Kin of Jörmungandr

Ceph could hardly believe it.

They'd found the snake.

Or, well, it was more apt to say the serpent found them, but the reason they'd descended into these tunnels was finally before them. Ceph had been sure she would… but with every day they'd spent lost down in the depths, it seemed more and more unlikely.

Under any other circumstances, she would never have pushed on as far as she had — there was far too much danger to an environment that one couldn't navigate — but she was glad she did. With the assistance of the serpent that took out Beira, the war could be survived. It could be won.

When the snake scooped them out of their descent, its body had been larger than what she witnessed back against the Inner Circle ice mage. It had already been made abundantly clear it could change its size… but how big could it grow? How close to a Titan was this being?

The presence of its voice washed over her, and it was a struggle even for one as enhanced as herself to stifle the instinctual fear and respond. Those first few exchanges were both hopeful, and a snap back to reality.

The serpent was friendly, or at least amicable. But it had no intent to follow them to the surface. Instantly, Ceph was reminded that the hardest part of her mission was never the journey to find the beast, but to convince it to help them after such a horrible first impression. She would need to approach this slowly, and convince it to help them out after gaining sympathy. Stating outright they needed its power to fight a war was more likely to anger it at this point.

So, Ceph started with an offer of apology and a promise to show off the surface nations to the creature that was clearly more curious in them than any monster had a right to be.

The snake turned down her offer immediately.

By this point, the creature showed off just how unusual it was. It shrunk down until it was only as thick as the trunk of her tentacles. It held its head perfectly level with her own, and despite no longer being the overbearing figure of a massive hyle-dense beast, it's voice carried the same weight as when it was a mountain.

It was troubling that the creature didn't want to accept such a proposal, but Ceph couldn't show any disrespect to its wishes. The serpent had been willing to guide them out of this confusing labyrinth of spacial rifts — a surprise, considering many surface races wouldn't be so kind to do the same — and she could use that travel time to convince it.

Then, there was the next interesting revelation.

"Do you have a name?" She'd asked it almost conversationally. The thought that someone couldn't have a name never even crossed her mind, even if it was a dangerous predator like the one before her.

So when she heard the definitive "No," her first thought was panic. Had she just insulted the snake by pointing out it lacked one? Had she just doomed all of the pact nations because of a stupid comment she didn't even think two seconds about?

But when the snake didn't strike out and kill them there, she calmed and realised it was pondering the idea; as if it had never considered having a name itself.

"Would it be alright if I named you?" she asked.

Call it desperation for her homeland's safety or a desire to prove this mission wasn't for nothing, her intentions were nothing honourable. Ceph felt this was an opportunity to get in the snake's good graces. How could it ever forget the person who named it, after all?

She had no doubt that this creature was old. Possibly older than the pact nations themselves. If it didn't have a name already, it would realise how important they were once it began interacting with people. If she was the kind dohrni who was there to give the serpent a gift it had never received before, it would come to think of her, and her nation as those it should rely on.

It was manipulative and dishonourable, but with so many lives on the line, she crushed her reservations and self-contempt for the sake of the pact nations.

"I will name myself."

Ceph's body locked up once more as the wave of presence crushed her body with instinctual fear. Another, not so instinctual terror arose alongside it. It refused? Did it know what she was trying to do? Had she just ruined their chances? This constant seesawing between stressed and terrified was already wearing her thin, and a glance to the others showed that none of them were doing any better.

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This was its territory. Even if all of them fought to the fullest of their capability, there was no winning. Ceph struggled to even breath with its pressure bearing down on her. Her mind screamed at her that this was something she should never approach. Something that was so far beyond reasoning that even tempting such action would result in her death.

And yet everything she knew relied on the serpent's willingness to be reasoned with. Everything relied on her.

If she couldn't turn this around and make sure the snake not only didn't hate them, but actively sympathised with their troubles — something they had no right to believe possible — the pact nations would be lost.

So Ceph, along with every surface dweller besides her, waited with bated breath for the tiny Titan before them to decide whether it should kill them for slighting it.

"My name… I am…"

❖❖❖

I can't believe I never thought to give myself a name.

It became clear very quickly that every sapient on the surface had a name. Considering even I'd shortened Scia's species into something I could easier refer to her as, I'm not surprised at all that sapients besides myself give names to one another to distinguish them.

Can't imagine how difficult it would be to create a different name every time. There had to be tens of thousands of sapients on the surface. Something tells me they aren't all just variations on the name of their race.

"Would it be alright if I named you?" the dohrni, Ceph, proposes.

"No," I hiss before I can even consider it.

If I'm to be named, then it will be Scia that does so.

But… even when I achieve my goal — and I will achieve it — it will be a long time before Scia will return to me. Even longer before I can teach her to speak. How will I operate when interacting with these sapients if I don't have something so important to them that every one of them has it. If I ever happen to come across more sapients, like now, what should they call me?

My mind wanders to the thought of communicating with dozens of sapients, each speaking a name unique to myself. What might that be like? How is it to have something that defines your existence in someone else's mind entirely. When someone speaks your name with emotion, would it feel the same as speaking a species? Or will it be different? Something more?

No!

What am I thinking? My priority is Scia. I do not intend to interact with these sapients any more than I need to. Once I guide them to the vertical column of empty air, that will be the last time I see of them until I have Scia snuggled back between the ridges of my scales.

I cannot allow myself to be distracted by my desires to explore and listen to all these sapients. Just because they speak and all live lives so completely alien to my own, doesn't give me the right to abandon my cause to listen to them. Just because this small group just happened to fall into my territory doesn't give me grounds to follow them. They are lost, but they are also a distraction. They are an obstacle. A nuisance.

But I really want a name.

As soon as Ceph asked, I knew I wanted to answer. I want to have Scia here to name me properly, but that is a wish that will not come true. Despite my need to be patient, my need to wait for Scia, I want a name now.

Having the dohrni name me is an option — and I'm curious as to what she'd choose — but if I'm to have a name, it will be one that has meaning to both me and Scia. It is kind of her to offer, but she is not important enough to me to gain that privilege.

If Scia isn't here to name me, then nobody else can.

Instead, the only option is to name myself. I named Scia. And I can name myself to match.

I named Scia by shortening the name of her species. She went from a sciacylch to my Scia. There are probably thousands of ways I can approach my name. The surface sapients must have many I can't even imagine if they can somehow come up with names like Fay or Hirsh, which have nothing to do with their species at all.

But none of those curious methods — that I will have to wait until I've brought Scia back to life to ask — matter. The simplest way is the best way. I named Scia this way, and I will name myself accordingly. My name will come from my species; Jötnorm.

"My name," I start, collecting myself and preparing for it to become who I will be for the rest of my life. "I am Orm."

There is no fanfare to the announcement, nor does it truly change anything, but it just knowing I have a name — something singular to myself — is oddly joyous.

There's no point revelling in it though. I immediately slither past the group and begin to lead them out of this warped space. The only one I care to enjoy such celebration with, is long out of my reach.

"Come," I say to the sapients that remain frozen. I'll enjoy this brief trip to the column, but once these foolish five are safe, I'll be back on my trail to hunt and grow.

As if the impatience in my hiss reaches through the instinctual terror, they all snap into motion.

And head the wrong way.

Hissing in annoyance, I create a bend right before the head of the dohrni. My sudden reappearance makes them jolt, but I ignore it.

"Follow close," I say and direct them, slowly, through the numerous bends that litter space around us. "I will lead you out."

"Thank you, Orm."

It had been a spur of the moment decision, but hearing it back, I'm happy with the name. My species might be so rare that jötnorm might as well be my name rather than that labelling a type of creature, but Orm is different. A completely unique name for myself. A name in the style of Scia's.

It feels nice to hear it spoken.