Rollan's world, once small and predictable, now teetered on the edge of something vast and unknown. The terrarium, enclosed as it was, seemed to expand in the wake of the new arrival. The creature, dark and gleaming, had retreated into the shadows after its first encounter with Rollan, but its presence lingered, a constant hum in the atmosphere.
Rollan crouched beneath his wood, his body coiled with tension. His antennae swept the air in restless arcs, picking up every vibration, every shift in the soil. The light that had burst from the rock had faded, but it left an imprint on his senses—a phantom glow that seemed to pulse faintly in his mind.
He tried to return to his routines. He ventured out to nibble on a piece of wilted lettuce the hand had dropped into the terrarium days ago. He groomed his legs meticulously, the repetitive motions calming his nerves. He even ventured to the mossy corner where the snail often lingered, hoping for some sense of normalcy. But everywhere he went, the air seemed heavier, as if the terrarium itself was holding its breath.
The creature was watching him.
It didn't show itself at first, but Rollan could feel its gaze, a weight that pressed against him even when he was alone. Sometimes, when he turned suddenly, he thought he caught a glimpse of it—a shimmer in the shadows, a faint glint of light reflecting off its segmented body. But when he looked directly, it was gone.
Rollan wasn't the only one affected. The other inhabitants of the terrarium had changed, too. The springtails were more skittish than usual, their tiny bodies darting erratically across the soil. The spiders had abandoned their intricate webs and now clung to the glass walls, their movements sluggish and uneasy. Even the snail, normally unbothered by the world around it, had retreated deep into its shell, refusing to emerge.
Something was wrong.
The breaking point came one evening, when the light outside the terrarium dimmed, signaling the end of the day. Rollan had just settled beneath his wood, his body curled tightly against the cool soil, when he felt the vibration. It wasn't like the usual tremors caused by the great hand adjusting the terrarium or adding new objects. This was different—subtle, rhythmic, like a heartbeat deep beneath the ground.
Rollan uncurled himself slowly, his antennae quivering as he tried to locate the source of the disturbance. The vibration grew stronger, a steady pulse that seemed to resonate through the entire terrarium. He scuttled out from under the wood, his claws clicking softly against the pebbles.
And then he saw it.
The creature was in the open now, standing atop the black rock that had brought it into their world. In the dim light, its body glistened like polished obsidian, every joint and segment catching the faintest glimmers. Its many legs moved in slow, deliberate motions, and its antennae swept the air like delicate sensors.
Rollan froze. The creature turned its many eyes toward him, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The pulse in the air grew stronger, a rhythmic thrum that seemed to echo inside Rollan's exoskeleton.
"You feel it, don't you?"
The voice wasn't a sound, not exactly. It was more like a pressure in Rollan's mind, a thought that wasn't his own but still made sense. He didn't know how to respond. He didn't even know if the creature could understand him.
The creature tilted its head—or what Rollan assumed was its head—and took a step closer. Its movements were unnervingly smooth, its legs gliding over the rock as if it floated just above the surface.
"This place… it is small."
Rollan twitched his antennae in confusion. The creature seemed to sense his uncertainty, and its body shifted slightly, its legs clicking softly against the rock.
"Small. Closed. Like… a shell."
Rollan understood that word. Shell. The snail's home, its fortress. The terrarium was like a shell, too, enclosing them in a world with no exits. Rollan had never thought of it that way before—it had always just been the world, the only one he knew.
The creature's eyes gleamed, reflecting the faint light that filtered through the glass walls.
"You have lived here long?"
Rollan hesitated, then tapped the ground with his legs—a slow, deliberate movement meant to convey understanding. He didn't know how to measure time, but he had been here as long as he could remember.
The creature seemed to consider this. It shifted again, turning its gaze toward the glass wall. For a long moment, it was silent, its body utterly still except for the faint ripple of its antennae.
"This shell… it is breaking."
Rollan recoiled slightly, his legs clicking against the soil. Breaking? The terrarium was unchanging, eternal. How could it break?
The creature turned back to him, its many eyes locking onto his.
"The light. You saw it."
Rollan nodded—or at least, he moved his body in a way that he hoped conveyed agreement. He had seen the light, felt its warmth, its strangeness. It had come from the rock, from the crack that had opened when the creature emerged.
"It is a door," the creature said. "A way out."
The idea was incomprehensible. A way out? There was no out. The terrarium was the world. Beyond the glass was a void, a place where nothing lived, where nothing could survive. Rollan had seen glimpses of it, blurry and distorted through the curved walls. The great hand came from that void, but it always retreated, leaving them behind in their enclosed paradise.
The creature seemed to sense his doubt.
"You do not believe me."
Rollan hesitated, then tapped the ground again—this time more tentatively.
The creature clicked softly, a sound that might have been amusement.
"You will see."
It turned away from him then, its body moving with fluid grace as it descended from the rock. Rollan watched as it scuttled across the terrarium, its dark form blending into the shadows. The pulse in the air faded with its departure, but Rollan could still feel it, a faint echo that lingered in his mind.
He returned to his wood, but sleep didn't come easily. The creature's words replayed in his thoughts, the concept of a "door" gnawing at the edges of his understanding. Was it possible? Could there truly be something beyond the glass?
The following days were tense. The creature didn't approach Rollan again, but its presence was impossible to ignore. It roamed the terrarium freely, moving with a purpose that none of the other inhabitants seemed to understand. The springtails avoided it entirely, scattering whenever it came near. The spiders retreated further into the corners, their webs abandoned. Even the snail seemed uneasy, its antennae retracting whenever the creature passed.
Rollan observed from a distance, his curiosity warring with his fear. The creature spent most of its time near the black rock, its many legs tracing patterns across the soil. Sometimes it would pause and lift its head, as if listening to something that Rollan couldn't hear. Other times, it would press its body against the rock, the faint glow from the crack illuminating its segmented shell.
The terrarium itself seemed to change in response to the creature's presence. The moss grew thicker, its green fronds reaching higher toward the light. The soil seemed darker, richer, as if infused with some new energy. Even the air felt different—more vibrant, more alive.
And then, one day, the creature acted.
Rollan was foraging near the mossy corner when he heard the sound—a sharp, cracking noise that echoed through the terrarium. He froze, his antennae sweeping the air as he tried to locate the source. The sound came again, louder this time, followed by a low, resonant hum.
He turned toward the rock.
The creature was there, its body pressed against the glowing crack. The light had returned, brighter than before, spilling out in rippling waves that seemed to dance across the soil. The crack was wider now, jagged edges splitting the surface of the rock like a wound.
The hum grew louder, vibrating through the terrarium like a living thing. The other inhabitants scattered, the springtails darting into the soil and the spiders retreating to the highest corners of the glass. Even the snail withdrew into its shell, its body trembling slightly.
Rollan couldn't move.
The creature turned to him, its eyes glowing with the same light that emanated from the crack.
"It is time," it said.
Before Rollan could react, the crack exploded.
A blinding flash filled the terrarium, and for a moment, the world seemed to dissolve into light. Rollan felt himself lifted, his body weightless as the pulse of energy washed over him. When the light faded, the terrarium was silent.
The rock was gone.
In its place was a hole—a dark, yawning void that seemed to stretch endlessly into the unknown. The edges of the hole shimmered faintly, as if the light from the rock still lingered there.
The creature stood at the edge, its body silhouetted against the darkness.
"The door is open," it said. "Will you follow?"
Rollan hesitated, his mind a whirlwind of fear and curiosity. The void called to him, its depths promising something he couldn't comprehend.
For the first time in his life, Rollan felt the pull of something beyond the glass.
And he stepped forward.