days woven into the close-knit rhythms of Eridian life. Clusters thrummed with sound, every chamber filled with voices and presence. Privacy was a rare thing. Even sleep, a surrender to total vulnerability, meant safety at the centre of a protective ring. Tradition dictated vigilance, a carryover from ancient times when predators still prowled. That sense of community was everything I knew.
But seeking more—new knowledge, a university hive, discoveries I could never find at home—I left. I expected to miss my family, but I told myself I was ready. Back then, I thought longing and homesickness would be my worst burdens. Instead, the weight of isolation pressed upon me, sharp and unexpected. Vetted sleep-watchers could not replace the thrum of familiar voices, the ever-present sense of being known. In this bustling new cluster, surrounded by strangers, I felt adrift. My only solace became long walks in the outlying tunnels, circles at the very edge of the cluster that never felt like home. Tonight, I walk those tunnels again, my loneliness an ache that refuses to fade.
I enjoy the outlying tunnels. They reminded me of home. They weren't crowded like the main tunnels of the cluster. In fact, I had never seen anyone in these tunnels. No one had any reason to journey in them. These tunnels had formerly been a main service corridor for bringing in supplies and other equipment needed for the cluster. That had been fine when the cluster was smaller and its population correspondingly lower. But now that the population had exploded since the university hive had established a new home campus, the tunnels simply couldn’t cope with the amount of people and cargo needed to run a rapidly growing cluster. With the university campus came the elevator, now in use by all for the simple reason that it was quicker and more efficient.
On this particular night, as I wound my way through what I now thought of as my tunnels, the quiet routine was unexpectedly broken. Ahead, someone was panting in the distance—a sound that startled me, as it was the first time I had encountered anyone else in these tunnels. I recognized what was happening as I got closer: they were entering a sleep cycle. When an Eridian begins a sleep cycle, the body has to shed heat from the hot side of the circulatory system so the worker cells can enter and repair any damage. The panting told me their sleep cycle had just begun. And I was the only other person around.
‘Is he truly alone?’ I wondered.
While sleeping alone wasn't the terrifying prospect it had once been—Eridians had long ago driven off the predators that would slink in and take sleeping Eridians, paralyzed by their own biology—I couldn't imagine it. The old records spoke of the massive, slow creatures with armored jaws that snuck through the tunnels, silently snagging anyone left unwatched. For generations, entire clusters had united to build traps, reinforce walls, and drive those monsters away for good. Even so, the memory of those nights remained in their traditions, and the thought of ever being as exposed as my ancestors filled me with an intense dread.
‘If they are alone, I must watch them sleep,’ I decided.
As I settled down next to the sleeping Eridian, drawing my limbs underneath me, I wondered how the stranger came to be in these tunnels. I’ll ask them when they awaken…
6,521 seconds later, they began to stir and awaken. Immediately, the relief in their body language was palpable. They had awoken trembling but stopped within seconds, likely realising they had survived sleeping alone. But they had only been alone for as long as it had taken me to stumble upon them. They hadn’t been alone since. Among the Eridians, this was more than a mere habit; sleep-watching was a deeply held custom, based in ancient necessity and enduring as a bond of intimate trust. The act of watching over a sleeping Eridian was more than a rule. For centuries, the threat of predators had made such vigilance a matter of survival, but even after the dangers faded, the custom remained. If you found someone asleep with no one watching them, you watched. PERIOD. If you didn’t, some clusters actually considered it a crime. I had come across other Unwatched, and I had watched until they had awoken, then moved on as soon as they had assured me they were ok. I expected it would be the same for this one as well.
But when the now awake Eridian suddenly started wailing, the sound tore through the tunnel, bouncing off the stone in a spiralling wave. It was a piercing, shivering note, at once wild and trembling with relief. My own carapace rattled as the sharp vibration pressed into my body, my limbs clenching instinctively. The wailing filled me with a rush of sensation—a jolt of surprise, a crawling unease at being the focus of such raw emotion, and then a deep, wordless ache. It resounded through my carapace, twisting something long-sealed beneath my plates, and briefly I felt exposed. All the other Unwatched I had come across had only offered quiet thanks before drifting away, leaving me to my business.
“Thank you! Thank you ! Thank you!” the stranger chirps out frantically.
“It is no great deal. You would do the same for me,” I declare.
“I have never slept alone. Never! I just moved here and I don’t know anyone!”
“You just moved here?”
“Yes! I became lost on my way to the university hive and blundered into this tunnel. I had been wandering around for a while when my sleep cycle took me. It was terrifying!”
“When I ran into you, you were in your panting phase. You did not sleep alone for very long. I watched. You were safe. What is your name?”
“Rocky,” he answered, dipping his carapace.
“Adrian,” I said, returning the respectful gesture.
His name suited him. Among Eridians, names typically reflect either the physical qualities of their bearer or the traits their egg-layers hope they would develop. Sometimes, a name is chosen for its symbolism, but more often it derives from a distinct feature or circumstance at hatching. I remembered my cousin, Brightback, whose gold-flecked carapace reflected sound beautifully, and Longstride, an elder named for his early, enthusiastic steps. I could hear why this Eridian was called Rocky. His carapace was plain with one exception. He had some other mineral embedded in his carapace in small patches. The texture was cool and rough to the touch, with faint, almost imperceptible cracks along the plates that gave a small rasp when he moved. There was a quiet solidity about him that I instantly liked. At that moment, I realised that his firm, grounded presence eased something in me, reminding me of the comforting press of clutchmates back home, and making this strange place feel less empty.
“What did you come to the university hive for?” I asked.
“I came here to learn about the space elevator and xenonite. I want to design things for other Eridians! I have always loved taking things apart and figuring out how they work. Not long after I hatched, I took apart the heat lamp in mine and my clutchmates’ nest. Whoo, you should have heard my egg-layers when they found me dangling from the lamp with half of it discarded on the floor, totally immersed, and my clutchmates shiveri-” Rocky stopped speaking suddenly, probably realising that he was rambling and getting off-topic. I didn’t mind. I found I could listen to Rocky speak for hours. His notes sang to me in a way no one else's ever had.
“I’m sorry. I tend to ramble when I get talking about engineering.”
“Don’t be sorry. I found your ramblings very endearing. I can tell you have obviously moved to the right place. The university hive will be the right place for you to learn what you want.”
“What are you studying here?”
“Microbiology. Specifically, Eridian Microbiology, with a focus on how worker cells work, and how they can be made to work in other ways. I have always been fascinated by the invisible patterns that hold us together, the harmony of countless tiny pieces making one whole being.
When I was younger, I would listen intently while a wounded plate healed or how our bodies adapted, and I always wondered what could be possible if we understood how to change or guide those processes. For example, I have been designing an experiment to encourage worker cells to repair cracked plates more quickly by exposing them to specific resonance frequencies. If I can get a better understanding, it could mean Eridians injured in tunnel collapses could heal in half the time. Or maybe it could help us regrow lost auricles, something once thought impossible. My dream is to uncover new ways Eridians can heal. I want to help develop techniques that can help Eridians that have been injured, and hopefully restore some quality to their lives.”
“Wow! Have you lived here your whole life?”
“No, I just moved here not long ago, too.”
“Did you get lost as I did?”
“No, but I wander these tunnels often. They remind me of home. The stillness. The tightness. I grew up in a small cluster; only about 500 other Eridians lived there. It was always so quiet. I found these tunnels after going on a walk to find some peace and quiet. They have been a blessing so far. They give me quiet time to think.”
“Well, I have never lived underground. My home cluster was about as large as this one, but almost exclusively above ground. The only below-ground parts of my cluster were the burial chambers. I’m used to the noise, but not the echoing quality of these cramped tunnels. It threw my echolocation off. Normally, I don’t get lost so easily.”
“I’ve never been to an above-ground cluster. What's it like?”
“Well, everything is so open. And breezy. There is almost always a breeze blowing. And the sounds! The great sounds of nature. The crafly’s soft chirping as they echolocate to navigate is something I still miss.”
“Wow! Sounds amazing. I’ll have to visit then! I don’t want to rush, but my own sleep cycle is nearing as well. I must return to my nest. Do you need help finding your way out of here?”
“Yes, Please.” He said sheepishly, digging at the ground.
“Alright, follow me.”
As I lead the way back towards the cluster's central area, I hear a soft clicking behind me. At first, I didn't realise what was causing it. But turning my attention behind me, I understood that Rocky was clicking his claws together. I wondered why. Perhaps a previous injury causes pain that is assuaged by the opening and closing of the claw. I asked him about it, wondering if my research could be applied to help him in some way.
And as soon as I asked about it, he immediately stopped. “I, um, I do it when I’m nervous. Sorry. I can stop.”
“Why are you nervous?”
He hesitated for a moment before changing the topic,“Do you have anybody to watch you sleep?”
“The vetted sleep-watchers normally watch me. Why?”
“I could watch, if you want me to.”
I’m immediately struck by the offer, warmth blooming inside me where the ache of solitude had lingered. I hesitate for a breath, noticing how Rocky's claws still trembled ever so slightly, then gave a soft, reassuring chirrup. “I would like that,” I said. As we walk, Rocky closes the distance between us, no longer staying back.
As we arrived at my nest, I quietly opened the door and walked inside my home. “It isn’t much,” I intoned. The nest only had three rooms. One for sleeping, of course. A general living area and a soundproof room for eating. Soundproof rooms were a necessity in Eridian culture. We abhor eating. It’s necessary for continued biological function, but it was just so… gross. The act itself was deeply private.
“It is wonderful. So cosy and somehow spacious at the same time.”
Were we talking about the same place? I had no idea how he could find this spacious. The rooms barely had enough room for me to turn around.
“I must eat before my sleep cycle begins. Please make yourself at home. Excuse me for a few moments.”
As I entered the soundproof room, I felt the familiar, dull ache in my core, a sensation brought on by waiting too long between meals. Gathering the implements I required, I was once again confronted by the deep-seated sense of disgust. This revulsion is not personal; it’s a universal response among Eridians, rooted in their biology and cultural aversion. I collected an empty bowl and my container of food, then I began to tear it into fine strips no longer than 3 cm, which was the only part of this that was enjoyable. Preparing myself mentally for the next step, I opened my ventral seal, exposing the tissue beneath my carapace. Relaxing my stomach cavity, it releases the remnants of my previous meal into the bowl with the characteristic dull splat, a sound associated with the most distasteful stage of feeding. Working quickly, I closed the waste disposal container and discarded it into the trash can. When that was finished I flipped myself upside down, against my radiator and ingested the prepared meal. When I finished, my ventral seal resealed, leaving a few drops of mercury blood, which I carefully cleaned off of me, before my carapace finally closed. Now fed, I felt my body begin heating the new meal, and that meant that sleep would take me quickly. I only had moments before sleep overtook me.
I opened the door of the soundproof room, and Rocky was there waiting for me. I staggered my way towards my nest, and Rocky followed to watch me sleep. As I drew my limbs underneath my carapace, I heard Rocky say, “Good sleep, Adrian. I will watch.” I drifted into sleep, thinking of Rocky.