Life is resilient.
Though individual creatures may die, life as a whole continues to move on, ever forward, evolving and adapting to challenges once perceived impossible. It rarely develops in ways wholly expected, for mere chance holds such sway that no matter the presence of guiding influence or pressures from conflict, everything carries within it the very touch of chaos from which life had been born.
“Come on, Ricin! We must do science!”
“It’s a beach, Methyl. A beach. What are you gonna do, add heat and watch sand turn to glass? Again?”
“It’s cool!”
“It’s sand.”
The sun’s rays bestowed their warmth from its zenith position high in the sky, barely compensating for the frigid chill in the winter air. The aforementioned sand was half-covered by sparkling fresh snow, and near to the shore it near sparkled itself in the light, as the water of the ocean gifted it the dampness that reflected the sun’s grace. Driftwood branches, seashells, and rocks littered the shore, nature’s beauty occasionally interrupted by the bits of plastic that continued to persist from long-gone human civilizations.
Two young spirits, appearances akin to half a horse, and half a fish (or perhaps half a dolphin), akin to the hippocampi of legend, except for the presence of butterfly-shaped wings. In the case of the dull blue spirit, whose hide carried blocky spots of black, those wings glowed faintly, radiating a graceful light of their own, as did his tail fin. His rich blue eyes stood in contrast to the light purple of his kindred spirit’s, whose own wings held no glow of energy of their own.
The purple-eyed spirit was a variegated brown, hide looking akin almost to smoke, if smoke could hold the rich hues of the earth. Of same size to his kin, he nonetheless appeared more reserved, and looked upon the blue one with fond exasperation.
“Methyl.”
“What?” the dull blue - Methyl - asked, pausing to look back at his kin’s tone. “Ricin?”
“Unless you developed magic powers when I wasn’t looking, the most we can do is watch what snow does with ocean water. You didn’t bring any of your equipment.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Oops.”
Watching the two from a ways up the beach, concealed by miscellaneous dead branches, lay one of the fox-dragon spirits known as a kijikaiaku. Pelt blessed with the hues of a pastel sunrise, of myriad gradients that shifted slightly with his movements and the light, the darkness of night reflected upon his back in dark purple, interrupted by smooth ovals of cream scattered across his body. Cyan eyes observed the other spirits calmly, mildly curious for their shapes were new to him.
Like all of his kind, he’d learned of Gaia’s new conflict with some invader to their world, who had created nature spirits of their own. This new war was not all conflict, and already some of these new ‘subtalleons’ had proven to be inclined towards peace, instead of combat. Though Gaia and this ‘Yile’ did not get along, their subservient spirits did not yet hold animosity towards one another, and this particular kijikaiaku was curious to see for himself what sort of nature these subtalleons held.
The mixed snow and sand of the beach did not disturb at his passage, for unlike the two subtalleons, kijikaiaku’s manifestation was currently too slight for his presence to feel as more than a slight breeze. Leaving no tracks and graced with no shadow, the kijikaiaku calmly came upon the subtalleons, who were too absorbed in their examination of snowmelt to notice his arrival.
“So this half-ounce snow-and-sand mixture took eight point three seconds to melt in ocean water…” Methyl said aloud, as his smokey brown kin patiently wrote down notes with an ink quill in his mouth - hooves were not useful for writing things. “And none of the sand froze. It just fell to the other sand under the water.”
“Are we going to spend the whole day doing this?” Ricin asked, debating making a quick trip back home for Methyl’s tools. Snow was snow was snow, it wasn’t going to melt much differently between sand and not-sand when exposed to salt water. But Methyl was insistent on trying to examine the chemistry of it based solely upon naked observation.
“This two-thirds of an ounce snow-and-sand mixture…” was the response Methyl gave, causing Ricin to sigh.
“There are more efficient ways to determine snow melting rates,” came a soft voice, one the two didn’t recognize.
Both subtalleons leapt into the air, their examination of snow momentarily forgotten in their surprise at the sudden voice of a stranger, whose footfalls had been perfectly silent. Spinning around, Methyl beheld the sunrise-hued individual, who was close in size to himself and Ricin. Though alarmed at first, the two calmed as the kijikaiaku made no gesture of aggression.
“For those made during war, you are surprisingly oblivious to your surroundings,” the kijikaiaku commented, an eyebrow raised. Cool, electric-cyan eyes observed them dispassionately. “You are fortunate that one of the more aggressive didn’t find you. Or Vairsing.”
“...Who’s Vairsing?” Ricin asked, recovering swifter than Methyl did.
“No-one important.”
“Who are you?” Methyl asked, deciding that this ‘Vairsing’ could be a question for later.
The kijikaiaku turned his gaze to the subtalleon. “I am Nitroaniline. Or Nitro, if you’re lazy with your speech. Or even just ‘N,’ if you’re like Ikaros.”
Methyl blinked - that was a chemistry name! Like his own, and his smokey-brown kin’s. Perhaps they were kindred in energy? They both originated from the same planet, even if their creators were different. “I’m Methyl, and this is Ricin. Maybe our names make us kin!”
“That’s…not how that works, Methyl…” Ricin sighed, shaking his head.
Nitroaniline gave a snort. “I am in agreement with…Ricin, was it? What brought the two of you to this beach?”
“I wanted to see how light reflects differently off of snow and ice at different temperatures, and the beach is close to the water, but I forgot my tools,” Methyl replied, in a bit of a rush. “So instead I’m testing water and snow.”
“I’m just along for the ride,” Ricin added, once Nitroaniline looked to him.
“If you need fire, I might be willing to help,” the kijikaiaku told them, giving an unimpressed look at Methyl’s makeshift setup. “I have a decent few abilities.”
“This’ll be great! Come on!” With that exclamation, Methyl’s mood completed its 180 and the dull blue subtalleon zipped off to one of the many collections of debris that cluttered the beach, scaring off a seagull in the process.
Nitroaniline and Ricin shared a meaningful glance, but then the two spirits followed. So it was that the three would spend much of the remainder of the day examining the beach and shoreline, carefully noting the various changes in a great many materials - not just snow, ice, and sand - when exposed to varying levels of Nitroaniline’s element-based abilities.
Neither of their species' creators had ever intended for them to get along. But life, life is chaos.