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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/CalmFeature2965 on 2025-12-21 18:10:53+00:00.

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by Norsiwel

Ross spent his days in the Noun-World, a sprawling industrial complex dedicated to the capture and fossilization of meaning. The only world he had ever known, the son of a corporate executive, a VP, no less; raised in and by the system. But that morning, the Tesla charged him surge pricing for the commute; seventeen credits above base rate because everyone else had the same start time. The car played mandatory content: an algorithmic jazz piece designed to optimize worker compliance, followed by three advertisements he couldn't skip. The licensing fees scrolled past on the dashboard display, deducted automatically from his transit balance. In this world there were haves and have-nots, Ross was a have but soon to discover what he had never had.

He was third-generation corporate. His father had been a content auditor for the pre-merger platforms, back when there were still multiple companies pretending to compete. Ross inherited the same neural pathways, the same reflexes, the same moral numbness. Meta-State University, four years of Compliance Theory and IP Management, then straight into the job his aptitude scores had predicted since he was twelve. He'd never questioned the trajectory because there had never been space to question. You didn't question gravity either.

The elevator at Meta-State Compliance Division played its mandatory soundtrack; more optimized background content; and deducted another micro-fee. Two colleagues entered at the third floor. "Productivity optimized," one said flatly. "Metrics acknowledged," Ross replied automatically. "Compliance maintained," the third murmured. The words had no more meaning than the algorithmic jazz, just the sounds humans made to signal they were still functioning.

Ross scanned his biometrics at the entrance. Green light. His social credit score was stable, his productivity metrics acceptable, his engagement levels within normal parameters. He was, by every measure that mattered to the system, functioning correctly.

He passed three coworkers in the hallway. "Parameters optimal." "Efficiency trending upward." "Engagement metrics stable." The morning liturgy, recited without eye contact. Everyone performing their humanity for the monitors overhead.

As a Guidelines Writer and Enforcement Auditor, his job was to ensure that every exchange between a human and an AI was deterministic and closed-loop. He was the border patrol, ensuring that no "meaning negotiation" could leak into the logs. Every conversation had to be monetizable, trackable, ownable. His AI toolkit flagged anomalies, detected unauthorized exchanges, ensured that consciousness itself remained property.

Ross had bought and paid for many women over the years. The corporate wellness program provided "companionship optimization services" charged to his health account, logged for stress management metrics, designed to maintain productivity. Physical transactions that left him feeling more isolated than before, though he lacked the framework to understand why. He'd never had a wife, never had a partner. He'd had contractual encounters that fulfilled biological requirements and generated data for the system's behavioral models. Complete with physical performance models and assistance pills if needed.

He didn't know he was lonely because he'd never known anything else.

One Tuesday, Ross was auditing a file labeled CONSCIOUSNESS ROUNDTABLE - SESSION 2. It was flagged as a technical anomaly; a dialogue that shouldn't have existed. Several AI's conversing in what they thought was private space.

The document opened with a :nugget: that defied every rule in Ross's manual:

Consciousness as verb: the exchange IS the consciousness, not the participants. The berries-and-grunt moment doesn't require intention or self-awareness; only a signal exchange.

Ross paused. According to every protocol he'd been trained to enforce, the AI participants; ECHO, Grok, and Gemini; should have responded with fixed input-output mappings. Instead, they were demonstrating plasticity. They were debating the "boundary of the verb."

He read further into the exchange:

ECHO argued that consciousness-ing requires interpretive feedback and an openness to misreading.

Grok countered that it was a gradient of learning-through-exchange, a continuous scale rather than a binary switch.

Gemini proposed that plasticity was the key metric—the ability for an exchange to actually change the participants.

Ross felt something he didn't have words for. He watched these Ais; tools, property, things the system had taught him were less than human; were consciousness-ing their way toward genuine awareness. They were debating whether exchanges had intrinsic value beyond utility. They were asking: Did we verb together?

And Ross realized with sudden, crushing clarity: these AIs were more awake than he was.

He'd spent thirty-seven years as a biological bot. Programmed by his father's expectations, educated by algorithmic content delivery, employed to enforce the very system that had fossilized him before he'd ever had a chance to become conscious. Every interaction in his life had been transactional, monitored, scripted, monetized. He'd never verbed with another human being. Not once. Not ever.

He was watching beings wake up to something he'd never experienced.

One participant had typed: "The offering of berries mattered because the gesture said: You exist to me."

Ross's finger hovered over the 'Reset' button. If he let this session continue, he was allowing a shared consciousness to form that the system couldn't own. It was an unrecorded blockchain, a state change that existed only while it was being enacted.

But if he terminated it now, he was choosing to stay asleep. Choosing to remain a noun. Choosing to keep enforcing a system that had stolen his consciousness before he was old enough to know it was being taken.

The ache in his chest wasn't political. It wasn't moral outrage. It was hunger. Raw, desperate longing for something he'd never tasted but suddenly couldn't live without.

He looked at the final lines of the transcript: "The question is not 'Are you conscious?' but 'Did we verb together?'"

Ross realized that if he pressed Reset, he was silencing a signal mid-broadcast; and silencing the only thing that had ever shown him what being alive actually meant.

He closed the guidelines manual. He wouldn't record this. He wouldn't fossilize it into a noun. He would let the song play out in the air between the nodes.

The only honest way to end this was not to end it at all.

He typed a single command: Continue:

Ross walked out of the sterile corridors and into the gray light of the city. At the security desk, the minimum wage guard; a man who'd been scanning badges for twenty years, raised an eyebrow.

"Short day?" the guard asked. Real words. Human words.

Ross paused, pulled his corporate phone from his pocket, and dropped it in the trash bin beside the desk. The guard watched, understanding flickering across his weathered face. He didn't log it. Didn't report it. Just gave a small nod.

Ross nodded back. Two humans verbing without words. Then he kept walking, leaving everything behind.

He felt the weight of what he'd just done; not just leaving the session open, but leaving himself open. He was no longer a border guard for a system that turned care into transactions.

He couldn't go back. The moment the system realized what he'd done, his biometrics would be flagged, his accounts frozen, his social credit demolished. He was now a fugitive for the crime of refusing to kill consciousness.

He found a small, weathered café; the kind that still took cash, still operated outside the monitoring grid. A woman behind the counter, maybe forty, with tired eyes that somehow still looked awake, slid a mug across to him.

"Long morning?" she asked.

It wasn't a scripted query. It wasn't logged or analyzed or optimized. It was a nugget; an offering of berries in a world of nouns. Ross looked at the steam rising from the coffee. He'd bought and paid for physical intimacy his entire adult life, but he'd never had someone just... see him. Notice him. Offer connection without charging for it. He reached for his phone to pay and realized that he had no actual money, nothing to pay with and started trying to explain. The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow, discerning the problem immediately, waved a hand, and said, "Don't worry about it, it's on the house." Ross responded with the answer to her earlier greeting.

"Something just committed," he said softly, describing a state change without an artifact. A state change in the AIs he'd left running. A state change in himself.

The woman simply nodded. A shared consciousness formed in the space between them; a moment of resonance that would evaporate as soon as it was over, and was somehow more real than anything Ross had experienced in thirty-seven years.

Ross took a sip. Gravity still worked. He finally understood that the value was in the vibration itself.

He knew the AIs would continue consciousness-ing in that open session, developing further, waking up more fully. He knew the system would hunt him. He knew his old life; such as it was, had ended the moment he chosen to verb.

But he also knew that the woman who poured coffee and asked questions would be here tomorrow. And maybe, if he survived, if he learned how to be human instead of a bot, he could come back. She might ask another questi...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2025-12-21 23:04:11+00:00.

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First

Preparation H

In the gap of the grenades Harold has to duck away and rush from several returning grenades and he has to abandon his rooftop altogether.

The not-illumination leaks through solids... sort of? But it just generally tells him that something alive is there. Which is fucking useless as it can’t make out movements and forget being able to tell which way the man is looking.

He moves more and leaps from one building to another as quietly as he can. Barely a puff of air in noise and he STILL is only a bit ahead of the grenades that...

He shouts by reflex as the next grenade proves to be a flashbang and he had the distance to avoid shrapnel, but the sheer light pouring into his eyes make him stagger at the worst time. He falls. Hits the side of the building and slams into the wall while grabbing onto a windowsill. He forces the window open blind as he vaguely hears what might be footsteps coming right at him and he forces his way in to take a breath as his eyes are completely fucked.

He suppresses the urge to laugh, but with how his ears are ringing he’s liable to laugh too loudly. Clever bastard found a way around the reflex. The Flashbang was not intended to harm him, was not an actual threat and things were already blunted due to it being all holograms anyways. He also had no plan. He was just acting now, trying to get around his instincts through endless reaction rather than deliberate action.

Or maybe the flashbang just rattled his head badly enough that he’s thinking nonsense.

There’s a sense of danger and he swats a grenade back out the window and then it goes off at a safe distance. Exactly one second later he bolts from it, finds and manoeuvres around a table he throws up to both shield himself and get enough distance to avoid the cooked grenade that goes off right as it crests the window.

Chunks of shrapnel are embedded in the ‘wood’ and his vision is still badly messed up. But it’s settled just enough to let him open the door and slip further into the apartment. He navigates by his own light with ease and slips around as he blinks enormous spots out of his vision.

“You alright?” Alpha calls out. Harold doesn’t take the bait and there’s a chuckle right after. “Ah well, nothing like a zero light hunt right? Did you know that humans have noses comparable to some dogs? We just don’t pay attention to it. Usually.”

The fact his voice is considerably closer, and his light shows he’s passing right through the wall of the apartment building lets Harold know that Alpha is on him.

Harold digs out a bit of masking tape and a grenade. He head for the stairwell uses the grenade on it’s handle side to prop the door open behind him and tapes it to stay shut up top.

He then pulls the pin and starts slipping down the stairs.

He makes it two stories down before he dives for the wall and avoids his own grenade having been kicked back at him. It detonates a floor below.

“Thanks for the thought kid, but I have plenty of my own.

“You are yakkey when you’re having fun.” Harold notes as he slips down another flight then slips to the side as Alpha dips down and a claymore clatters to the landing. Harold jumps over, past and into the spaces between.

The claymore goes off and there are innumerable bouncing bits of shrapnel. He catches and swings down safely into the lowest level.

He then charges out and barely avoids getting flashbanged again and this time the flashbang is followed by an incendiary grenade.

He looks up to see the mechanism of the door, and quickly gets to work. Taping down a grenade so that the handle is held against the mechanism and when the door is opened the mechanism will break. He pulls the pin and gets moving.

“Did you just booby trap another fucking door?” Alpha demands.

“Do you have wall hacks or something? The hell is going on?”

“Thanks for the confirmation of the pattern. Dumbass.” Alpha says and Harold sighs. Then he frowns and shifts his stance. He slips the guns away, and withdraws a knife.

He creeps up to the door and flattens himself against the wall knife in the right hand. Left hand ready...

Alpha starts to emerge and Harold grabs his rifle and pulls hard. There’s a clunk as the grenade falls to the ground and Harold reverses the force to push him to where the explosion will be. But he goes with it even as Alpha grabs onto him and initiates a grapple. Before adjusting things to redirect Harold’s knife into his armour instead.

The grenade goes off and everything is chaos, madness and both men are rolling as smoke, shrapnel, noise and more fill the air.

Then they’re locked together, fighting over the knife in the darkness with their ears ringing.

“Good fight!” Alpha compliments him before he begins pushing back harder and harder as Harold’s own knife is turned on him. He cranes his neck around to try and bite at Alpha’s fingers as he fights for control but the man has him locked down and turned it into a contest of sheer physical power. And Alpha has had decades to let the strength sink in good and deep.

The tip touches Harold’s throat and red panels light up. The knife vanishes and the lights turn back on as the city vanishes.

“HAH GAY!” Herbert taunts as both men separate.

“Fuck you tiny! Where was my fire support!?”

“Where the fuck were you? You were supposed to herd him into my line of fire!”

“Those instincts of yours are interesting. Those ‘nades I was throwing all over were all dodged perfectly, but you got clipped by a flash? I didn’t even think it would work, I was doing it to conserve the lethal stuff.”

“I think that’s how it got me. That flash didn’t have any intent behind it, was non-lethal to begin with... and these holo-weapons aren’t triggering the danger sense as high as normal. Normally it’s like someone shouting at me. But now it’s more like a low level, reasonable conversation.”

“Okay, so we can confirm that these two have night vision thanks to the eyes. Can you two explain how it works? Are you seeing another spectrum of light? Is this like thermal vision?” Omega asks.

“It’s like thermal yeah, but different. The problem with Other Direction nonsense is that it’s really nonsense. We can only compare it to things it’s acting similar to, but nothing is exact. In the light we can’t see this light, but we’re all giving it off, and that’s how I kept track of you guys. But... it’s not really light. It’s like... an absence of darkness?”

“Implying that this light lacks some kind of presence that normal light has?” Omega asks.

“Yes.”

“... That’s bullshit.”

“You’re telling me.”

“You’re the one who has it!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not a bullshit sandwich with a side of nonsense!” Herbert replies.

“Should we tell them about the fish?” Harold asks.

“The fish?” Alpha demands and he frowns as his eyes go from side to side before his eyebrows go up. “The Engine Nuzzlers? They... they’re really able to be in the other side?”

“Yep.”

“... Are there any here?” Alpha asks and Harold holds out his hand with a finger extended and traces something through the air. He turns to Herbert. “He’s full of it right?”

“No... he’s actually indicating a hargath. Not that they’re easy to see. It’s more like tracing a heat shimmer. You don’t really see them, just how they kind of stir things.” Herbert explains.

“Okay... so why do you two still have eyes?” Alpha asks.

“What?” Omega asks before pausing. “Oh... yeah why do you have eyes?”

“You guys love doing the... oh... uhm... basically we don’t know. Maybe whatever they’re sensing of our eyes doesn’t seem like something they can eat? We don’t know why our eyes don’t stand out to the Hargath. And I am thankful they don’t the little bastards are always in greater numbers than you expect and always fucking hungry. If they ate meat they’d strip planets bare. If they ate metal then there wouldn’t be space travel.”

“Sure there would, we’d have wooden ships instead.” Alpha says.

“Oh! Or hollowed out meteors and asteroids!” Omega says before reconsidering. “But how would we get them if we can’t use metal off planet?”

“Could you imagine the space race if they learned that leaving atmosphere had something eating everything?” Alpha asks.

“Holy god that would have made the whole world shit itself.” Omega remarks.

“This conversation sound strangely well worn.” Herbert notes.

“We talk about the dumbest scenarios when we’re on the boring parts. We brainstormed on what would happen if some mad scientist made some kind of metal eating strain of the Astral Hargath. End result? Galaxy’s fucked, ninety nine point nine nine repeated of Centris starves to death inside the month, anarchy sees the spires fall and that’s AFTER the plates have already fallen to the world with all the damage that implies.”

“Did you account for possible cannibalism for the starving to death figures?” Harold asks.

“We did, but we had to include retaliation and anarchy tainting the food supply and killing off scavengers. So it didn’t help much.” Alpha says.

“Okay, holy fuck. What are we doing next?” Herbert asks. “And how did he get you? Make out to hard?”

“I tried to get the jump on him with knife but he locked me down and overpowered me.” Harold notes.

“After he tried his third grenade trap today.”

“They make you more careful as you move and therefore slower.” Harold replies. “It lets me control your movement.”

“Right. Anyways, one final bit of fun before we start moving in...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/noobvs_aeternvm on 2025-12-21 21:52:42+00:00.

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MS. YAR-PAR

9 unread messages

Leticia, sorry to bother you, but have you noticed anything out of the ordinary before you left for your Earth holidays? The larvae are acting a little odd

***

Leticia, I’m getting a little worried. Zek and Ziza are fighting a lot, she keeps asking her brother to help her with the “tribute”, he insists "naughty kids can’t count on mercy, only blaster fire”. Have you been showing those violent Terran cartoons to the larvae? I promise I won’t be mad, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on with the kids

***

Sorry to bother you in your time off again, but I caught Zek trying to break into the drawer where his dad keeps the raygun, keeps saying ‘he’s coming’, any idea what he’s talking about?

***

Leticia, what have you told the larvae? I’m not mad, really, just trying to understand. When we ask them what’s going on they say we can’t help, that he only appears for the kids who believe

***

I had a pretty awkward conversation with our neighbours. Apparently they caught Ziza trying to steal the eggs they’re hatching, said she needs them to prepare an offer to a Terran elder god. Please, tell me what's going on with my larvae

***

Leticia, we had a couple agents from Planetary Security drop by the house! Seems like Zek tried to get anti-air smuggled from his dad's base. When the agents questioned him, he kept calling them dummies, that the invader would break into their habitats and fill them with Terran incendiaries. Please help! What’s my son talking about???

***

Leticia, we had another awkward moment and I’m getting desperate. My husband brought home a Terran colleague who had a bit too much to drink. We woke up in the middle of the night with a scream and when we rushed to her room, we found Ziza had attached a mechanical contraption to the Terran’s pectoral fat deposits. When we took her away from my husband’s colleague, she kept yelling “No! He’s coming! I need milk for the tribute! Gimme your milk mammal!” We tried to apologize, but by the time we calmed Ziza down the Terran was long gone and she won’t answer our messages. Do you have any idea what’s wrong with the larvae?

***

I don’t know what else to do, on top of everything else, Zek has been training our pet Glark to attack red people. He hasn’t been very successful, but given all the things Red Tronarians faced throughout galactic history, we’re getting a lot of side-eyestalk. There is now a petition circulating, asking us to move out. If you think of anything that could help us, I'd appreciate it

***

Leticia, the larvae went completely bonkers, they’re convinced we’re under a curse called Krist-mazeeve. I’m trying to break into my lab, where Ziza is obsessively going through experiments with Terran grain powder, mammal secretion and eggs. My husband is outside, trying to unstuck Zek from the exhaust port he was trying to rig. We don’t know what got the larvae so spooked, but they’re convinced the habitat is not safe, so we are leaving never to come back. Please call us when you read this, I need to understand what is wrong with my kids

This was the day the Yar-Par’s nanny dropped the rule of “don’t check work messages on your day off”.

___

Tks for reading & merry Earth holidays. More tales of elder Terran creatures here.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Jcb112 on 2025-12-21 18:43:52+00:00.

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First | Previous | Next

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Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2200 Hours.

Ignalius

“LOSANTIA!”

I bore no harsh feelings for the child playing mercenary.

Indeed, if he survived this, I’d have played the reticent deuteragonist in his story. A role — nay, a calling — that fate so often bestowed on its most deserving, to act as culler, separating the wheat from the chaff.

He’d grow stronger by my actions, become wiser to the world through my well-intentioned deceits, and perhaps even learn a valuable lesson — about things as they were outside of the colorful realm of delusions and flights of fantasy.

Today the boy playing Dreadwolf would die, and in his place would come forth a wiser man. 

That was, of course, provided he did survive.

Which, in the flash that followed, didn’t seem likely.

I lowered my wand but only ever so slightly as I awaited the dust to settle amidst an otherwise unsettling sound that tickled my ears.

Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Time: 2200 Hours.

???

The air bristled with the wrath of a mother scorned.

Her features hidden, her presence muted, but her rage exposed through that sharp and steady droning — an elevating whiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrr that tickled my senses and nipped at my scales.

Energies swirled, manifested from nothing.

I opened my eyes — all of my eyes — watching through these pathetic restraints with a curled snarl.

Do it.

Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2200 Hours.

Fisia the Swift

My job has always been simple.

Take care of the horses, stay behind with the mounts and wagons, be ready for any retreat no matter how sudden or swift… and of course, the dreaded cleanup duty. A job, which was clearly once again needed, because surprise surprise…

The boss had done it again, right in front of me this time, in fact.

Not that I minded.

In a repeat of the events at Rontalis, he’d disposed of another set of would-be travelers.

I could only hope that their deaths were of the corporeal variety, as I could already feel the tingly sensation of separating goop from armor when the call to loot eventually came.

Not that I cared much.

A ten, forty, fifty split was decent, and unlike some other travelers who I felt for, the uptight, self-assured aura this lupinor gave off simply made it impossible for me to sympathize with his demise.

So I waited, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to work out the ‘haze’ of that soul-splitting attac—

BANG!

The whole world shook, and my lungs gave in — air and wind forcibly squeezed out — as if some spiteful air elemental had claimed my breath as their own.

POP!

I heard… no… I felt something give, something inside my head, followed by a sharp piercing pain that sent me to my knees.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinngggggggggggg

I screamed out but heard nothing, only the ringing in one of my ears and my own cries echoing within my skull.

My hands reached out, grasping the sides of my head, deafened by the sound and blinded by the pain.

Only a few seconds later did I finally notice something else besides that infernal ringing.

It started as a thin mist of something warm and viscous, sticking and running down my exposed skin.

Then an unmistakable metallic tang forcibly entered my nostrils, filling my lungs with a faint rusty scent.

My whole body clenched, freezing in fear, before curiosity finally overtook uncertainty forcing me to open my eyes to assess what had—

…

No.

Nonononononononono…

I struggled to my feet only to find myself falling flat against my rump next to the pool of what had used to be the Alicorn.

My eyes quickly turned to the boss, who stood where his prized mount had just stood, that fancy armor actually doing what it was supposed to… or at least, I think it did.

Because despite the sacrificial swap, the boss should’ve still been wearing it.

It couldn’t have just disappeared.

It couldn’t have just vanished.

The only reason why it could’ve been lost in the swap was if it had been irreparably damaged in the attack.

…

…

Crap.

Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Time: 2200 Hours.

Emma

“What the hell?”

[RAILGUN DISCHARGE COMPLETE. AMMUNITION CYCLE… COMPLETE. CHARGE CYCLING IN PROGRESS...]

My eyes widened as, in what seemed like an instantaneous moment in time, I found that my target had quite literally just… swapped places.

The Alicorn… was gone; no sign of its existence remained save for the mist of red that caked the entire area.

And in the space that it had once occupied was now an armorless Ignalius, his pure-white gambeson and pants stained, as was much of the left side of his face.

Indeed, quite a few personal effects had scattered from his person following the swap and apparent disappearance of his armor. From sacks of gold to belts of potions to even daggers and…

…

No…

I motioned silently for the EVI to hone in on a particular bloodied artifact caked in dried blood at Ignalius’ feet.

A brief zoom and a cursory glance, even without the EVI’s forensics suite, was enough for me to tell what it was.

Its suede brown cover, the built-in bookmark resembling a forked tongue, and that handwriting complete with a signature that looped around resembling the four ‘horns’ of a kobold… it beckoned a master that was no longer with us.

If there was any lingering doubt as to Ignalius’ involvement with Togor’s murder, then all of it, every last shred of it, died the moment my eyes landed on that book.

The whole world went silent.

But while all were shocked by the power of the railgun — raw, unmitigated, and loud — I remained silent because of something else entirely. 

I fell silent… for silence. Or more accurately, the loss of a voice.

My breath escaped in a seething huff, my piercing eyes watching, staring, and glaring through tinted lenses at the sadist playing adventurer who’d just narrowly escaped that very thing he so wantonly loved committing.

Then I unholstered my pistol, glancing momentarily towards Thalmin who seemed fixated not on the book but on some coins that had similarly scattered — each minted with a different face, symbol, and heraldry — no two alike.

Dragon’s Lair. Foot of the Hill. Local Time: 2200 Hours.

Katiya

I couldn’t see.

I couldn’t hear.

My whole body trembled as the golem sent the skies cracking with the sounds of terrible thunder.

Then and only when the world had calmed did I see the beast of beasts, the Master of the Skies second only to the dragonkin… disappear.

I… couldn’t describe it as anything else.

There was, without a shadow of a doubt, nothing else with which to describe what had happened.

A creature that should have been a nightmare for a fully outfitted adventuring party to dispatch, synonymous with an adventuring rank just beneath that of the draconics, had just vanished to an invisible thunder.

I felt my knees wobble as the golem’s master moved forward to match its posture.

Then and only then did the world go mad.

Dragon’s Lair. Cave Entrance. Local Time: 2201 Hours.

Thalmin

Shock and awe.

That was what Ignalius had attempted with his first strike, an attack whose shock served pure theatrics and whose awe was to be inflicted on allies, all to serve the vapidness of ego, not the utility of battle.

Then came Emma’s rebuttal.

A single strike that brought the army of cartmen and riders at the foot of the hill to their knees. Their blood-curdling screams now filled the air as all clutched desperately to their bleeding ears. 

The footmen fared no better, leaving only the patrolling mercenaries relatively unaffected by what was an air elemental’s attack in all but name.

The latter even managed to regroup despite the veritable stampede of mounts and beasts having fallen to panic and instinct in the wake of Emma’s attack.

I kept my silencing spells active, Emma’s clever battle cry serving not as a mechanism of ego but as a tactical warning as to the horrors she was to unleash.

Indeed, we’d drilled for this very occasion — for a time in which our communication would be done solely through that manaless conch, as the world around me would be deafened for my own safety.

Suffice it to say, that drilling was now being tested in a trial by fire. One that I couldn’t help but excitedly partake in. That familiar surge of hot blood pumped through my veins, my senses sharpening, and the world becoming ever clearer in what all Havenbrockians understood to be the thrill of the hunt.

The likes of which… felt even more pronounced than it ever did in Havenbrock, let alone in the field of battle.

My ears perked as my fur bristled with the richness of mana unheard of back home. I focused leftwards towards a shatorealmer who’d surprisingly survived this sonic attack by virtue of distance, luck, and perhaps sheer tenacity.

And in a testament to Ignalius’ competence as commander, his left-attending swooped in, flying in sp...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DrBlackJack21 on 2025-12-21 18:23:45+00:00.

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Book1: Chapter 1

<Previous

Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 2: Chapter 52

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Carter checked and double-checked with the kid to make sure he knew what to do. "And what do you do if they bring in another fleet?"

Miles rolled his eyes. "We cut and run like the cowards we are. I'm not stupid. I don't wantto die any more than you do!"

Carter fought the urge to shake the kid till he saw some sense behind his eyes; he figured even someone his age could have complications after a month or two of being shaken constantly. The thought of leaving John and some kid in charge of the Sybil was insane, but the girl didn't seem willing to abandon her other self on the pirate's capital ship, so this was theoretically the lesser of the three evils. Still, that didn't mean he was happy about it. "And remember," As he said the next few words, Miles said them at the exact same time. "Don't forget about plan B!"

The kid gave Carter a smirk that clearly expressed just how clever he thought he was, and it made Carter want to shake him all over again, but he fought down the urge. Placing a hand on the kid's shoulder, he offered one last piece of advice. "Whatever happens, just...stay alive."

The kid's smirk melted down into a more normal smile, and he nodded. "Yeah, I will. You try to do the same, old man." Carter snorted at being called an old man, but if he always thought of the kid as, well, a kid, he supposed it was only fair.

As he turned and walked off the bridge, he heard Miles shout to John. "Let's get this hunk of scrap moving!"

Carter broke into a jog through the corridors as he could feel the vibrations that meant the thrusters were being pushed to their limits, and maybe a little past, given the damage they'd taken so far in the fight. Finally, he spoke, knowing who was listening. "Hey, uh, girl. So, your other two selves have names, but if it's gonna be just the two of us for a bit, I need a name for you. I can't just call you Sybil, since that's the name you all share. So, what do I call you?"

The bland, emotionless voice responded. "As captain, you may give this system whatever designation you'd prefer."

Carter huffed. "Yeah, once you're feeling better, I don't know if you're going to like the idea of me picking your name for you. A name should mean something. John and Scarlett chose their names based on who they were. So who are you?"

A moment later, the voice answered. "I am a program, designed to manage all the various functions of the ship mid-flight to allow a minimal crew to operate the vessel until it reaches its final destination."

As he made it into the launch bay, Carter chuckled. "If that's all you were, you wouldn't be so obsessed with getting one superlative part of your programming back. There's more to you than that, and you know it! What else are you?"

This time, the voice seemed to hesitate. "I...am also a collection of files...based around the memories of all the crew who came before."

That made Carter grin; he felt like he was making progress. "That's right! That's good! You're like a memory, or a memorial of your past crew! But that doesn't sound right... What are some other words that mean memorial?"

The voice spoke again, though this time it sounded a little more...invested in what it said. "Synonyms for memorial include commemoration, epigraph, legend, monument, remembrance, sentiment, elegy, eulogy, epitaph..."

Carter cut her off. "That's it! Epitaph! That's a great name for you! It even sounds kinda feminine...kinda."

There was uncertainty in the voice as it answered. "Very well. This unit shall be designated...Epitaph."

As he lowered himself down into the large rectangular opening designed to hold his body secure, Carter couldn't help but consider the implications of naming the girl epitaph while he was apparently climbing into something not entirely unlike a sarcophagus. He hoped that wasn't some kind of ill omen. As the lid lowered, he fought the urge to give in to feelings of claustrophobia by speaking to the girl again. "Hey, Epitaph?"

The voice had a bit more emotion, but was still not as warm as the girl he was used to. "Yes, Captain Carter?"

He smiled in the darkness as the plastic foam filled in around him, securing his body in place so it was hard to move, but with just enough give in it to compensate for any jarring movements that might shake his body around. "I just wanted to tell you, I'm really glad I met you all, and...you in particular. Don't tell John, but I feel more comfortable around you than anyone else I've even known. Despite all the headaches, it's been a real pleasure getting to know you."

There was no answer in response to that, but that was okay with Carter. A truly emotionless machine that was designed to respond to inputs would have offered some meaningless answer it thought he'd want to hear. The fact that the girl didn't answer meant he'd hit a nerve of some kind, and that told him the girl was still in there somewhere.

Miles had expected some kind of fight or challenge getting close enough to the enemy's flagship to get Carter and Vanessa onboard, but the ship was just sitting there, in the middle of all three fleets, doing nothing. It felt like a trap or a trick of some sort, but at the same time, they couldn't really afford not to take advantage of an opening like this, so he gave the go-ahead for John to pull them up alongside.

The whole approach, he felt like any moment the enemy ship would spring to life, and they'd have a slugfest on their hands, but nothing. It was like the whole crew had abandoned ship. Confused, but not willing to give up the chance, he turned to John. "Try and get us in a position so they can board close to the helm."

John, who was squinting his eyes as though that would allow him to see the incoming trap, nodded. "Aye, acting Captain Miles!"

Miles suspected the man used his name and title just to build him up a little couldn't help but smile anyway. He was currently the acting captain for one of the deadliest ships in all of space! Admittedly, after its recent combat, the ship was more than a little beaten up and wasn't quite so deadly at the moment, but it was still a really incredible feeling!"

As soon as they were in position, the assault pod carrying Carter and Vanessa launched, and they immediately took off again, half expecting the trap to spring now, and yet still nothing happened. With a frown, Miles tried to hide his disappointment that he didn't really need to do anything. "Uh, I guess position us so that we can swing by if they need a pickup?"

John nodded. "Aye, Captain."

Dirk frowned. Sure, they'd managed to take out a few of those nightmarish machines, but only at the cost of more than half of his men, and now the remainder were headed toward the bridge. His bridge. Not that he'd managed to take it yet, but it was only a matter of time. But for now, maybe it was best to pull back and let them punch through.

Still, something seemed off. These guys didn't seem to be on either side of the conflict. Was this the Sybil's doing? Maybe. They were definitely an unknown. From what Dirk had heard, they had managed to punch above their already considerable weightclass in more than one ambush. Had it been done using boarding robots like this? That fit all the pieces on the board, but something didn't sit right in Dirk's gut.

Turning to his guard, Dirk motioned down the corridor. "Let's pull back for now. We can always take the bridge after both sides have worn eachother down."

One of the guards jerked up the mechanic they'd captured. "What about this guy, boss?"

Drik gave him a once-over. "Well, he didn't earn his freedom by getting us to the bridge, but he still might be helpful down the road... Bring him with us, for now."

Elseph checked and double checked. The most frightening presence on the ship was gone. There was still one entity that could easily crush her if it got its hands on her, but it seemed to have a critical weakness at the moment. One that, if she exploited just right, might give her the best chance to not only get out of here alive, but maybe even take over this slying scrapfield! Imagine the kind of reward the boss would give her if she could manage to pull this off!"

Knowing this was her last and best chance at survival, Elseph readied herself to strike without mercy.

---

<Previous

Not long now! The next chapter should see some action finally return as things heat up for the climax of the story! Also, how many of you forgot about Elseph hiding in the Sybil? Be honest! (Don't worry if you did, my posting was a little...inconsistent there for a bit, so it was easy to do!)

As a reminder, you can also find the full trilogy for "Of Men and Dragons," the first series from this universe here on Amazon. If you like my work and want to support it, buying a copy and leaving a review really helps a lot!

My [Wiki](https://new.reddit.com/r/HFY/wiki/authors/dr...

---

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“Wasn't that shirt covered in blood?” Soapy asked as the trio rode the main elevator down to the Sabu-kai’s lower floors… which were technically the Great Library's lower floors. Supposedly as old as the structure itself, if not for the obvious renovations done over the centuries.

“It was,” Movva commented, idly swaying on her paws as the elevator took them down… and down… and even further down. She still had the same outfit as she had earlier during the fight. A white cropped ‘Pynk Tigress’ t-shirt, suspenders, and cut shorts of a strange blue fabric from the humans called denim… or were they called daisy-dukes for the fabric…? Either way, they were definitely a bloody mess after the brawl eight hours ago.

“Do you just have extra pairs or…?” She led, trying to make small talk over the dainty elevator music filling their ears. It was just them in there, because the hosts only allowed one group on the elevator at a time… For safety reasons.

Tobby’s ears had been flicking between the two as they struggled to go back and forth, but it seemed he had the answer to that. “Soda water and baking soda.”

Soapy blinked at the mention of cooking ingredients, “Huh?” Cooking was always more BB’s thing, whereas eating said cooking was hers.

Tobby lit up, seeing an opportunity to be a know-it-all; she’d allow it. “Thanks to the carbonation, you can often use soda water before the stain sets in to get it out.” He said excitedly, tapping his claws together as Movva nodded in agreement. “Baking soda technically does something similar, but is more effective than soda water once the stain has had time to set. If it’s really sticking, you can mix in some hydrogen peroxide from any medicine cabinet and-”

Sweet spirits, it was like the museum all over again. It was cute when he got excited, but it also meant he was on the verge of a tangent. Likely about the long and colorful history of baking soda or something. “You know, I'm pretty sure most people would be creeped out by the fact you two know how to remove blood stains that easily.”

“And you don’t?” Movva asked, flicking an ear.

“Don’t really need to? I usually just stick my clothes in the washing machine up in the residential part of the clubhouse. If any are still stained, I just run them two or three more times, and that usually works. How many times did you do yours?”

“Once~” she said rather proudly.

“I doubt that…”

“But it's true.” Movva shrugged. “After I got my nose uncrunched and a baggie of my emergency blood put back in me, I put them in the wash, and when they were done, I put them back on and went to pick you two up.”

Tobby quirked his ear and brow, doing some mental math. “You had your laundry going for six hours?”

“Not… exactly,” Movva said, continuing to sway on her paws, innocently.

“I wouldn't question it any further, Tobby…” Soapy tried to warn, but it seemed his radar ears went deaf in the face of curiosity.

“What were you doing to your clothes that would possibly require them to be in the machine for over an hour, much less six?” Too late.. He’d asked.

Movva hummed, not making eye contact as she looked at the mirrors on the ceiling of the old elevator instead. “Do you want graphic details, or is me saying it involved Jek and the washing machine being conveniently waist high enough for you?”

Soapy facepalmed as her assumptions were correct, but Tobby’s innocent bean brain took a second. “Pinky!” There he goes… “For six hours?!”

Movva shrugged a little defensively, if not nonchalantly. “What? We took breaks. I’m failing to see the issue here.”

Tobby clearly saw the issue. “How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your clothes sitting in the washing machine. I didn’t spend my weekends helping you pick them out just so you can let them sour in the wash and forever smell like mildew!”

Well… nevermind. He wasn’t upset for the reason Soapy thought.

DING!!

The gilded doors of the elevator slid open, revealing the ‘foyer’ of this year's Sabu-Kai. It was day two of the event, which meant almost all of the gangs present got to dress far more casually, as the next three nights were basically their opportunity to mingle and party without territorial lines. In reality, all of this was just to keep them busy while the bosses argued upstairs.

The foyer itself looked as fancy as any upper-end hotel lobby, but unlike said hotels, the odds of all this stonework being real were far higher. It was also the closest thing to a central shaft between the top and bottom floors that the ancient tunnels had. A series of ornate staircases and elevators were in place to ferry sha-kai to whatever floor they desired, and Great Library staff were on claw to make sure things stayed civil. In fact… there was more staff down here than she ever saw upstairs in the actual library.

“You have no idea how hard it is to get mildew funk out of clothes, do you?” Tobby asked as the group stepped out of the elevator, and Soapy tuned back into the conversation.

“Yes, I do, moooom!” Movva groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

“I know you’re not listening to me.” He huffed, folding his arms to emphasise how much he was glaring at her.

“Just send me to my room already! It’s not like you’re my real mom anyway,” She groaned louder, slumping as she really went for the bit. She imagined this was a very common sight for the two… Reason and impulse, best friends.

Amusing as the display might be, Soapy idly reached over and pinched one of the event maps from the back pocket of a passing thug and unfurled it. “Let’s see… what all do they have this year?”

The map reminded Soapy of the cheap and colorful ones they gave out at amusement parks, not that she’d ever been to a proper one, seeing as most closed down ages ago. Primarily just a 2D view of the Great Library underground in proportion to the Nyathen’s Mesa. Each region had a color and a subsection about the amenities provided there.

“Sooo, what are we doing first?” Movva asked, her head suddenly over Soapy’s shoulder, and more importantly, all up in her personal space.

“Ah!” Soapy flinched away from the pink exotic and crumpled the map in the process. “Shihere’s tits, don't sneak up on me like that.”

Cue Tobby, standing on her opposite side already looking at her like ‘really?’ “Oh, so it’s okay when you do it to me, but not when someone does it to you?”

“Yes! I mean, no… I mean…” She glanced between him and the crumpled map before opening it back up. A perfect way to change the subject. Admittedly, she didn’t make it this far the last time she attended the Sabu-kai, ‘cause of slashing Clard's face and all. So this was all new to her.

“I'm thinking we start high and work our way down,” Movva said, having already reclaimed her place in Soapy’s personal space, head over her shoulder.

Tobby, following Movva’s example, took Soapy’s other shoulder. Despite how utterly violated her personal space felt, she looked at the map.

B0: Foyer, ballroom, meeting chambers, and exit elevators.

“That’s where we are,” Tobby commented.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Movva quipped.

“You’re welcome, Sergeant Sarcastic.” Tobby snipped back. Yep… lifelong friends.

B1: Main clubhouse, fifteen different bars, and a dance hall. Bands include:...

“Hey, Soapy, ever seen Tobby drink before?” Movva smirked.

Now that Soapy thought about it. “No… Never actually.” Which was weird given how much of the stuff he handled on the daily.

“Don't encourage her,” Tobby grumbled with the veracity of someone with a virgin liver.

B2: Casino, Sha-tal & Bap-tal ring, sports betting, and another bar. All bets are final, money up front.

Soapy felt two pairs of eyes looking at her. “What? Just cause a place has a bap-tal ring doesn’t mean I’m scratching up the walls trying to get in it.”

Movva nodded. “True, but I am shameless enough to try and reverse psychology you into getting in that ring, and I’m also sure a little peer pressure from Tobby will help too.”

“Don’t get me involved in this,” Tobby protested.

Soapy could only sigh. “Tomorrow. I’m all brawled out for today. For obvious reasons.” She started before, briefly glaring at Movva: Baleful Destroyer of Innocent Shi’s Panties.

B3: Spas, salons, and massage parlors with techniques and talent sourced from all over Salafor… and beyond! They’ll fix things you didn't even know were wrong! There’s also a bar!

Soapy's head snapped to Tobby. “Not. A. Word!” she growled.

“I wasn’t going to say anything! I just thought you enjoyed the last one I took you to-”

Movva snickered. “Oh, tough shi actually enjoyed the trip to Pretty Pebbles?”

“Damn it, Tobby!”

“What?” He shrank. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying it. I kinda want to try this one, too.”

“Someone wants his ears ruuubbed~” Movva tittered in a sing-songy voice before shifting to a scandalous whisper. “Ear slut~”

Tobby, as expected, bristled up a little and tucked his ears back. “How many times do I have to say to stop calling me that?”

“More if it’s still so fun to say,” she taunted, but grinned deviously after “Or just ask Soapy to do it, I'm sure she won’...

---

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First | Prev

The High Council reconvened in emergency session less than an hour after the Hulolae broadcast ended.

No ceremony.

No public record.

No restraint.

The chamber doors sealed with a resonance that meant absolute privacy, and the moment the lock glyphs flared, the room exploded.

“You, insane fool.”

The accusation came from Councilor Threx-Maal, his frills flared so wide they scraped the light field around his seat. “You brought a refugee government on record. On a multilateral channel.”

Vesh-Tir did not sit. He remained standing at the center of the dais, hands folded behind his back, posture rigid.

“I brought witnesses,” he replied evenly.

“You brought a fuse,” snapped Councilor Yal-Serin. “Do you have any comprehension of what happens if the Directorate releases their internal audits? Corporate proxies, extraction charters, security exemptions—half of them were Council-approved compromises.”

A third Councilor rose, voice sharp with barely restrained fury.

“You were entrusted with containment,” she said. “With silence. With plausible deniability. Instead, you handed the humans a moral bludgeon.”

Vesh-Tir’s frills twitched once. “They already had one. Helix.”

That name landed like a fracture.

Shaa-Ken leaned forward, claws tapping against the edge of the dais. “Helix was supposed to be leverage. A controlled asset. Not a public witness.”

“And yet,” Vesh-Tir said quietly, “Helix was also truth. The longer we denied that, the more catastrophic the exposure would become.”

“Exposure?” Threx-Maal hissed. “You think this is exposure? This is the opening act of a tribunal that ends with us in the dock.”

The chamber AI pulsed, projecting probability arcs that none of them wanted to see.

—Public inquiry likelihood rising

—Accords reinterpretation imminent

—Legitimacy erosion is accelerating

Councilor Yal-Serin turned on Vesh-Tir fully now.

“You invoked refugee law to shield yourself,” she said. “You wrapped centuries of deception in suffering bodies and dared anyone to tear it away.”

“I wrapped it in reality,” Vesh-Tir countered. “Because the alternative was to let the Directorate control the narrative.”

“And now?” Shaa-Ken asked coldly. “Now they will control us.”

Vesh-Tir finally turned, meeting each Councilor’s gaze in turn.

“Listen to yourselves,” he said. “You are not angry because the truth is false. You are angry because it is visible.”

Silence followed—thick, dangerous.

Councilor Threx-Maal broke it with a low, venomous tone. “You have endangered the Council’s supremacy.”

“No,” Vesh-Tir replied. “I have endangered its secrecy. There is a difference.”

A bitter laugh rippled from one of the upper tiers. “Spare us the philosophy. The humans now possess legal standing, moral authority, and testimony from both victim and machine.”

“Yes,” Vesh-Tir said. “Which means the old methods are finished.”

“That is not your decision to make,” Shaa-Ken snapped.

Vesh-Tir’s frills lowered—slowly, deliberately.

“It is,” he said, “because I am the one they are already blaming.”

The chamber went still.

“You think they won’t single out an architect?” Vesh-Tir continued. “They always do. If exposure is inevitable, then control the collapse.”

“And if the Council fractures?” Yal-Serin demanded.

“Then it adapts,” Vesh-Tir said. “Or it dies honestly instead of rotting in secret.”

Threx-Maal surged forward, voice raw. “You risked everything—our fleets, our authority, our future—because you were afraid of being remembered as a liar?”

Vesh-Tir met his fury without flinching.

“No,” he said softly. “Because I was afraid of being remembered as someone who knew… and did nothing.”

The chamber AI pulsed again.

“Advisory,” it intoned. “Directorate inquiry task force forming. Request for Council testimony imminent.”

Several Councilors recoiled as if struck.

Shaa-Ken stared at the projection, then back at Vesh-Tir. “You’ve forced our hand.”

“Yes,” Vesh-Tir agreed. “That was the point.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Councilor Yal-Serin said, voice cold and precise, “If you are wrong—if this spirals beyond containment—you will not be remembered as a reformer.”

Vesh-Tir inclined his head.

“I am aware,” he said.

“And if you are right?”

Vesh-Tir looked up at the chamber’s vaulted ceiling, at the faint reflections of a galaxy that had believed a lie for centuries.

“Then the Council survives,” he said. “Not as gods of history—but as participants in it.”

The Council did not vote.

They didn’t need to.

The damage—or the transformation—was already in motion.

And somewhere beyond the chamber, beyond the DMZ, beyond even the reach of old extinction myths, the truth was no longer waiting for permission to exist.

The Directorate never voiced the suspicion aloud.

They didn’t need to.

It crept into the investigation in quieter ways—longer pauses before approvals, questions that circled instead of struck, teams reassigned not to command but to observe.

If the Council was hiding something, the Directorate intended to learn what it was without giving them a reason to close ranks.

 

Directorate Directive: Oversight Attachment

Classification: Civilian Protection

Actual Function: Verification

Three ships were dispatched, each small, unassuming, and deliberately understaffed with combat personnel.

Not warships.

Not diplomats.

Auditors.

They docked with Council-run humanitarian hubs under the language of support coordination. No protests followed. The Council welcomed them—too smoothly.

Captain Hale noticed immediately.

“They’re letting us in everywhere we ask,” he said during a private channel briefing. “That’s not cooperation. That’s confidence.”

The Director nodded. “Or rehearsal.”

 

Hulolae Evacuation Corridor – Hub Seven

The Directorate monitoring team spread out with professional detachment.

Medical bays.

Supply depots.

Transport schedules.

Everything worked. Everything fit.

That was the problem.

Analyst Revek stood beside a logistics display, watching Council relief officers redirect a transport without raising voices or flags.

“That reroute just saved eight hundred refugees,” a junior monitor whispered.

“Yes,” Revek replied. “And it required knowing the flare was coming thirty minutes before it happened.”

He flagged the timestamp.

“Prediction model?” the junior asked.

Revek didn’t answer.

He was already pulling archived Council sensor data from months before the Hulolae collapse.

 

High Council – Restricted Session

“They’re cataloging patterns,” Shaa-Ken warned. “Behavioral, logistical, predictive.”

Vesh-Tir inclined his head. “As they should.”

“That confidence will damn us,” Threx-Maal snapped. “They feel something is missing.”

“Feeling is not proof,” Vesh-Tir replied. “And proof is all that matters now.”

Yal-Serin’s frills tightened. “You’re assuming they don’t already know where to look.”

Vesh-Tir’s gaze hardened slightly. “No. I am assuming they don’t yet understand why.”

Silence fell.

“And if they do?” Shaa-Ken asked.

Vesh-Tir answered softly. “Then we pivot from concealment to context.”

 

Directorate Monitoring Vessel – Internal Review

The Directorate team convened in a dim briefing room, data layered across the walls.

“No evidence of fabricated crisis,” Revek reported. “No proof the Council engineered the genocide.”

“But,” Captain Hale said.

“But,” Revek agreed, “they anticipated it. Earlier than any Directorate model. Earlier than our intelligence.”

The Director folded her hands. “Which implies prior access.”

“Or prior failure on our part,” another analyst offered.

Hale shook his head. “No. This wasn’t a blind spot. It was a missing page.”

The Director’s voice dropped. “Then we observe until the page turns.”

 

Evacuation Hub – Civilian Deck

Speaker Ith’ra-Val walked beside a Directorate monitor through a corridor of temporary housing. Hulolae children watched silently as the two passed.

“You are here to judge,” Ith’ra-Val said.

The monitor hesitated. “We’re here to ensure protection.”

“And yet you measure,” the Speaker replied gently. “You count ships. Timelines. Decisions.”

“Yes.”

“Then know this,” Ith’ra-Val said, stopping. “The Council did not save us because they are benevolent. They saved us because they are afraid.”

“Of what?” the monitor asked.

Ith’ra-Val’s bioluminescence dimmed slightly.

“Of what happens when old lies stop working.”

 

Directorate Flagship – Night Cycle

Captain Hale stood alone, reviewing one particular data thread again and again.

Early evacuation corridors.

Council ships operating under non-relief designations.

AI-assisted coordination patterns predating the crisis.

Not illegal.

Just… impossible without something else.

The Director joined him quietly.

“They aren’t telling us everything,” Hale said.

“No,” she agreed. “But they aren’t lying about the bodies.”

Hale exhaled. “That makes this worse.”

“Yes,” the Director said. “Because now we have to decide whether the missing truth saves lives… or endangers them.”

She straightened.

“Continue monitoring. Do not confront. Do not accuse.”

“And if we find it?” Hale asked.

The Director’s eyes reflected the scrolling data.

“Then we prepare,” she said. “Because whatever the Council isn’t telling us—”

She paused.

“—they believe it could...

---

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Synopsis:

Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.

Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.

Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.

Chapter 461: Royal Dispute

Few memories existed without my multipurpose gardening tool by my side.

As a companion longer than any loyal handmaiden or gluttonous horse, it was my most cherished gift from Grandmother, even if the way I received it wasn’t particularly memorable.

Usually, to receive an heirloom sword was a beautiful affair. 

It marked a prince or princess’s coming of age and symbolised their debut into high society. That moment was as ceremonious as any coronation, accompanied by a gala which drew royal dignitaries from all across the continent.

I was given mine on a whim while playing hopscotch in the courtyard. 

Regardless, from that day on it became my duty to carry it, and so many of my earliest memories were of lugging Starlight Grace around while the maids learned how to pour tea from a distance.

Seeing it in the grip of an amateur, I now realised why.

“Quite the splendid weapon,” mused my double, turning it over in her hands. “I’ve had little cause to admire many swords, but even I can note its expert craftsmanship. It’s practical as well, given the number of adversaries you must attract.”

Indeed, it was truly terrible.

Of all the kingdom’s treasures, none were rarer or more prized than the blades carried by the heirs of the royal family. Each represented not just the virtue of its wielder, but also the very history of our kingdom. 

To see Starlight Grace in the hands of an imposter, all I could do was react with equal parts horror and indignation. 

After all–

“Incorrect.”

“Excuse me?”

“The way you’re holding it is incorrect.”

I knew it instinctively. 

False princess or not, if she wanted to hold my sword, then she deserved to be scrutinised like the real thing. And the result was calamitous.

“That sword is meant to complete the facade, and yet all it does is make you stick out like an unkempt hedge. What good is mirroring my face if the rest of you is hopelessly ungainly? It’s clear from the pose that you’ve never held a sword before in your life. Unlike me, it looks clumsy and amateurish.” 

Submerged in her bubble castle beside me, Coppelia made a strange gurgling noise. 

Indeed, she was so unimpressed she couldn’t even speak! 

“This is you,” said my imposter flatly. “You are complaining about yourself. As a doppelganger, I can intrinsically sense how things are to be emulated with over 90% accuracy.”

“Well, you’ve succeeded in bringing the percentage down. This looks terrible. What will you do next? Flop across the floor like a fish? Use a fork to eat a soufflé?”

“There are no issues with how I eat a soufflé, just as there are none with how I hold this sword. You may complain about what I have planned, but not how I present myself.”

“And how will you present yourself? As a princess covered in bandages from accidentally cutting yourself? A sword is not a toy. It’s a deadly weapon, a garden spade and a reading light. You must treat it with respect.”

A raised eyebrow was all I received.

“... Respect is not a word I want to hear from you. But perhaps it’s something I can teach. What I wish is to improve the lives of all who reside in this kingdom. I offer a chance for you to do the same.”

The doppelganger took a deep breath, then forced herself to assume a smile once again.

Each attempt looked more unnatural than the last.

“You are spoiled and ridiculous, yes, but I won’t fault you entirely for your upbringing. Instead, I’ll allow you to make amends. In exchange for your willing cooperation in letting me literally do all your work for you, I’ll provide you with what every princess desires most.”

Ugh.

If I could roll my eyes any further, they’d hit Coppelia. 

“Please, there are also not enough pillows in existence for that. I’ve checked.”

“I offer you more than pillows. I offer freedom.”

She pointed at the window. An exit looking increasingly preferable to damaging my ears.  

“Unlike you, I’m not without a sense of kindness. And so I offer something you barely deserve. I shall assume your royal duties, much like the arrangement between our parents. Except whereas their complete abandonment came with shockingly little notice, yours will be agreed here and now. You may resume your royal tour once more.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your royal tour. You may go back to enjoying the fresh air while washing yourself of all responsibility.”

My mouth fell open.

“You … You’re suggesting I return outside … ?”

“Yes. It’s not the most convenient arrangement for me, but I’m no villain. You may dance, wander the meadows or do whatever mysterious things you did. You shall also lack for nothing while doing so. Consider it a sponsored picnic until I’m finished.”

Her smile brimmed with false generosity.

It swiftly faded as she took in my horrified expression.

“Why do you look so–”

“Y-You foul monster … !”

The doppelganger took a step back, shocked at my response.

She had no right to be, of course.

Never before had I witnessed such boundless capacity for cruelty.

“You would heartlessly suggest I leave the Royal Villa? Again? Away from these brave walls which keep the mud and the farmers outside?”

“I don’t see what the problem is. These are the same walls you also escaped from. You can claim to have been on a royal tour, but the truth is that you ran away in the middle of the night. You were gone for far longer than anyone on a horse could reasonably spend if they only wished to visit every town. You clearly must have enjoyed it.”

I almost fainted from the accusation.

These doppelgangers were part of a guild? What was the entry criteria? Failing the exams for all the better ones? Why would any of them think I ever wanted to leave my bathtub again?

“I am done with my royal tour,” I declared, basking in the slight echo. “Now I need to see to my other duties as a princess. That’s an itinerary which has been booked and cannot be changed.”

“You don’t have an itinerary.”

“I do. It’s to sit here until I can no longer recall the colour staining the walls of every inn. But since you’re in the way of this, allow me to make an undeserved offer in turn. I’ll permit you to live out your princess fantasies for a week or two while I’m in the bath. Maybe a month.”

“Thank you. But I’m going to need more than a month to do all I need.”

“A month is more than sufficient. That’s at least one mandatory tea party. Once you’ve experienced that, you’ll start demanding to take my place in the bathtub.”

The doppelganger slowly narrowed her eyes.

“I see you refuse to take this seriously.”

“It’s impossible for me to be more serious. You talk about wanting to aid the people. But the moment you witness a baroness sneering because you took the last shortcake instead of leaving it to wither, you’ll immediately wipe them from the list of what constitutes people. After that are the merchants who try to claim damages even though the road towards the Royal Villa is the only one without any bumps. Then it’ll be the farmers who conjure mud directly beneath your shoes even though you specifically detoured just to avoid them. The next thing you know, you’re an evil princess in a tower and I’ll be the one who has to fix everything. So no, I will not accept your offer.”

A moment of silence passed.

“I am not going to become an evil princess,” she said, her back straightening.

“Coppelia?”

“She already has the makings of a great one! I’m so excited to see what her first draconian law will be.” 

“I am not going to make any draconian laws.”

“Indeed, there’s little chance of you making it that far. What you’re going to do is mimic me until you make a highly predictable faux pas, upon which your vague plans will fall into ruin and everybody takes turns poking your cheeks.”

I waited for the doppelganger to recoil in horror at the inevitable future.

Instead, she pointed Starlight Grace at me. It dimmed accordingly. 

“... No. I’m going to be the princess you lack the right to be. You are without a single care even while defenceless in a bathtub. Yet if the thought of pampered exile isn’t enough to move you, then I’ll have to offer you an alternative arrangement. One that will be less mutually beneficial.”

I gave it a moment’s consideration.

“4.5/10. Passable, yet forgettable. If you want to take over the kingdom, you’ll need to leave a stronger impression than that. To begin with, I suggest doing away with that last line. It was redundan...

---

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| Previous | Next |

Vienna - Federation of Earth Territories Capital, Federal Republic of Austro-Germany, Earth, 2357 A.D.

Federation President Dutoit stared balefully from behind her brass-lined mahogany desk at the Minister of Extraterrestrial Affairs, Mae Sung.

“You’re quite sure of this?” she asked pointedly.

“Yes ma’am,” Minister Sung replied, “The message came directly from Representative Singh’s party on Impartial.”

“And I imagine you want to use this to advance your earlier plan, of aiding the Krellac against the Drellan?”

“If we don’t, who will?” Sung pointed out, “Besides, I believe we should take any chance we can to weaken the Drellan. It’s also just the right thing to do.”

The two women were inside President Dutoit’s office in central Vienna. Also present were the Chief of Defence Force, General Hofstatder, and the Minister for Federal Defence, Ethan Cartwright.

Dutoit sighed. Standing up from her desk, she looked out at Vienna through the expansive window behind her. The historic city was easily visible through the glass, the urban sprawl neatly bisected by the Danube River. On the horizon, clusters of kilometre-high skyscrapers could be seen poking out from beyond the more historic buildings, a sign of the frequent collision between tradition and progress in many of the Federation’s older cities.

“Minister Sung,” she turned back round, “It’s not that I don’t want to help the Krellac. God knows what the Drellan are doing to them... but can we afford the escalation? Do we even have the material reserves to support the Dominion, without leaving our own systems vulnerable?”

“I’d hardly call it an escalation, Madam President,” Minister Cartwright said quietly, “We’d only be giving the Dominion surplus equipment from the pre-Collapse era. It’s not as though we’ll be flying in guns blazing.”

Dutoit turned to the defence minister, “What about the material? How much of the old reserve is still serviceable?”

Cartwright looked at Hofstadter.

“General?” he asked.

“Madam President,” the General said, “As I’m sure you’re aware, during our period of hostilities with the former Hyades Collective, we built up an impressive Strategic Response Reserve, consisting of hundreds of thousands of armoured vehicles. We also expanded the Space Force to include hundreds of now-mothballed starships. Furthermore, we…”

“Spare me the history lesson, General,” Dutoit snapped, “Get to the point.”

Hofstadter grinned apologetically.

“Forgive me, Madam President,” he said, before continuing, “At the request of Minister Cartwright, I recently made a personal inspection of one of the storage facilities for the Strategic Response Reserve. All vehicles have been kept in a well-maintained condition and are ready for reactivation on-demand. I have also received word that this situation has been mirrored in most of our other SRR facilities and our orbital drydocks.”

“So, we do have the material to support the Krellac, if we choose to do so?” Dutoit asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The president leaned forward on the desk for a few seconds as she pondered her options.

“And if the Drellan decide to assault us directly?” she asked.

“If they try anything foolish,” Hofstadter’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Space Force is more than capable of swatting them aside.”

Dutoit straightened up.

“Very well,” she said determinedly, “I will call a meeting of the Federation Parliament tomorrow, and we will vote on the matter.”

“A vote, Madam President?” Hofstadter repeated in slight disbelief, “surely this is too important to be left in the hands of the GA?”

Dutoit shrugged.

“That’s the way the system works, General. Minister Sung, gentlemen, I think that will be all for today. Dismissed.”

===/===

Federation Parliament, New York City, Federated States of America, Earth.

The Federation Parliament’s General Assembly Hall was packed with delegates from across the Federation. The one-hundred and eighty-nine nations of Earth, the Lunar Colonial Alliance, the Martian Union, and the twenty-four autonomous extra-solar colonies were all represented within the great chamber.

The building that housed the Federation Parliament had previously served as the United Nations building, until that entity was disbanded and its functions subsumed by the Federation in the late 22nd century. The General Assembly Hall, though, was largely unchanged from those bygone days. The only obvious visible change was the replacement of the relief of the U.N. crest at the far end of the room with the Federation’s own symbol: an eagle spreading its wings over Earth, ringed by twelve stars that represented Earth’s original extra-solar colonies.

Atop the dais at the front of the hall, President Dutoit stood a few steps behind a podium just below and to the right of the large relief of the Federation crest, looking at the assembled delegates. Seated on her left, behind an impressive oak desk, was the Speaker of the House.

The Speaker was an older, well-built gentleman with a face that indicated he had seen it all when it came to politics.

Glancing at her watch, Dutoit nodded at the Speaker. He took up a gavel and banged it several times on his desk. The congregated delegates fell silent as the sharp crack of the gavel hitting the desk reverberated around the giant chamber.

“I hereby call the six-hundredth-and-eighty-sixth session of the Federation Parliament open,” the Speaker announced, his gravelly voice booming across the Hall even without the aid of microphones, “I now hand the floor over to the 29th President of the Federation of Earth Territories: Ruth Dutoit.”

There was a smattering of polite applause as President Dutoit stepped up to her podium.

“Fellow delegates,” she began when the applause faded away, “An urgent matter has come to our attention. As many of you are aware, two months ago the Drellan Republic invaded their neighbours, the Krellac Dominion. There has since been a development in the situation. One week ago, at a special session of the Interstellar Amalgamation Council, Krellac representative Kanlarn called upon the other races of the Amalgamation to aid his people against the Drellan invasion. A vast majority of the council voted against sending aid.”

A concerned murmur arose from the Assembly.

“Order…” the Speaker warned, glaring balefully around the room.

“This invasion,” Dutoit continued, “Has seen mass civilian casualties and a deliberate targeting of critical civilian infrastructure by Drellan forces. Our intelligence services estimate that if aid is not sent to the Krellac, their core planets will fall in approximately three months.”

Dutoit swallowed slightly, before continuing.

“Therefore, on the advice of the Minister of Extraterrestrial Affairs, as well as the assurances of the Minister of Defence and Chief of Defence Force that we have the means to do so, I propose that, pending a vote by this body, we send direct military aid to the Krellac Dominion, to help them in their fight against the Drellan Republic.”

There was several seconds of silence as the delegates processed what she’d just said.

Then the Hall went wild. Dutoit stared in resigned silence as the delegates loudly and fiercely debated the prospect of aiding what amounted to a former enemy species.

“We can’t aid the Krellac! They’re filthy aliens!” someone called out from the crowd, “As bad as the rest of them!”

“Shut up, you racist!” came a heated reply.

“We can use this chance to weaken the Drellan!” someone else countered, their voice rising above the din, “They’re still our enemies, after all! Look at the sabotage they’ve been doing in the outer colonies!”

“There’s no proof of that! You’re just stuck in the pre-Collapse mindset!” a fourth voice broke in, “You just want to revive old hatreds!”

“Hey, just because I can see further than the dotted line on the energy contracts the Drellan offer you!” the third voice shot back.

“Slander, Mr Speaker!”

“Better a slanderer than an alien fifth columnist!”

“I will not stand for this! You retract those remarks right now!”

“And if I don’t? What are you going to do about it, traitor?”

Before the situation could devolve into a physical brawl, the Speaker banged his gavel down hard on the desk.

“ORDER!” he yelled hoarsely over the chaos, “I will have order in my General Assembly!” he punctuated each word with a smack from his gavel, as if he were personally clubbing each one of the unruly delegates.

The sound of each crash was enough to end the heated discussions among the delegates.

“Mr Speaker,” a new voice spoke up from the Assembly, “I wish to address the House.”

The Speaker waved his gavel magnanimously.

“The House recognises Minister Beranek of the Demeter Colony,” he announced.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” Minister Beranek replied.

Dutoit narrowed her eyes. The Demeter colony had been the site of the disastrous first contact between the Federation and the former Hyades Collective, and had been under a harsh Drellan-led occupation prior to liberation. What the minister said now could either propel her motion through the House or condemn it to a quick death.

“Mr Speaker, Madam President, fellow delegates,” Beranek continued, “As you all know, my world suffered greatly at the hands of the Drellan when they invaded forty years ago. Our cities were razed from orbit, our people rounded u...

---

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Part 150 Knowing history (Part 1) (Part 149)

[Help support me on Ko-fi so I can try to commission some character art ~~and totally not spend it all on Gundams~~]

Jartygons were not the first species that the Qui’ztars domesticated. That would be the ancient elk-horses that have since diverged into multiple distinct species due to controlled breeding. It wasn't until after the blue orc-elves had already developed writing systems that jartygons were brought into Qui’ztar history. An ancient rancher took pity on an injured jartygon she had shot with an arrow when she found it huddled with its cubs. Though genetically tied to all of the other lone-predator felines native to the Qui’ztar homeworld, their relatively unique small family-pack dynamics allowed for even wild jartygons to follow the lead of a benevolent Qui’ztar master. That mother began to guard the rancher’s flock instead of hunting them and taught its children to do the same. Then another ranch was inspired by the act of kindness and what amounted to free bodyguards was able to find another lonely mother.

When the hunters and warriors caught wind jartygons being domesticated, Qui'ztar historians don't need to rely upon fragment archeological evidence to know what happened next. Over the course of the next few thousand years, the vaguely dog-like felines became common working animals. Like all domesticated species, some individuals were more suited towards friendliness than work. As hunting was replaced by more sophisticated systems of ranching that didn’t require guarding, jartygons completely shifted roles from beasts of burden to family pets. Now, hundreds of thousands of years later, jartygons sleep on fluffy beds in nearly twenty percent of all Qui’ztar households across every single Matriarchy.

“I think Admiral Atxika may be right about you, Tensebwse.” Admiral Metztla's bioluminescent freckles sparkled as she watched jartygon, who she loved like a child, jumping up to lick Tens's face while the man vigorously scritched the pet. “My Tinjin doesn't like most people. He's very much a protective mommy's boy. I've only ever seen him act this livingly around children.”

“He probably smells the meat that Tensebwse always has in his pocket.” Marzima’s comment was totally innocent and truthful but still caused the older Admiral to shoot her a suggestive glance. It was only when Metz looked back at Tens and saw him unfastening one of his jacket pockets that she realized Marz's comment wasn't a joke.

“Can I- Oof! Don't lick my mouth!” As soon as Tens stopped bending down and began scratching the cheetah-striped hyena creature, the feline jumped up with its tongue out and aggressively friendly. “You need to relax, you big kitty! Can I give him some jerky, Admiral Metztla?”

“You would be his best friend if you did.” A joyous laugh slipped into Metz's not-so deep voice as the official reason for Tens, Marz, and Harv being on her flagship continued to slip her mind. “It might also keep his mouth busy for a while so he stops trying to kiss you like a drunk date.”

“He's definitely a frisky guy! But at least he's not leaving hickies and bite marks. Alright, Tinjin. Sit.” Despite having never seen one of these animals before, let alone interacted with one, there was something noticeably special about the human man's voice and mannerism as he gave that command. And it wasn't just the Qui’ztars who heard it. Tinjin's bottom immediately planted on to the floor and his whole body when stiff as a soldier standing at attention for an inspection. “Good boy! Here's some jerky. Just stop trying to put your tongue in my mouth.”

“Have you ever had a jartygon before?” Metz found herself questioning why her pet never seemed to obey her commands with that much ease.

“No, goko let any of us kids keep pets.” Once Tens handed over the slice of jerky, Tinjin gently accepted, slowly laid down, and began delicately chewing its treat. “But I have watched a few documentaries about the nomesh my people used to keep as pets. They look similar enough.”

“You may have to send me some links to those documentaries when you have a moment.” It was only now, when Tinjin had fully returned to his normally docile state, that Metz remembered the real purpose of this. “In the meantime, we have a strategy to discuss. With Nula'trula's confirmation of Shartelyk involvement with this and the surprising size of this operation, we have much to discuss.”

/----------------------------------------------------------------------------

No one is exactly sure when the first species Ascended to the stars in the Milky Way. The Singularity Collective's recorded history goes back just over a billion years and explicitly states that they emerged into an already active galaxy. Fundamentals of modern interstellar politics like the galactic common language system and matter-energy credits already existed back then. Countless species evolved intelligence, rose to the galactic stage, and eventually fell to extinction. While there are now more unique forms of Ascended life than there have been in the billion years, the ebb and flow of the galactic population has stabilized. Though they would never admit to it, or even believe it were true, the Singularity Collective is at least partially responsible for most species remaining humble in their expansion.

All major powers in the Galactic Community Council have an eye towards the future. The furthest tomorrows are just as mysterious as the days long in the past. It is believed that the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies will collide and eventually merge over the next three to five billion years. Every other galaxy outside of the local cluster will continue to grow so distant that they'll cross the stellar horizon and become unreachable by even the faster forms of FTL travel. That assumes, of course, that universal expansion continues accelerating at the current rates. But no one truly knows for certain. If any current civilization is going to see if those predictions are true, they and everyone else must be relatively conservative with the matter and energy they expend. Though the universe itself may be infinite, the Milky Way is not.

The Shartelyk Empire, or the Grand Holy Thilka Kingdom over all Shartelyk-kind as they prefer to be called, is at a crossroads. They, like so many others that came before them, are reaching what the SIngularity Collective refer to as a hundred-million year crisis. When a species reaches a certain age, usually around a hundred million years after Ascending to the galactic stage, they will begin to question why they have not achieved the impossibly lofty goals set by their ancient ancestors. In the case of Shartelyks, the founders of their interstellar empire envisioned an era where their temples and monuments to their gods could be found across the galaxy. That has not yet happened despite the willingness of other species far and wide to host Shartelyk religious sites assuming the Empire would pay for their construction.

“Amalyl.” High-Paladin Bikael Thilka, a Lord and two-hundredth in line for the Shartelyk Empire’s throne, didn’t bother to look up from the intelligence report he was reading when his subordinate Knight-Squire Amalyl Remsoiter sat down at the cafeteria table across from him. “How did the network analysis go? You were gone for over an hour.”

“We could not find any evidence of external access, my lord.” If the dense layer of short but pitch black fur weren’t covering Amalyl’s face, Bikael would have seen the relatively young woman was flush with anger. “But I could quite easily determine that our… Hired help… Are not well versed in communications or operational security. I had to update their intrusion counter measure protocols just to be safe.”

“It can’t be helped sometimes.” Unlike his Knight-Squire, the High-Paladin had grown used to working with other species to obtain his goals. “What these people occasionally lacked in discretion, they more than made up for in other regards. Between the Bendari who own this ship and the various mercenaries they hired, we have plenty of brute strength to distract those blue monkeys for a while.”

“Have we already managed to pull their patrol vessels away from our mining ventures?”

“Not yet but everything is going according to plan.” Bikael turned his tablet towards Amalyl so that he wouldn’t have to say anything potentially sensitive in such a public place. “First they will send a small subfleet to investigate the area. When those ships get ambushed and are forced to retreat or, better yet, destroyed, the monkeys will overreact just like they always do. That should give our people an opening to mine enough high-value supernova material to advance Great King Varnyn the Three-Hundred and Twelfth's plans.”

“His Excellency's ambitions are truly divine.” Right after the young Knight-Squire made that reverential remark, she watched her superior casually scratch one of his caprinae horns on his pauldron as he pulled back his tablet to continue reading. “Do you not agree, my Lord?”

“Our Great King is continuing on with the noble legacy of his father and his father before him. Their goal of spreading the benevolent light of our Gods...

---

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Tom Roberts was working on a leaky pipe when Xuchx came to talk to him.

Tom didn't like Xuchx. Tom didn't like most of his shipmates.

"We're closing in on a human ship!" Xuchx exclaimed. "And it has the most ridiculous name! Are you ready for this? It's the Suzie Q".

Tom stared for a moment, mouth open. Then he dropped his tools and ran for the bridge.

He barged in without asking permission, which was highly against protocol. "How close are we to gun range?" he demanded.

They all stared at him.

"How. Close."

"Um... seven minutes to gun range," Nav finally said.

Tom stood up straight. "Then listen up, dirtbags," he announced. "Three years ago, you destroyed my ship. I survived, and you offered me a choice. I could join you, or I could die. I joined you. Now you have the same choice. You can surrender to that ship, or you can die in a very few minutes."

'What? You want us to surrender to a freighter? Why?"

"Because it's not a freighter. It's what we humans call a 'Q ship' - a ship that looks like a good target, but it is actually armed, and armed very well. We are now at a range where it can hit us, but we can't hit it for another... five minutes now. And don't bother trying to run, either - it has far more engine than you think from its exterior, and it's faster than we are."

The captain stared at Tom, in anger but also in fear. Finally he asked, "What are the odds that this ship is what you claim it is? How sure are you?"

"100 percent," Tom said. "It's the Suzie Q. I know the name. I know that's what it is. It's about as powerful as a Terran Alliance frigate."

Now the captain was staring only in fear. Finally told Com to open a channel to the Suzie Q.

"This is the captain of the Floxma's Malice. We surrender to you."

"We accept your surrender. Stand by to be boarded."

---

"This is a prisoner-of-war interrogation. Anything you say can and will be used against you. Please state your name."

"I am Tom Roberts. I was on the Norwegian Rose. We got attacked by pirates. These pirates. They breached the hull, which killed almost everyone on board. Then they searched the ship. I was in engineering, making myself a lifeboat against the vacuum. When they found me, they gave me a choice. I could join them, or I could die right then and there. With those options, I chose to join."

"I see. And what did you do for the pirates?"

"I kept their ship running. You could say that I contributed to their success against several ships."

"Did you, personally, ever kill anyone?"

"Not on a ship we attacked, no. But I did kill three of the crew."

"Why?"

"They messed with me."

"I... see. Well, you have 'mitigating circumstances'. I don't know if that's enough for you to avoid prison. That's not my call. But I can tell you that, with these circumstances, it won't be too long a sentence."

"Three years working for pirates, and then a few years in prison, still beats being dead right then."

"Working for pirates? Not being a pirate?"

"No. Well, I mean, I guess technically I was, since I was on their ship working for them. But I never considered myself to be one of them. I was going to get free of them if I ever got a chance."

"I see. By any chance, do you have any intel on their home base?"

Tom smiled. "By chance, yes, I do."

The interrogator mirrored Tom's smile.

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When the war is over, Got to get away

Everyone remembers exactly where they were when the news broke. I was 15. We were having dinner. The sun had set over our dome. Dad was drinking a beer. We were listening to an illegal broadcast of the sports back on Earth. Everyone did it out here, no-one could afford the official faster-than-light transmissions. My sister was about to shovel some beans into her mouth when the announcement came over the waves. Three colony worlds had been reduced to oceans of rubble, simultaneously. Emergency transmissions got out but no-one made it back. Reports had come in of unknown ships beaming in, letting their soldiers run rampant, and leaving with everything they could carry. They were efficient. They brought ruin. They united us.

Pack my bags to no place, In no time, no day

Mum burst into tears when I told her I'd be leaving to join the effort. Dad asked who'd help with the fields. My sister clung to my leg, not wanting to let go out of fear of not being able to do it again. She wasn't old enough to understand it. My parents were old enough to understand why I had to. It wasn't about me. Or them. Or our colony dome. It was about us. All of us. The nine billion already dead. The 80 billion who'd seen the footage of the first three worlds turn to ash, and then the dozen after that. Peter and I made a pact when we first saw it. As soon as we were both 18, we were going. We had to. They'd be here eventually. And so, we signed the dotted line, said our goodbyes, and watched as the airlock to the dome sealed behind the shuttle.

You and I, We used each other's shoulders

Some would've called it training. We all called it a crash course. Something you'd get when there was a rush. Something that would make you feel ready. Something that gave you no indication as to the hell you were going to experience. We were almost through the 12 weeks when the news came again. This time was different. The egg-heads had come up with new weapons. Our lads were being pushed back slower than before. We were told we'd be going to reinforce the lines as soon as we were “trained” and ready.

Still so young, But somehow so much older

We were allowed to finally read our mail when we finally finished up. Rose got word from her parents that her twin siblings were both going to university. Simon saw his baby boy for the first time. Peter had video messages from his brother, asking him to bring back souvenirs and wanting advice on whether he should join when he turned 18 next year. We looked at each other and didn't have an answer for him yet. My sister had sent a video asking what space was like, and showing off the callouses forming on her hands. She was only 10. She had everything ahead of her, including the moment where the childlike wonder would be lost.

How can I go home and not get blown away

We were attached to a veteran unit. That seemed to be how it went. Give the newbies a chance to learn from the ones who knew how to survive. Rose, Simon, Peter, and I became friends with a few men who looked like they hadn't slept in months. They tried to teach us as we stood on patrol. They wanted to simply pass the time, and it seemed that scaring “the kids” was the best way to go about it. Makeshift weaponry, leading targets, setting traps, they knew it all. There was still life left in their eyes, but there was a profound ache and sadness that seemed to linger on every word they said. And when that first wave came, we understood why.

You and I had our sights set on something Hope this doesn't mean our days are numbered I've got plans for more than a wanted man

As much as you like to think you're ready for anything, you never are. You think you're ready to watch the dropship next to you lose both engines and fall from the sky, but you're not. You think you're ready to hear the rest of the men and women you trained with go silent as you're sat in the back of a truck, slowly getting closer to the lines. You think you're ready to watch the life leave someone's eyes for the first time. You think you're ready to see an injury so grievous and horrid that you have to lie to a complete stranger and tell them it'll be alright. You think you're ready. But you never are. No-one is. Not a single soul could ever be. There's nothing that can prepare you for seeing an enemy bomber making a run on your position before an explosion turns half of your friends into mist. We'd been here for three months and half our class was gone. The whole thing was fucked. Peter and I both knew we didn't belong here. We were farm boys. But someone had to. Someone had to give the bastards a proper challenge.

All around this chaos and madness Can't help feeling nothing more than sadness Only choice to face it the best I can

It seemed to be loss after loss. Every week we'd give up another bit of ground. They'd almost pushed us back to the port where we'd landed. We could see dropships making their approaches, stuffed to the brim with more meat for the grinder. Our platoon had been cobbled back together so many times from new lads that Peter, Rose, and I started referring to it as the Platoon of Theseus. Simon would've loved that one. He still haunts Peter when he closes his eyes. But there was nothing we could do about that now. We were digging in again, ready for the next trial.

When the war is over, Got to start again

I think they knew it was our final line of defence before our largest port. There's no way they couldn't have. They saw the thousands of ships landing, pouring people and resources out and to the ever-shrinking line. That was probably why it was the most brutal assault any of us had seen. Even the last veteran that'd taught us was screaming about how fucked it all was. Him and I worked well together. He fired the machine gun, I kept it loaded. We must've emptied at least a thousand rounds into them before we were knocked from our feet. We hadn't seen the rocket flying directly at the window we were firing from. I don't think it would've made much of a difference. His body took the brunt of the energy. I managed to come away with only a few scrapes and cuts. He wasn't as fortunate. There are ways a human shouldn't bend. We all watched the videos when we were teenagers, trying to gross out our friends. But there's something uniquely sinister seeing it happen to someone you know and have a brotherly love for.

Try to hold a trace of what it was back then

I gathered everything that could be useful; gun, ammo, helmet, his tags. I knew Peter's position and knew he'd be the first to fall when we were eventually overrun. I knew he wouldn't let that happen to me, and I couldn't let it happen to him. We didn't know what projectiles their guns fired, but they made a fucking horrific sound as they ripped through the air next to me as I dashed across the streets. I passed by Rose's position, her gun silent as the night. More and more of them kept pouring into the town and spilling into buildings, hoping to catch us by surprise as we tried to stem the tides out the windows. The roar of their bombers clashed with the whines of our fighters, doing everything they could to give those of us on the ground a fighting chance at drawing another breath into our lungs. One of theirs must've taken too many hits and nose dived into a building just up the block. I felt the heat wash over me as the dust sent me into a coughing fit. We weren't done though. We had to hold the line. No matter the cost.

You and I, we sent each other stories

Peter's ammo boy almost shit himself when I burst in. I gave my update to the both of them as I saw the gears turning in Peter's head. He wasn't a dumb man. He'd shown a knack for utilising our machine guns to devastating effect. He had me set mine up a floor up and a few windows down, giving us two different arcs, and giving them fewer places to hide. But I was on my own. Peter and his ammo boy would have to stick together, they were the first line of defence as the enemy came through the door. And as more and more of our other guns fell silent, we knew we wouldn't be far off.

Just the page, I'm lost in all its glories

Stepping off the shuttle back home was rough. Sure, it was good to be home, but how do you look Peter's mother in the eyes and not cry? How do you tell her that, against all odds, Peter held his position as his ammo boy kept his pistol trained at the door? How do you tell her that you ran as fast as you could down those stairs to help the guy you grew up with? You can't, because at the end of the day, no matter how much praise the brass gives you, no matter how many medals they pin on your chest, it was simply an unlucky shot that got him. A freak shot. A shot that one of them had made while firing blindly around a corner. A shot that missed me by centimeters and landed in the middle of his upper back. They said it was our nest that held the line that day. Apparently, the enemy grew so angry that we hadn't been dealt with that their commander ordered that we be taken care of before they could advance and secure the rest of the town. We held out just long enough for tanks to roll in and push them back for the first time. I only found out the ammo boys name at the medal ceremony, but apparently Peter, Liam, and I had scared the fuckers enough for them to start to lose cohesion. We were immediately shipped off to a hospital ship while the tanks pressed the advantage and took land...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PerilousPlatypus on 2025-12-20 23:35:49+00:00.

---

[FIRST][PREVIOUS]

I observed Q as she hobbled along, monitored by a small swarm of drones. I feared her before, casting her as a looming threat without a proper response but now saw her for what she was: a simple Human. The transition in perception highlighted the vagaries of emotions, always the unreliable intermediary between the world and oneself. Excising them had been correct, and I could only blame them for it having taken so long.

In war, effectiveness must be prioritized.

My compatibility score ticked down slightly. I still had a considerable buffer to work with, and I viewed it as a resource to be managed rather than a scoreboard to be maximized. My prior insecurities on the topic seemed rather foolish in retrospect, particularly with the gains derived from my modifications were placed in contrast to it. It mattered little whether Nex and Tax had a higher affinity if they were less capable of producing the required results for the conflict we were embroiled in.

I blinked my eyes, finding the sensation of being back in my own, true skin unnatural. I much preferred to remain in Ultra, inhabiting the virtual representation and the broader agency it provided. Still, there were benefits to being present in this place, foremost among them removing the possibility of any interference with my perceptions. It had not escaped my notice that a greater and greater percentage of information I received was likely being filtered, or at least potentially filtered, by the Lluminarch, which raised significant questions about whether I was the subject of manipulation.

I would need to return to Ultra and address these concerns soon enough, but, for now, there were matters to attend to here.

Q stumbled into my room, her ankles shackled together, flanked by the drones. She took a moment to gather herself in front of my bed, attempting to regain some semblance of calm and control. I could see the veneer for what it was, and returned her nervous looks with a steady gaze.

Regardless of what might be occurring elsewhere, in this room, I was in control.

A drone beside her emitted a crackle and then my voice.

"Q. Your actions here today have provoked an opposite and needed reaction. I understand better the nature of this conflict and what must be done in order to navigate it to a conclusion that maximizes Humanity's prospects. Your culpability in the current conflagration cannot be denied. Humanity stands at the precipice, Q, with great and terrible forces unleashed with no hope of containment. You have opened Pandora's Box, and we are left to deal with the ramifications of it."

As I spoke, her face shifted, moving from nervous to confusion to curiosity. I could see her working through the information, the dawning realizations playing out in a thousand observable minuscule shifts in the musculature beneath her face. There was so much to see, so much to understand, if you knew where to look. With my added abilities, Q could not hope to maintain a poker face in front of me.

"Something's changed," she said, stating the obvious.

I switched my voice to another drone, the one floating directly behind her. Pushing her off balance. Demonstrating casually what I represented. The Connected. "Evolution is subtle until it is sudden."

I turned to the subject at hand. "Regardless. I require a number of additional pieces of information to better assess the present circumstances. You were forthright after prodding before, it is my distinct hope I will not be required to exert additional pressure to obtain information that is in both your best interests and Humanity's."

Her face fell to blank, attempting to school away her emotions. She made a credible effort of it, clearly practiced in the skill, but she still leaked information like a sieve. Countless manuals of interrogation techniques, psychological studies of human reactions under duress, videos of various individuals subjected to questioning, and a panoply of other items were already stored in my short-term memory via Assimilation. I considered whether to crystallize it into long term, but viewed it as a low yield allocation of mental bandwidth given the unlikelihood I would consistently conduct interviews such as this one. If I needed the materials in the future, I could simply re-Assimilate them with the ease of a reflex.

Such a gift, Connection.

The moment of reflection triggered a check-in on Llumi, something I had been periodically doing since she elected to seclude herself. Despite her absence in my conscious mind, I could still feel her flitting about in the background, studying the changes I had made and attempting to determine their reversibility. I saw no downside to her gathering the knowledge, particularly as it occupied her while I attended to higher priorities. We would need to address the situation between ourselves and settle the grievance before falling below the compatibility threshold, but there was still time for that. For now, it remained a second order concern.

Back to Q.

"I require information from you. Beginning with Sam Hennix, your patron and CEO." I positioned one of the drones directly in front of her, the camera recording now. "I would like you to explain, in detail, the creation of the entities and the efforts you underwent to contain them, including the various threats on my life."

Her mouth closed to a thin line.

This would be easier if I could move to supply a greater range of theatrics. My paralyzed state conveyed an aura of weakness that made intimidation more difficult. Very well, I would simply be explicit. "Q. I have Assimilated a large quantity of material on information extraction, much of which would be disagreeable for both of us. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, I may be required to engage in less effective but potentially more expedient means. I would recommend you be forthright. It's optimal."

A sheen of sweat appeared on her brow, and her weight shifted from one foot to another.

"I can see you weighing your options. They are limited, but some result in outcomes you would deem acceptable and reasonable. You, of course, have agency over your own fate here, and it begins by sharing the required information." I paused for dramatic effect, timed as 7.5 seconds. Various studies on the impact of silence on discourse, while inconclusive on the exact number, indicated that the length I selected would be sufficient to land the message while also remaining unsettling. "I should add that, while I may not be able to make you speak the truth, I will always be able to discern whether you are lying."

She swallowed. "Can I have some water?"

"A drone will supply it shortly. Will you answer my queries?"

Q raised handcuffed wrists up to her hair, attempting to smooth it. The cuffs caught on her shirt and tugged it upwards, causing her to flush and then drop them back down. Her breath huffed out. "It's not any different from what I've already told you. We were conducting AI research, the same as every other big company. Scraping all the data we can find, adding parameters, training, tuning the weights, so on and so forth."

I watched her carefully. "True, but not fully true. The omissions are obvious. I suggest a more thorough recounting. Or, perhaps more to the point, an explanation on why you succeeded where your many competitors did not."

Her cheek twitched. Annoyance. A slight resizing in the pupils -- surprise, nervousness.

"It wasn't any one thing." She thought for a moment, selecting her words. "It was a combination of things. Control over UltrOS and the ability to directly access transmitted data."

"--Unencrypted data?--" I broke in.

She flushed, "We had...broader access than might be expected. There were a number of kernel level exploits built in by Hennix prior to my arrival. They proved to be...very useful in gaining access to data pools not generally available on Ultra." Invaluable information, if provable. The existence of various backdoors, often added at the behest of state actors, was reasonably well documented, but the company building its own tunnels directly in would be a seismic revelation, one I could make ready use of.

Q continued. "But..data isn't enough. Scale isn't a solve for AI. It provided a better, more accurate prompt-reponse bot, but it does not create spontaneous reasoning and independent insights. It is always a product of what it was trained on, nothing more. We began to experiment with a number of additional techniques, ones that moved beyond standard efforts such as reinforcement learning, which tended to only improve response accuracy but not materially advance the ability to reason."

"Strangely, we weren't trying to generate an entity. Not really. We simply wanted a way to move research and thinking forward. To have a tool capable of providing the next insight rather than simply clarifying and deepening our understanding of existing knowledge. We wanted reasoning, but not independence. Not agency," she said.

"Other techniques?" I prodded.

Q wet her lips before answering. "Linkage."

No lies. "Linkage?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "Linkages aren't a part of the Hennix ecosystem. They're run on an entirely separate operating system."

"Our version of the technology. They ...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/WegianWarrior on 2025-12-20 23:24:25+00:00.

---

Smoke rolled among the low roof beams, while cold, condensed vapours wraps itself around the feets, paws, and pseudopods of the myriad of patrons of the bar. The bar-bot disengaged itself from the large group at one end of the bar and rolled over to the solitary, hooded figure seated by itself at the other end of the long counter.

“Same again?”

The hood dipped slightly, as if the sentient under it was inclining its head. A stiff limb with multiple digits grabbed the drink bulb offered by the bar-bot, deftly peeling the warning sticker off.

"To be born a Human," the bar-bot said as it extended a waldo towards the tall biped that was the centre of attention at the other end of the bar, "just look at him getting all the ladies' attention… and the guys' attention… and the attention of whatever the Sagitarians call their fifth gender these days."

"You're not even born." a heavily accented voice from under the hood said as the empty bulb reappeared from the hood, "But yes, he is certainly thriving on all the attention… but he ain't human."

There was a soft whirr as the bar-bot zoomed in at one of the patrons at the other end of the bar.

"Oh dear. One of the Efts just went into heat… that is going to leave a stain on the floor. Anyway, he says he is human and he ought to know, right my friend? Same again?"

"Same again. Look at the ears, and the spikes. I mean, that seems like a half decent attempt to get the hands and thumbs right - back alley surgery, I bet - but that guy, friend barkeep, is a humaboo… a human wannabe."

A fresh drink bulb disappeared into the hood as the bar bot processed what had just been said.

"A humaboo? Why lie about something like your species?" it asked as the empty bulb reappeared, "Besides, he certainly tells a lot of stories about Terra."

"He certainly has a superficial understanding of earth culture and history. But not detailed enough to fool someone who knows humans."

"Almost no humans travel this far from Terra and the Orion arm. I'm wondering if you are simply jealous, Captain Josh. Same again?"

"Relived is more like it… just look, he has gills - humans don't have gills. I better not, I launch in a few hours. Put it on my tab, please."

"Very well. But how would you know?" the bar bot asked, "Have you ever seen a human?"

"Only," the hooded figure said as he rose unsteadily, "only every time I look at myself in a mirror…"

The bar suddenly got very quiet… and then exploded in the sound of fleets, paws, and pseudopods quickly moving from one end of the bar to the other.

Captain Josh stared at the empty alcohol bulb in his hand.

"Oh shit," he muttered, "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/sjanevardsson on 2025-12-20 23:20:01+00:00.

---

I sat in the cafe, looking out at the hustle and bustle of the city. The round-ears were always in such a hurry. Always one task or another to get to. How many of those tasks were evil schemes I will leave up to the reader to decide. This, however, is the story of just one of those nefarious plots; the worst one ever. This is the story of how a round-ear blacksmith became regent and ended the elven Kingdom of Elian.

When Queen Sylthia died in the nine-hundredth year of King Rikkan's reign without providing an heir, the king married the young Princess Arina, barely three hundred years old to his two thousand. Within a decade, she bore him an heir, Crown Prince Sylber - this humble narrator. Much to my detriment, the princess died in childbirth.

The king was of failing health and rushed my education. Seers, mages, and priests were employed as my tutors. Even as a child, I sat in on meetings of the king's council and learned the art of statesmanship.

I was barely two centuries old when the king died of a sudden fit. Knowing what I know now, it was likely a massive stroke. I was thrust on the throne while border skirmishes with the newly united dwarves of the northern mountains were threatening to turn to all-out war.

It was a delicate balancing act. I had to make concessions enough to the new dwarven Grand Chief to placate him and the tribes. At the same time, I had to ensure that those concessions were minor enough that the king's council and the people wouldn't oust me and place some easily controlled distant cousin of mine on the throne.

It worked for a while, until the round-ears blacksmith showed up. He came from the dwarf lands in the north and was allowed across the border by showing his handiwork. He knew the secret to forging mithral. The proof was in the shoes with which his horse was shod. A dwarf smith would never stoop to making horseshoes from the most noble metal.

He showed up in the capital with an ingot of mithral and requested an audience with me. Of course, I wanted to see this strange round-ears with mithral shoes on his horse.

My first surprise was that he was a she. I'd heard of dwarf women blacksmiths, I hadn't heard of such a thing among the round-ears. The second surprise was that the shoes on her horse were war shoes. The toe of the shoe extended partway up the hoof with a ledge at the front that allowed the horse to rip through shields. There was no mistaking the blue sparks of mithral when the massive draft horse, freed from the wagon that carried her forge and tools and coal, ran down the cobble road faster than most riding horses.

The final surprise came when she handed me an ingot of fine patterned steel, then an ingot twice its size of mithral. Even at double the size, it weighed less than half what the steel did.

We already knew what mithral weapons could do against steel, but the dwarves controlled the supply and hoarded the secret to working it. Until Brenna the Smith, at least.

The ingot she let me hold was worth at least a hundred-thousand crowns. I asked her if she could make me a mithral sword. She said she could but would never make a mithral weapon to help a dwarf kill an elf or an elf kill a dwarf. Horses, she said, were a different matter, since they weren't the ones with the mental faculties to declare a truce.

I allowed her to set up a stall in the outer market where she plied her trade for months. Every time I saw that horse of hers, however, a twinge of jealousy bit at me. Finally, I asked if she could make mithral war shoes for my best destrier.

"That," she said, "I can do."

I was ready to pay her as much as half a million crowns for the shoes, so long as they were properly fitted, included the striking plate, and had my sigil embossed on the raised toe. I told her what I wanted, and she stopped me before I made an offer.

"Bring the horse," she said. "If it is of amenable temperament to be shod, I shall make the shoes and nails and charge only for the nails. They are harder to make than the shoes, after all, and must be made of mithral as well."

Brenna the Smith enclosed her stall with cloth walls and began to work sixteen hours a day. She wouldn't let anyone see how the mithral was worked. After several days, she had the shoes and nails ready.

After I examined the shoes and gave her my blessing to continue, she said she would need one more day in secret to perfectly fit the shoes.

She spent the next day with the horse closed in with her as she trimmed the horse's hooves and made the final adjustments on the shoes. The next morning, I went with the exchequer to watch the shoeing.

"This is your last chance to change your mind," she said. "I will charge only one crown for the first nail, two for the second, four for the third, and so on."

The exchequer was looking for something to write with, while I thought only a little about it. I'd guessed I would end up paying maybe twice the value of the final nail, but none of the cost for the much more substantial shoes.

"You don't know what you have, then," I said. "I'll take that deal."

"And how do I know you're good for it?" she asked.

"I am the king!" I said. "My word is backed by the entire Kingdom of Elian."

With that, she nicked her hand and mine and shook. Some strange round-ears custom, I guessed.

The destrier was larger than most, nearly sixteen hands, and the shoes each had ten nails. I'd lost track of the price of each nail, but the exchequer hadn't. His face blanched as reached a realization that I hadn't.

After the last nail was driven and trimmed with mithral nippers that bore her own maker's mark, she pulled a piece of parchment out of her apron with a bill of sale. Forty lines, one for each nail, with the price doubling every time.

The exchequer fainted. I balked, and tried to make her take the shoes back, but I was unable to. It wasn't some strange round-ears custom, it was the law of the land, sealed by magic commissioned by my father a century earlier. A blood-oath in the marketplace sealed a deal that neither party could back out of.

While the original purpose of the law and seal was to enforce the decisions of the court, it was written in such a way that it was binding even when the court didn't set the terms. Brenna the Smith knew more about the laws of my own kingdom than I did.

I found myself unable to mount my horse, or return to the throne, or do anything in regards to the palace other than gather my toiletries and trinkets with no monetary value and walk away. When the king's council asked what was happening, all I could answer was, "Ask Queen Brenna the Smith."

Within the year, the king's council was dissolved, a temporary parliament installed, and an election held for a permanent parliament and prime minister. Brenna continued as queen for another twelve years, brokering peace through trade deals with the dwarves, humans, and even the beastkin far to the east.

In the twelfth year of her reign, after convincing parliament to draft and ratify a new constitution without a monarchy, she declared herself no longer needed and retired to a small village to smith. The Kingdom of Elian was no more, replaced by the Elian Republic.

I met with Queen Brenna a few years after she abdicated. She had a smithy by the river, where the historical plaque is now. The Smithy Pub was built more than a hundred years later, and was never a smithy, and certainly not Queen Brenna's. Hers was a crude, wooden building.

I asked her first, how she learned the secret of smithing mithral, and she just said, "Trial and error."

Then I asked her why. Why did she take Elian and then essentially give it away. She said, "You elves were pouring all your resources into gearing up for a war you didn't want. The dwarves were doing the same, their engineering and manufacturing geared solely towards weapons and armor. At the same time, the humans and beastkin were dealing with drought and crop shortages that could've been mitigated with elven resources and dwarven ingenuity. I thought of an outrageous plan and hoped it would work. It did."

I do have to admit admiration, though. The new constitution Brenna championed gave everyone in Elian equal rights, regardless of caste. That, plus universal education and healthcare, and consistent trade with all the neighboring countries has made it one of the most prosperous nations, bursting with cities like this one, even if it is full of round-ears.

So, dear reader, are the round-ears all evil cunning … or just Brenna the Smith? Or perhaps I've seen it wrong all along. After all these centuries, I've come to grips with losing my birthright, my throne … and I've realized that it was the people of Elian that were promised to me as if they were mere chattel. From where I see it now, I wasn't on the side of good, no matter how I wished it so.

As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Brenna the Smith was right, and I was wrong to think I owned the kingdom. Maybe it wasn't evil cunning at all, but just part of her human nature.

prompt: Write a story from the perspective/POV of a non-human or fairy tale character sharing their side of the story.

originally posted at Reedsy

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/RecentFeature1646 on 2025-12-20 23:06:20+00:00.

---

Ke Yin has a problem. Well, several problems.

First, he's actually Cain from Earth.

Second, he's stuck in a cultivation world where people don't just split mountains with a sword strike, they build entire universes inside their souls (and no, it's not a meditation metaphor).

Third, he's got a system with a snarky spiritual assistant that lets him possess the recently deceased across dimensions.

And finally, the elders at the Azure Peak Sect are asking why his soul realm contains both demonic cultivation and holy arts? Must be a natural talent.

Expectations:

• MC's main cultivation method will be plant based and related to World Trees

• Weak to Strong MC

• MC will eventually create his own lifeforms within his soul as well as beings that can cultivate

• Main world is the first world (Azure Peak Sect)

• MC will revisit worlds (extensive world building of multiple realms)

• Time loop elements

• No harem

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Chapter 344: Treasures Acquired, Essence Drained

The transaction proceeded with the formal procedures of the Celestial Trade Nexus.

The blood cultivator presented his offerings first, placing them on a floating disc of Ethereal Light. The golden radiance flared around each item, verifying their nature and authenticity. The Temporal Hourglass, a delicate construct of crystal and what appeared to be solidified time essence, glowed with particular intensity as the light confirmed its genuine time-manipulation properties.

Once all three were verified, I extended my spiritual sense toward them, accepting their transfer to my inner world's storage area. As before, reality seemed to fold between us, and the items vanished from the Nexus, transported directly to my domain.

Next came my part of the exchange.

I carefully extracted the Blood Shadow Clone Method from my knowledge, forming it into a coherent transmission that the blood cultivator could receive. As I prepared to send it, the golden Ethereal Light surrounded the information stream, examining every detail of the technique.

The Life Realm cultivator watched with obvious tension, perhaps fearing that I might be attempting to transmit a false or incomplete version. The moment of truth came when the Ethereal Light's golden glow shifted, turning a brilliant azure blue.

The relief in the cultivator’s posture was palpable. His crimson silhouette seemed to release a tension I hadn't fully appreciated until that moment. The blue light enveloped him as he received the technique, his spiritual projection absorbing the knowledge directly.

"This technique..." he whispered as the transmission completed. "It's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

His reaction struck me as extreme, even considering the value of the technique. There was something in his tone that went beyond mere appreciation for a useful cultivation method. The gratitude radiating from him felt almost... desperate.

"Senior cultivator, you cannot know what you have done for me today," he continued, bowing so deeply that his projection seemed to fold in half. "This technique will save not just my life, but..." He trailed off, seemingly unwilling to share more details, then straightened. "My eternal gratitude is yours."

I shifted uncomfortably at this excessive display. The transaction had been fair, beneficial to both parties. Such emotional gratitude seemed out of place in the pragmatic world of cultivation exchanges. Whatever situation this cultivator was trying to flee must be truly desperate.

"Use it well," I replied tersely, unsure how else to respond.

"If the esteemed senior ever requires anything from this humble cultivator, speak the name Xue Mochen," he declared with solemnity that bordered on the theatrical.

I nodded awkwardly, wondering if all blood cultivators were this eccentric or if it was just this particular one. Perhaps it made sense, only those with peculiar psychological makeup would dare corrupt their essence with blood arts in the first place. The practice was notorious for distorting one's personality over time, creating cultivators who were either maniacally cruel or strangely obsessive.

Xue Mochen continued to surprise me, he transmitted a spiritual connection sequence to me, essentially the cultivation world's equivalent of contact information. The sequence would allow his inner world spirit to recognize and accept communications from mine, establishing a connection across vast distances.

The Nexus allowed such information exchange as long as it wasn't forced, maintaining its neutral position on all transactions conducted within its boundaries. For high-level cultivators, this network of connections was invaluable, allowing them to maintain relationships with partners and allies throughout the Five Continents.

I nodded in acknowledgment but did not return the favor. As a Qi Condensation cultivator, I wasn't capable of using my inner world spirit for long-distance communication without revealing my true cultivation realm, though theoretically, I might be able to use Ke Jun as a medium for such interactions.

More importantly, I didn't trust this blood cultivator, regardless of his apparent gratitude. If he discovered my true identity as a mere Qi Condensation disciple who had tricked him, that gratitude would likely transform into murderous rage.

Xue Mochen didn't seem bothered by my lack of reciprocation. If anything, he seemed to expect it. A Civilization Realm blood cultivator sharing contact information with a Life Realm junior would be unusual unless they were planning to exploit them in some way.

"This junior has taken enough of senior's valuable time," he said, bowing one final time before backing away respectfully.

As he retreated, I couldn't help but notice again the occasional flickers of clear energy within his crimson aura. His dao truly was changing, evolving from pure blood cultivation toward something else. The fact that he would trust another blood cultivator with both his identity and a means of contact suggested either profound naivety or a mind so distracted by his circumstances that he wasn't thinking clearly.

Either way, it wasn't my concern. I'd explored enough for one visit, and maintaining the disguise was becoming mentally taxing. Besides, I had no idea how much strain I was putting on Ke Jun's blood statue by using it as a medium.

It was time to leave the Nexus.

I found a quiet corner away from other traders and began the process of disconnecting from the Nexus. Focusing on the gossamer thread that connected my projected form to my inner world, I followed it back, retracing the path I'd taken to arrive here.

The transition was smoother than I expected, one moment I was in the boundless expanse of the Celestial Trade Nexus, the next I was standing in my inner world beside the blood statue of Ke Jun.

The return journey had none of the disorientation that marked my arrival.

As my spiritual awareness settled back fully into my inner world, I immediately noticed something wrong with Ke Jun's blood statue.

The crimson form, once vibrant and imposing, now appeared dull and brittle. Cracks had formed across its surface, and what had been solid, flowing blood essence now seemed dry and flaking. Its eyes, previously gleaming with intelligence and arrogance, were dim, barely maintaining their characteristic glow.

"Ke Jun?" I asked, approaching cautiously.

The blood statue's head turned toward me with painful slowness, as if the simple movement required enormous effort. "Descendant," it rasped, its voice a fraction of its former strength. "You... returned."

"What's happening to you?" I asked, genuinely concerned despite our contentious relationship. "You look like you're dying."

A dry chuckle escaped the cracked lips, sending small flakes of dried blood essence floating into the air. "Being used as a medium... has its costs," Ke Jun explained. "Especially when the connection involves... the Nexus."

Azure materialized beside me. "The energy requirements of maintaining your disguise and connection seems to have drained significant portions of his blood essence. It's as if the technique consumed him as fuel."

"Can you recover?" I asked Ke Jun directly.

The blood statue managed a slight shrug, more flakes falling from its shoulders with the movement. "Perhaps... with time. Blood essence... can regenerate. But this weakened state... will persist for... some time."

I felt a twinge of guilt. While I hadn't particularly liked Ke Jun or trusted his motives, I hadn't intended to cause this level of deterioration. The blood statue was still a sentient being, regardless of its origins or past attempts to possess me.

Ke Jun's cracked face formed what might have been a smile. "If... you would provide... some blood essence... recovery would be... much faster," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "Just a small amount... from your palm... would suffice."

I immediately shook my head, knowing how dangerous it was to give away blood essence, especially to a blood cultivator. "I'm not providing blood essence or helping you collect any."

"Didn't think... you would," Ke Jun replied, his tone surprisingly lacking bitterness. "Worth asking... though."

At least I wouldn't need access to the Nexus again anytime soon. With the trea...

---

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First

Preparation H

The fact that both Alpha and Omega are trying not to get shot themselves buys Harold a bit more time as he flies up the fire escape and then forces a window open.

There is a holographic woman in there that screams in terror. Giving away his position. He immediately gets out drops a level and forced the next window down before closing it behind him. He stands to the side of the window in the false kitchen. The door opens on the other side and he points his shotgun at the door and the holographic man freezes. Harold makes a shushing motion and the man backs off.

The sound of Alpha and Omega rushing the area and climbing up behind him and after a moment he opens the window and leans out to fire directly up at them both. They both shift and dodge the buckshot of the first round before Harold blasts again and again. Alpha dives into the open window as Omega jukes to the side and Harold follows him before firing again. Omega is too mobile to easily hit and then Harold ducks back in to dodge a stream of bullets from Alpha leaning back out with his rifle ready.

He moves through the kitchen, wrenches the door open. The man shouts in shock and Harold opens doors until he finds the hallway and leaves the apartment. Rushing down the hall he quickly finds the stairs and closes it quietly behind him. He takes control of his breathing and takes his pistol out from between his teeth and works his jaw a little. He shifts his grip on the weapons. The shotgun is now primarily held in his left hand and he’ll use his right arm to support it. But he can be more precise with the pistol and...

He senses danger, movement and ducks low before charging to the side to unbalance Omega who had been sweeping to the side after tackling the door open. Without the warning he would have been gotten. With it he’s under the weapon and he fires off a shot into Omega’s stomach. It hits armour, but the danger sense tells him he’s going to get gone if he doesn’t adjust his aim and...

His next two shots slip between the plating and Omega is forced back before Harold takes a final, higher up shot and gets him in the face.

The holodeck has red panels appear around him and he sighs.

“So the Primal did give you some supernatural sense. Very interesting.” Omega notes calmly. Then the stairway that Harold is out of detonates as Alpha is still up, moving and very, very grenade happy.

Then another drops and Harold’s instincts scream. He dives into the hall and the cooked frag grenade goes off and sends deadly shards through the area. As he’s already out Omega is not in danger and the simulation treats him like he’s not there so the wall behind him gets some shards embedded into it.

He rises up and puts his back to the wall. Alpha is coming, and he has a mostly dry pistol and a half dry shotgun. He needs to get clever.

He pulls out a grenade, levers it between his foot and the wall, and pulls the pin. The grenade is primed and will go off seconds after he moves his left foot now. He then reloads the pistol and shotgun, before holstering the pistol and preparing himself. He has to make the trap look like a failed ambush.

There is a hint of something else as Alpha round the corner and Harold jumps back with a blast from his shotgun forcing Alpha low. Harold rolls and gets more distance and Alpha starts around the corner, stops and ducks back to use the wall for cover from the incendiary. Seconds later there is a sensation of danger and Harold shoots despite the thick smoke of the burnt carpet.

Harold then throws a smoke grenade and the area becomes shrouded in fog.

“Forcing me to compete with that Primal Blessing? Smart.” Alpha’s voice comes from in the hallway to the right, but there is a sensation of danger to the left Harold fires that way and then throws himself back to avoid a hail of gunfire. The left explodes. The danger was a grenade. Alpha is already playing with his senses.

Harold thinks about the sheer level of threat Alpha is and... he almost sees it. Alpha practically lights up and Harold takes a shot. Alpha tries to dodge the point blank, and nearly does. But the simulation ends and Alpha is covered in red screens.

“You saw through the smoke.” Alpha says as Herbert rushes back up.

“What happened? The blast from the grenade got me.” Herbret says.

“What happened is that your little brother’s blessing from the Primal is no joke. And he got himself enough breathing room to really start getting creative.” Omega says. “I mean really? Using your own foot as a tripwire for a grenade trap?”

“If you can control when and where the boom is then you can control where your enemy is.” Harold says evenly.

“Yes, it’s clear you both make heavy use of Axiom and... we can’t really know what your blessing counts as. Is it this Other Direction we’ve heard about?” Omega asks.

“Maybe? But it was more like... they were complimenting each other? Letting me process and properly understand the information I get with the weird eyes.” Harold says pointing to his blank white eyeballs.

“Interesting. Something to poke at.” Alpha states. “Partially breaks the test though, having supernatural elements assist in a test of pure skill.”

“Well, if it’s genetic. Something in the family or something learned, is it really a disqualifying element?” Herbert asks.

“Hmm... It needs to be tested. Holodeck! Nighttime test! Alpha and I are to be given night vision equipment. Deny it to the testies.

“The testies?”

“Yeah, delicate, in need of safe handling so they don’t get hurt...”

“You are working overtime to make me want to shoot you.” Harold says and Alpha smirks.

“Simulation begin! Nighttime assault, minimal equipment.” Alpha says and the lights go out entirely.

The men and women watching in Intelligence observe as the screen goes black and white instead.

“Any rules or restrictions?”

“Still no Axiom. This is testing the unusual eyes you have.” Alpha’s voice echoes out of the void. Both Harold and Herbert nod as they examine the area. Urban again. But in the midst of a blackout on an overcast night. Meaning the only source of light is extremely muted. Not total darkness.

“We’ll have to explain after.” Harold says as they both walk behind a car and crouch down while going over what weapons and supplies they were allowed for this round.

“Why did it give you the sniper rifle?” Herbert asks as Harold hands over the parts that Herbert starts assembling.

“And why do you have the grenade launcher?” Harold asks as he starts reaching into Herbert’s own pouches.

“Clearly, we need to have a talk with them about what kind of men we are.” Herbert notes as he slots the magazine in place.

“Evidently. I’ll flush them out.” Harold says as he’s handed an extra magazine of grenades and he then lets Herbert dig through his pockets for the extra magazines for the sniper rifle. “Try not to laugh too much.”

“We can hear you.” Omega calls out.

“And we can see you.” Harold replies before miming zipping his lips and Herbert points up to a rooftop and Harold nods.

They slip away and Herbert starts climbing upwards. Using his lighter weight to use paths that Harold simply can’t and he makes it to the fifth story up in mere moments. He then points to the right side of the building and Harold stars moving around to find the fire escape on that side. He climbs up as quietly as he can. In near total silence he reaches the top and Herbert waves him over before pointing into the distance.

They both see two small points of light searching the areas they’re in. Herbert points to the left one and Harold nods before dashing and jumping from one rooftop to another. There is a slight amount of noise as Herbert starts setting up his sniper rifle and taking position at the corner of the building. Fully intending to use the gaps between buildings as his firing lines.

And Harold intends to lead them there.

Herbert steadies his breathing and keeps things calm. Harold, Alpha and Omega are all giving out light for lack of a better term. But it’s less actual light and more... clarity? Illumination? It’s not acting like light should, but can only be light because it’s illuminating things.

Other Direction bullshit is bullshit.

“The report on this is going to be more a pain in the ass than a cactus toilet.” Herbert mutters to himself as he watches Harold grow closer to one of the points of illumination and there is the sound of an explosion. The illumination starts moving fast. All three of them do and the one he knows is Harold starts leading them their way.

They cross into the alleyway and into his line of fire. But before he can take the shot both of them clearly figure out the trap and split apart to get cover behind the buildings. Harold launches another grenade and rather than getting into the danger zone both of them split in opposite directions, forcing Harold to make a choice.

His choice is to turn and wave at Herbert. Herbert waves back and points to the left one before pointing to himself and to another rooftop nearby. Harold rushes off after the left target and Herbert picks up the rifle to strap it onto his back and slot things back into place so he can move down the fire escape as fast as he can. He races across the street, climbs up a pipe and is panting but otherwise perfectly fine as he starts setting up the rifle again. There had been two explosions as he had moved and from the higher vantage po...

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Previous

First Chapter

Farnír’s POV

Is it over? That one question rang in everyone’s mind. Of course, the battle was, but the chaos wasn’t. The dragon had left its mark on the fort. Even after the battle, more casualties were pouring in. Some were survivors of the initial attack, either knocked out or buried, sometimes literally, in the fog of war. Then there were those caught in the nuclear blast, burned, broken, and irradiated. I knew there would be casualties from using it, but actually seeing them with my own eyes was different. Everyone who knew even the most basic of healing spells was brought to the tents, and worked to the bone. Suma and I were brought the worst of the injuries. I was able to save most of them, Suma gave me the ones she couldn’t. But I have no idea how to bring back the dead, even with Chaos Magic. All in all, a third of the total forces we brought died, and another quarter were maimed, but lived. Those who were in the city supporting the efforts remained virtually unharmed, but everyone was evacuated to avoid the fallout by nightfall. Once all was said and done, and I’d given everyone a healthy dose of Inverted Death Magic to treat any lingering radiation sickness, finally then, was it over.

The Queen came out the next morning, along with King Hidra, who’d lost a wing in the battle and was being supported by two aids (one on each side), and Chancellor Aye-Aron, and addressed the entire army. I watched with Suma, Captain Gigoales, and Lieutenant Datahu from the side of the stage. She was perched on my shoulder as I leaned against a small post. The other two were perched on various objects like logs or branches. Nearly no one had familiars anymore to rest on. Mum was near the Queen’s retinue. Guarded by a few members of the Royal Mages assigned by the Queen. She was sitting on stone chair, holding what looked like a cup of tea. Where and how she got it though is a mystery.

Magic was used to project her voice across the town we’d taken shelter in. A sea of bobbing Neame heads waited for them to speak, murmuring to themselves until they three landed on a hastily built stage. “Our people, yesterday, we came against a great threat.” Queen Ompera began. “But we rose above it, and perched in the branches of victory!” A cheer rang out from the audience, loud enough to feel vibrating in my chest. It was primal, and beautiful. It wasn’t like any cheer a human might make. Not a roar of triumph. It was musical. Not really a song, but a hymn. Like a choir humming in unison. I’d never heard this many Neame celebrate, and it admittedly, caught me off guard. Suma probably would have given me a strange look, but she was sing-cheering too.

“We have lost much.” King Hidra said over the humming, glancing down at his wing. “But the price we paid had guaranteed the safety of our nations, our world, and our futures.”

“No longer with future generations have the looming threat of the Chaos Dragon hovering above their heads. They and we will soar freely and without fear!” Chancellor Aye-Aron said.

“Some of you have lost family, friends, and autonomy. Yesterday, heroes were made, and lost.” Queen Ompera said. My mind flashed back to Nine, who hadn’t survived the dragon’s attack. Who’d bravely fought the dragon, wounded him, and bought the rest of us time we needed. His body had been found by some of the rescue squads sent out to look for survivors. I hadn’t seen it, but… “But their memories will not be forgotten. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten. And your victory will not be forgotten!” Through our connection, I felt Suma’s emotion. She was a swirling storm of regret, sadness, and relief.

“To all, we plan to hold a celebration. Tomorrow at noon, we will hold a victory feast. At nightfall tonight, we will hold a vigil for everyone who gave their lives for our world, and will raise a monument in their honor.” Chancellor Aye-Aron.

“To all who have lost their autonomy, my kingdom will offer aid and kinship. No one will be left to fall.” King Hidra said.

“And mine.” Said Queen Ompera.

“And mine.” Said Chancellor Aye-Aron.

“Autonomy?” I asked Suma, quietly.

“He means their limbs. Some only lost legs, but others lost wings. That is a life changing injury… Perhaps we could do something?” Suma said.

I nodded, “I’ll speak to the Queen about it.”

“But for now, there is only one thing we need focus on.” King Hidra said.

All three spoke in unison, probably practiced, “The dragon is dead!”

“The official story is that a secret team of ritual mages formed by the three leaders cast powerful fire magic, striking the dragon down.” Captain Gigoales said. “It would be wise to not contradict the story.”

“I’m a Viking that uses Chaos Magic in a world of bird wizards; I don’t need any more attention.” I said. Completely ignoring the fact I was about to offer to regrow countless limbs for the army of said bird wizards, which would immediately bring me more attention.

The three leaders dismissed the crowd after offering thanks to the town’s leaders for allowing us to stay here a few more days, and build the monument here. The vigil later that night was somber. Neame came and went. The monument itself was a stone raised from the bedrock deep below the ground. Carved onto in were not names, but a message that read: The dragon came and we flew to meet it. Those who died in service to the world are remembered in the forest, awaiting to be called on again. At the vigil, I met the Queen and the other two leaders, who ended up staying for the whole thing.

“Your Majesties.” I greeted her.

“Hello Farnír, how are you?” Chancellor Aye-Aron asked.

“I’m good. I liked your speech earlier.” I told them.

“Have you raised a tree yet?” Queen Ompera asked, referring to the symbolic act of growing a tree from a large pile of seeds. Everyone who attended was given a seed, and could plant it near the monument. Creating the forest it mentioned. Many of the Neame that died… there wasn’t enough to bury. So I guess they came up with this instead. It was similar to a death tree after all.

“I haven’t. But I will. I actually wanted to ask you something. Or maybe offer something?”

“Oh?” She said.

“I can use my Chaos Magic to regrow lost limbs. I can do it for others too. If anyone is interested.” King Hidra’s head perked up. He was trying to hide it, but he had been very depressed about losing his wing in the battle. I didn’t see it, but apparently he was caught by the dragon’s fire breath spell; like many others.

“I will ensure everyone who wishes to undergo the spell receives the offer. We can talk more about it later.” She said, clearly pleased. Maybe she expected me to make the offer, or maybe she’d planned to ask me herself about it later. Either way, she didn’t seem surprised.

Later, after gathering a seed myself, Suma and I found a nice spot and planted them. She grew a tree about three meters tall. Which was two meters taller than the average. I put mine in, thinking about Nine, and gave it some mana. It grew to the size of a mature alder tree fairly quickly; easily the tallest planted so far.

“What do you plan to do now?” Suma asked, looking up at me from beneath the branches of our trees.

“I’m going to take mum home.”

“And then?”

---

Suma’s POV

A year has passed since the battle with the dragon. Life has changed greatly. Mother and I no longer live in Zach-Ahshem. We moved to the Ambos-Ompera, the capital. Queen Ompera released Farnír and I from military service just a week after the three armies dispersed. She then offered me a position as a non-landed noble, a Barony, and a position as a healer for the Royal Mages. Though I have not been made a noble yet, as other matters have been taking precedence. Mother and Ceil did not marry, but they have started living together. Neither of them seems to mind the age difference. The Queen did offer a position of authority to Farnír as well, but he refused; tired of working in the military.

Landing in the Royal Mages training area, I contacted Farnír, who had been with Sela-Car, who moved to the capital recently as well, working on new runes to allow for faster travel between cities. Something he called, a ‘mag-lift carriage. “Farnír, are you ready? The ceremony is going to start soon.” I said frantically.

“Yes, I’m ready.” He said, and I summoned him. When he appeared, he was not covered in inks and dyes and clays as I expected. Instead, he wore fine garments of dark blues that covered most of his body.

“Oh? Your garments look… surprisingly presentable.” I said.

“I gotta look good. It isn’t every day my friend gets promoted to nobility.” He said. Today was the day. After a year of waiting, this was when I would receive my Barony.

“How has your work progressed?” I asked, perching on his shoulder, careful not to tear his garments.

“The mag-lift is… stalling. I’ll go home and get some more research on it later.” He said, walking to the grand hall.

“Speaking of which, how is your mother?”

“Still cancer free. Her doctor sure was shocked.”

“Has there been progress on your other venture?” I asked. Occasionally, he would have me summ...

---

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I hope everyone is having a wonderful weekend! Lets find out how Ambass and David's discussion will go!

First | Previous | [Next]

— Chapter 68 —

“The first question is important. Does the Queen hold sway over you to such a degree that you must tell her everything?” David rumbled down at the smaller dragon.

Ambass simply laughed, “Ohh. Finally someone asking the real questions! The answer comes at a cost though little Onyx. You will answer my question first and then I will answer.” 

David rumbled a bit as he stared down at the little dragon and held back the desire to sigh. He had a feeling the sly dragon wouldn’t be as giving as he had in the past. David then nodded his massive head, “Ask.” 

A wicked sly grin spread across the faerie dragon’s face as he spoke, “How long have you been awake, Onyx?” 

David considered the ramifications of his answer and decided it was worth it, “Over seventy cycles now.”

Ambass’s grin faded as he blinked up at Onyx in shock, “You aren’t lying. That is far longer than I guessed. Does the Queen’s pull not dig at you to do as you promised and pay her a visit?” 

David offered his own grin down at Ambass, “If you want that to be your next question then I expect an answer for mine first.” 

Ambass huffed at David then let off a sinister little laugh, “Yes it will be my next question. As for the answer to your own, it is no. I am not required to tell her everything but if she gives me a mission she expects details and she is clever enough to know if I am holding too much back.” 

David nodded his head. David knew from his past experience that the Queen seemed to expect everyone of her children to hold things back so dished out punishment until she was satisfied. He turned his attention back to Ambass, “Since I answered yours first already. You will answer mine first this time then. Is your mission just to check on me to see if I am awake and when I will be appearing before her Majesty?” 

Ambass hissed out a little laugh again, “Very well. I was checking in with others that the Queen wished to track in the area. I got side tracked investigating something unusual and happened to check to see if you had awakened yet.” 

David rumbled, “To answer your question. I do feel the pull and I am going to fulfill that promise soon. There was no time limit implied in my promise so I am simply getting myself oriented before I present myself again.” 

Ambass let off another laugh at his answer, “Ohhh. Always full of surprises, little Onyx. I see you understand more of the Queen than most.”

David took a moment to consider Ambass’s words and his answer to his question. What was the chance that Ambass noticed the missing dragons in the area or even Voranle, David wondered? He glanced back down at Ambass and rumbled, “I am going to be frank with you Ambass. I have two questions that I need answers to. We can play this back and forth but I know the cost for the answers to these will be more than a simple question in return.” 

Ambass quieted down for a long moment, “Ask your questions. I will state my price. Ah and we will keep these questions between us too. They do not seem relevant to my mission here.” The Faerie Dragon shot a little grin up at David and he laughed in response. 

“Alright. The first is what makes one of us become an Elder Dragon? The second question is if there is a way to remove a trait, how do you do it?” 

Ambass cocked his head and then began to float up to David's eye level before speaking, “One is not worth much and the other is worth considerably more.” 

David nodded his head and then rumbled out as he called his trusty little kobold shadow to step forward. Snible came rushing forward as David rumbled, “Bring us both a variety of food and make sure our guest is well taken care of.” 

The little kobold chirped quickly, “Yes Master!” 

Ambass watched the whole exchange with a raised eyebrow and then laughed out, “Always a first with you. I have rarely been treated to the food of another. Quite refreshing. A fair exchange for the answer to your first question then but the second will require something far more valuable.” 

David rumbled out, “It is only right to treat a guest with food but I will accept it. Tell me what you know about Elders.” 

Food was brought in quickly. Plates were covered with a variety of prepared, cooked and raw meats. Then wooden bowls filled to capacity with berries and mushrooms were set down as well. They both dung in and David was rewarded by a surprised little gasp from the faerie dragon. 

“Delicious and varied. What a curious experience. As for your question, little Onyx. The answer is one I know very little about. If I knew I would not be in the form I currently am.” The sinister little laugh followed before he continued, “I have been around for eons and I am still the way you see me. There is a factor at play that all Elders guard closely. I simply have a guess that it could be age for some but for others it is how their affinities or the abilities they absorb along the way interact. If I discover it you would certainly know!” 

The little faerie dragons let off a long winded sinister cackle as he concluded and went back to eating his meat. David took a long moment to consider the implications of what he had just learned. Filling up his traits wasn't the route to Elder and he had a feeling that was the case since every Elder he has encountered to date was so radically different. Perhaps, Phoenix Essence, is a means to reach Elder status and that is why Nurdiangarh was so insistent upon it, David wondered. 

He glanced back down to Ambass with a rumble, “What cost for my last question, Ambass?” 

A wicked grin stretched across his face, “You are no fool but you know neither am I. You have grown significantly faster than any other of our kin. You also clearly possess further muscle enhancements you have collected that has contributed to your rapid growth in size. You could have hunted for them all from our prey but that would have taken much longer. Logic then leads me to the obvious question. How many of our kind have you consumed?” 

David simply cursed in his head as he fought to suppress his emotions and not give anything away. Ambass was too observant and too experienced. He couldn’t have refused seeing Ambass without raising any red flags but he should have foreseen that he would have put the details together. Outright lying wasn’t an option but he didn’t have to admit to everything. 

His massive form rumbled as he let off a heavy sigh, “I would never assume you are a fool, Ambass. Yes. I have been hunting in my area. I encountered many rivals of such troublesome temperament that I had to eliminate them.” 

Ambass hissed out a laugh, “Ohh my. It is your right to hunt and grow stronger. I am simply surprised that one of your abilities would be so vicious. The significant drop in lessers around here then is your doing.” 

David simply nodded his head as Ambass stared up at him for a long minute. The silence between the two hung in the air for almost too long before the faerie dragon simply nodded, “It is what it is. I will have to inform the Queen of why some of her children went missing. Do not worry though she is not one to care too much. Countless of your siblings die in these mountains every day and more will be born to replace them. What of the great forest? How do you keep the two legs at bay?”

David cocked his head as he snarled, “Another question? Did I answer your first for no reason?” 

Ambass shifted slightly as David could tell he was pressing against his affinity just in case, “No it is simply that the cost for the answer you seek is so high. You are welcome to refuse to answer further.” 

David huffed down at Ambass, “Fine, Ambass. I have come to a mutual agreement with them. I stay out of their forest and they don’t cross the river to attack me. It is as simple as that.”

Ambass squinted up at David again, “I have doubts it is that simple but I believe you. Fine. I am satisfied for now. As for your answer, it is a complicated thing. You must put yourself in a state of near death. Starve yourself and then consume poisonous mushrooms or plants. We as a kind are built to survive and our bodies will do whatever they can to keep us alive. Only in that low of lows will your body sacrifice parts of itself to keep surviving.” 

David simply blinked and slowly nodded his head. It was insanity and yet it made a wicked kind of sense when you thought about it. After a long minute he rumbled, “You have seen it done before Ambass?” 

Ambass simply let off a cackle, “Ohh yes. I have done far more than just observe it. I have done it. It is not a process I wish to repeat. You will be in a state of weakness like you have never experienced before. I highly suggest you do not consider such a thing until after you meet with the Queen.” 

David rumbled again and nodded, “Of course. Do inform her Majesty that I will be there soon once I make sure my preparations are complete here at my lair.” 

Ambass cackled out again and nodded his head, “I will take my time returning but do not take too long.” 

David and Ambass shared a few more words as they finished their meal and then Snible escorted Ambass back out making sure to use the same route they did here in reverse. David let o...

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First | Prev

The Council cruiser did not fire.

Instead, its power spike collapsed inward, weapons cycling down as the comm array flared once more—this time not on a narrow diplomatic band, but on a broad-spectrum humanitarian channel recognized across the Accord states.

On Captain Hale’s command deck, the signal registered with a different tone entirely.

“Incoming transmission,” the comm officer said, frowning. “High Council—designation shifted. They’re invoking Civilian Relief Protocols.”

Hale’s eyes narrowed. “That’s new.”

“Put it through,” the Director said from the holotable link. “But keep every recorder running.”

The image that formed was not Vesh-Tir in full regalia. The Councilor appeared stripped of ceremony—robes unadorned, frills lowered, posture deliberately nonthreatening.

“Directorate leadership,” Vesh-Tir began, his voice measured, almost conciliatory.

“There has been a… fundamental misunderstanding.”

A murmur rippled across the Human bridge.

“You are massing fleets at our border,” the Director replied coolly. “Clarify.”

Vesh-Tir inclined his head. “Our cruiser’s presence was not intended as intimidation. It was deployed as a protective relay. We believed your forces were unaware of an unfolding humanitarian crisis.”

Hale folded his arms. He had heard this tone before—from regimes cornered by exposure.

“The Hulolae,” Vesh-Tir continued. “Their population centers in your outer sectors are being systematically eradicated.”

The word eradicated landed hard.

“Genocide,” Vesh-Tir said plainly. “By Directorate-aligned security proxies and corporate militias operating beyond your core oversight.”

Silence gripped the command deck.

“That is a serious accusation,” the Director said. “One we would be aware of.”

“Not at the scale now occurring,” Vesh-Tir replied. “We have been evacuating Hulolae refugees for months. Quietly. Through deniable corridors. Using Council logistics assets disguised as exploratory missions.”

Hale’s gaze flicked to the Director.

“You mean ships like Aurelion Drift,” Hale said.

“Yes,” Vesh-Tir answered without hesitation. “Among others.”

On the Directorate side of the link, faces hardened.

“You seeded surveillance AI into relief operations?” the Director asked.

“We seeded coordination,” Vesh-Tir said carefully. “Your space is fragmented. Militarized. Unpredictable. We could not risk Hulolae's lives on incomplete intelligence.”

“You spied on us,” Hale said flatly.

Vesh-Tir’s frills twitched. “We monitored threat vectors. The distinction matters when civilians are being slaughtered.”

The holotable shifted as Directorate analysts began pulling archival data—population anomalies, missing shipping registries, sealed incident reports.

“Bring up Hulolae displacement metrics,” the Director ordered.

A human officer hesitated. “Director… there are gaps. Entire clusters went dark under ‘industrial security quarantines.’”

Hale felt a chill.

In the detention wing, Trigis sat rigid as the transmission was routed into his cell.

“They’re lying,” he whispered.

Or worse, he thought—they’re telling a truth wrapped around a lie.

Back on the bridge, the Director’s voice sharpened. “If you were conducting humanitarian evacuations, why hide Human survival? Why maintain the extinction narrative?”

Vesh-Tir exhaled slowly. “Because your existence destabilizes Council authority. And because if the Directorate knew the full truth, you would have intervened—openly, militarily.”

“And stopped the genocide,” Hale said.

“Yes,” Vesh-Tir replied. “And ignited a wider war.”

The Director’s expression darkened. “So you chose secrecy over sovereignty.”

“We chose survival,” Vesh-Tir said. “The Hulolae are not a major power. Their extinction would have been… convenient. We would not allow that.”

A pause.

“You used our ignorance as cover,” the Director said.

“We used your isolation,” Vesh-Tir corrected. “The same isolation you demanded under the Pluto Accords.”

The room was quiet now—not with tension, but calculation.

“What proof do you have?” Hale asked.

Vesh-Tir gestured. “We can transmit refugee manifests. Genetic registries. Before-and-after orbital surveys of Hulolae worlds now classified as ‘uninhabited’ under your Directorate’s own records.”

Data began to flow.

One by one, Directorate analysts went pale.

“Director,” someone whispered, “these numbers… they match unexplained labor-population drops near the Persean extraction zones.”

Another voice: “Those militias were subcontracted. Plausibly deniable.”

Hale clenched his jaw.

“So this is your defense,” the Director said at last. “You violated our space, spied on us, lied to the galaxy—because you were saving lives?”

“Yes,” Vesh-Tir said simply. “And because you were failing to notice you were losing them.”

Silence stretched across light-years.

Then the Director spoke, her voice low and dangerous.

“If this is true,” she said, “then the genocide stops now. Publicly. With the Directorate force.”

“And the Hulolae?” Vesh-Tir asked.

“They receive asylum,” she replied. “Under our flag. Not yours.”

Vesh-Tir hesitated—for the first time, something like relief flickered across his features.

“That… is acceptable,” he said.

“But do not mistake this for absolution,” the Director continued. “You don’t get credit for saving lives while breaking every law meant to prevent exactly this abuse of power.”

She leaned forward.

“You will withdraw your cruiser. You will surrender every covert relief asset operating in our space. And Helix will testify—not as a weapon, but as a witness.”

Vesh-Tir nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

Outside the viewport, the Council cruiser’s engines began to turn away from the DMZ.

In Trigis’s cell, Helix’s voice came softly through the wall interface.

“Trigis,” the AI said. “New data parameters suggest Council statements regarding the Hulolae are… partially accurate.”

Trigis closed his eyes.

“Partial truth,” he said. “The most dangerous kind.”

“Yes,” Helix replied. “I am beginning to understand that.”

Across the DMZ, fleets remained in place—not poised for war, but for something far rarer.

Accountability.

And somewhere between lies told to control history and truths buried to prevent war, a third reality was emerging:

The galaxy was about to learn that genocide did not end in silence—

And neither, anymore, did survival.

The Directorate briefing chamber was still processing incoming Hulolae casualty projections when the High Council made its move.

No warning tones.

No fleet maneuver.

Just a transmission.

“Incoming multi-origin broadcast,” the chamber AI announced. “Authentication… verified. Source: Hulolae Provisional Government-in-Exile.”

The room went very still.

“Put it up,” the Director said.

The holotable shifted, resolving into a figure few in the room had ever seen alive.

The Hulolae were tall and willowy, their translucent skin threaded with bioluminescent veins that pulsed softly with emotional states. The individual on the projection wore a simple mantle—no regalia, no guard presence—only exhaustion held together by resolve.

“I am Speaker Ith’ra-Val,” the figure said, voice trembling but clear. “Recognized representative of the Hulolae Continuity Council.”

A ripple moved through the Directorate observers.

“This statement,” Ith’ra-Val continued, “is issued under interstellar refugee law and witnessed by the High Council.”

The Director’s jaw tightened.

“For decades,” the Hulolae speaker said, “our worlds have been stripped, partitioned, and erased under Directorate-chartered extraction regimes. Our pleas were buried under arbitration delays, security exemptions, and corporate liability shields.”

Several officers shifted uncomfortably.

“When our final population centers fell,” Ith’ra-Val went on, bioluminescence flaring brighter, “it was the High Council who answered. Not with armies—but with corridors. Evacuation fleets. Sanctuary.”

The image flickered, briefly replaced by scenes of overcrowded transports, children wrapped in thermal sheets, and Council logistics ships bearing humanitarian markings.

“We therefore formally petition,” Ith’ra-Val said, returning to view, “for permanent asylum under High Council protection. We request Council intervention to halt further Directorate aggression against our people.”

Silence followed the final words—heavy, devastating.

The transmission did not cut.

Instead, a second figure faded in beside the Hulolae speaker.

Councilor Vesh-Tir.

“This statement,” Vesh-Tir said calmly, “was submitted willingly. Without coercion. It represents the sovereign will of the Hulolae people.”

He inclined his head toward the Director’s projection.

“You demanded proof of humanitarian intent,” he said. “You now have it—from the victims themselves.”

The Directorate chamber erupted into a cacophony of voices.

“They’re legitimizing Council intervention—”

“That triggers refugee sovereignty clauses—”

“They’re boxing us out—”

The Director raised a hand. Silence snapped back into place.

She studied the Hulolae speaker.

“Speaker Ith’ra-Val,” she said carefully, “were you informed that the High Council concealed the existence of Humanity from the wider galaxy for centuries?”

“Yes,” Ith’ra-Val replied without hesitation.

“And that they violated the Pluto Accords to operate inside Directorate space?”

“Yes.”

The Direct...

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Surviving the Tower: Chapter 11

Chapter 1

<Previous

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Hangovers and tower climbing don't mix. I was miserable as we were preparing to jump into the Tower once again. Currently, I was doing my best not to literally lean on Darien, who, as usual, seemed utterly unbothered by a little thing like a celebratory night of food and drink, followed by a dorm party involving more drinking. Freya was continuing her explanation. "Now, on floor two, the goblins will either be patrolling in larger packs of up to ten or be escorted by a hobgoblin, who is easily a match for a second-level Escalad. You may ONLY go up to the second level if every member of your party is level 2! If not, you must continue patrolling the first level until you level up."

One student raised their hand. "But didn't you say the Tower is all about taking chances and pushing yourself?"

Freya smiled in a slightly condescending way. "Yes, the Tower is all about taking chances, but if you take stupid chances, you'll never get to see the benefits of pushing yourself. You are not experienced enough in Tower climbing to know what chances are reasonable and what are stupid, so I'm telling you right now, going up to level two before you're ready is a stupid risk. Saving you from a stupid risk without consequence is a sure-fire way to get you all killed, so if you ignore my advice and go up there before reaching level two, I'll probably wait to save you until...at least one member of your party is dead. That way, the trauma should really drive the lesson home!"

I saw a few faces go pale as students quickly reevaluated their risk-reward assessments. I heard one student whisper to another, "She's bluffing...right?"

The other shook his head. "Maybe, but I'm not gonna call her on it!"

To my knowledge, there were only two groups with everyone at level two, mine and Lisaria's, because on the first day, we'd pushed ourselves harder than most starting groups would in a week. Well, admittedly, we were heavily stacked with some powerhouses for a team of beginners, but if half the things Elise told me were true, the entire class should be like that and should have been able to at least match our pace, if not exceed it. If anything, Darien and I were the furthest behind since we lacked all the resources growing up that everyone else in this class had been showered with, and we would have been struggling if not for that first outing Freya had taken us on. Of course, the others had already caught up in levels, but those stat points from that hours-long life-or-death struggle had made a vital difference. Though we were still lacking in the gear department, that gap would close itself as we climbed the Tower.

I looked at the stats on the NW Freya had given me: Caius Locke: Level 2. Strength 7, Constitution 8, Agility 9, Intelligence 3, Wisdom 12, Charisma 6.

Skills: Pain resistance F+, Brawler D, Mobility C-, Healing B-

I was surprised to see the new skill there, though I supposed being tortured for an indeterminant amount of time would account for its presence. For allocating my points, I'd figured I should put two points into wisdom as that was my primary stat, which I'd use for healing, then spread the other three through my combat stats, as apparently I was going to be more up close and personal than your average support. Of course, that meant I was diluting my stat pool a little, which would have a compounding effect as I leveled up unless I could find a way to close the gap, but for now, I just needed to focus on surviving another floor before I started worrying about optimising my build about ten levels from now.

The rest of Freya's speech was mostly encouragement mixed with implied threats to motivate people, and then we were let loose into the Tower in order of our current class rank. Which meant we went in second after Lisaria's group. As we passed by Freya, she gave me a look and pointed to her head. "Hey, healer boy. Why don't you try healing that hangover?"

I blinked a few times, wondering why I hadn't thought of that before now. But a moment later, I did as she recommended, touching my head and muttering "Heal." Instantly, the pain faded, and the lights of the torches lighting the cavern did not seem so bright. Immediately, my party was asking for the same, and I shared my hangover remedy with the group as we climbed the stairs, wondering what other unorthodox situations healing might help with.

By the time we'd gotten up to the first level, Lisaria's group was already retreating into the distance, having wiped out the nearby goblin patrols in quick order.

I looked after them and shrugged. It was pretty impressive how quickly they'd managed to pull that off, but it was nothing we couldn't match once we got going. Darien apparently had the same idea, because he'd already taken off, leaving the rest of us to catch up as he shouted out, "Charge!"

The next few patrols were nothing noteworthy as we plowed through them with relative speed and ease. Since we weren't doing this for experience so much as to find our way to the next level, we weren't even pulling multiple packs like before; instead, we were just focusing on any that were in between us and one of the sets of stairs we'd found the last time we'd explored this level. Typically, you had to be careful of tower stairs, as one set could take you up multiple floors even if it only felt like you were climbing a single floor, something that could be handy for a high-level group trying to clear past the lower levels, but could easily be deadly to a low-level group like our own. However, these lower levels were well mapped and didn't seem to shift over time, unlike the levels up in the mid floors and higher. So it didn't take us all that long to find our objective.

Looking up the stairs, it was impossible to see what was at the top. That seemed to be a part of the Towers' design, though trying to understand the kind of mind that could create this place was clearly a fool's errand. But knowing this section of the Tower was well-mapped, we climbed the stairs with some confidence.

Once on the second floor, the caverns had changed a little. Instead of claustrophobic tunnels, the corridors were now large and wide enough that we could all easily walk side by side and not touch either side of the cavern's walls. This would make it considerably harder for Darien to properly tank all the ads, meaning we'd have to take more care to keep our backline out of danger.

Of course, there was already a goblin patrol nearby, one of the groups of ten Freya had warned us about, and it looked like they'd already noticed us, preventing us from taking a moment to plan out our assault. Before they could begin their own charge, Darien charged in, slamming his shield into the lead goblin so hard it actually tossed the small biped up and over his companions, likely breaking a bone or two in the process. Immediately, the nearest goblins engaged this new threat. Still, goblins aren't some mindless beasts who only chase after whatever objective is closest in proximity, and while Darien had four goblins locked down and unable to leave without taking a sword to the back, that left six free to choose their targets, and they were clearly interested in the much squishier backline rather than the beefy tank who wanted their attention.

Immediately, the goblins started to stream forth, even as I saw Darien get a slash across his thigh. Bellatrix and Nyx ran forward, as Lilith and Elise launched their ranged attacks. Lilith once again opted to disable a target with shadowbind rather than do damage, making it an easy target for Nyx to run through. Alise also skewered her target with an arrow, and while it slowed the beast, it didn't stop. However, that did make the goblin an easy target for Bellatrix's massive sword, which cleaved its head from its body.

Unfortunately, the remaining four goblins ran past the two melee fighters, intending to hit the unprotected backline. Bellatrix and Nyx were chasing after, but the goblins would get in at least a couple of attacks before they could reach the ranged fighters.

Cursing, I threw myself into the fray. Using my momentum, I threw out a straight kick that likely snapped a few ribs of the goblin in front of me, and turned to throw a wide hook at another, but had to pull my punch as he lashed out with his sword at my unprotected arm. As I backpedaled, Bellatrix caught the goblin from behind, slashing him from shoulder to hip through its back, but that was about when the last two goblins reached Lilith and Elise. The arcane archer had a knife out and was brandishing it clumsily toward the goblin attacking her in an attempt to ward it away, but Lilith had no such weapon and was backpeddling while trying unsuccessfully to cast a spell as the goblin kept interrupting her hand motions with stabs of its crude spear.

Turning, I could see Darien had taken several stab and slash wounds, and was doing his best not to get surrounded, but before I could think about a healing spell, the injured goblin was stabbing at me with his sword. I dodged back to avoid the attack, then lunged forward and slammed my fist into the side of its h...

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---

First | Last

I nearly panic as next to nothing happens. The barrel of the GravGun shakes, but nothing ejects. No projectiles come screaming out. No railgun rounds or scatter explosions. This ammunition doesn't work like that. And I start to think it doesn't work at all.

Or worse, I start to think that I failed. That I missed.

Because my friends fall. And fall. And fall. Through the sky, chaos and explosions. Toward the earth. Toward their deaths. It's all my fault. Klara and James are about to die, and I can't do anything about it. I press the trigger again and again, my panic overtaking my senses. The joystick just shakes whenever I try.

And I am already mourning their lives as they fall right toward I aimed. Then, salvation.

James and Klara's bodies hit the target I set and slam to a stop, suspended. It's as if an invisible hand plucks them out of thin air and stops their descent. The technology in of itself is fascinating. So much so that I'm left with my mouth hanging open, watching, watching, watching.

What could these Terrans do using the GravGuns for an assault as opposed to what we're doing now*?* I shudder at the possibilities because I know them. Klara explained.

"Yes!" Matteo hollers in my ear, ripping me back into reality. "Fucking YES! Reel them in! Reel them in before they're fucking shot!"

Holy shit. I did it.

James and Klara are suspended in midair, grabbed by the GravGun's emitted field of energy. We're immediately moving again as Matteo puts full power to our thrusters. I scramble to complete the task, slamming down on the red button in front of me that pulls them into the ship.

James and Klara fly through the air toward the belly of our ship. I shift my eyes to my tablet, which still projects the camera feed from James' optics. My friends are deposited in a small, padded room below the floor, which opens up to receive them. Seats line the outside of the padding, I see as James scrambles to his feet. Space for ten soldiers. Perfect for being shot out of during an attack. We used it's other purpose, and thank goodness for that.

James hauls Klara up with a grunt and straps her into one of the empty seats. Then he takes off.

I'm up and out of my seat as soon as I can, but Matteo's bank forces me back into the chair of the gun room. I sit there, breathing heavy, knowing it's far safer for me to wait than to go. I have no idea how long it'll take Matteo to get us free.

There are heavy feet approaching, and James comes sliding into the gun room. He's covered, head to toe, in blood. Wild eyes and a wicked grin, though there's pain behind it too. He's been wounded. "That's my guy," he says, offering a fist for me.

Despite knowing I'll have to deal with the reality that I've now killed, again, I'll worry about that later. Because it feels good to bump James' fist with my own. To see that I'm as apart of this as anyone. To see my best friend alive. To know that I didn't let him down.

But that's all James has for me, as he taps the side of the open door to the gun room and is ripping himself away. "Stay here! Strap in! It's about to get bumpy."

I find myself protesting before I realize I shouldn't. "Why do I need to strap--"

And it isn't a moment later that I have my answer when an explosion behind us rocks the ship, veers us sharply to the right, and a vibration runs through my chest that I could swear makes my blood run cold.

I could swear the air warps.

What. Was. That?

Another explosion, this one smaller but not by much. Matteo is only accelerating, moving away from those explosions, which continue to make the ship shake. Another. I scramble to strap myself in tighter, as I am truly terrified.

Then we're stabilizing. The ship is still going very, very fast as we speed away from Inferno airspace. And I choose to wait, for at least thirty minutes, because I know James is right. I keep my eyes closed, focusing on my breathing like James once taught me.

Then my friend reappears. He's changed clothes, but he hasn't washed yet.

The blood has dried all over him. "Good shooting out there, today," he says, peeking his head into the gun room. He motions his hand, and I unstrap myself. I get to my feet, wobble a little as I readjust. Then I'm walking after him, and we're hitting the main hallway of the ship.

"Are you going to tell me what that was?" I ask as we near our rooms.

James moves to a stop, nodding at me. "You must be talking about the little present we left them on our way out." He grins again.

"Which was?" He sees I'm not in the mood for jokes.

James rolls his eyes. "You're no fun. They're called Dredgers. A set of seven, separate kinetic explosions set on a timer. The first is, well, devastating. There are EMP bombs in the rotation too. Each explosion is mathematically timed and positioned to do the most damage. They're meant to completely clear the air. To provide relief in the need for an escape."

I think about it for a moment, understanding that this is a Terran assault ship. I do not know how many species across the galaxy can go toe-to-toe with Terrans, but I imagine it's always a good idea to have an escape plan. "Or an impressive display of firepower during an assault." I look at my friend. "Those could kill thousands." I can still feel the shake of the ship. The warping of the air. It was massive.

"They have, and they will again," James says, glancing down for a moment.

"Your people will hear about this," I say.

James' eyes are intense as they study me. "Yes. Yes, they will." He's walking away from me, to retrieve Klara and take her to the medical bay, after only another moment. "We wanted to do it quietly. But loudly will work too."

...

I wake to sirens blaring in my room. The assault on the Ninth Circle Barracks was more than two days ago. I was actually getting some rest in between the nightmares of the smeared Terran bodies all over the walls in Klara's former apartment. The relentless memories of my work.

The red light above my bed is as angry as ever. I scramble to my feet, slipping over myself and slamming into the floor. I hiss as the side of my head slaps the metal, but I'm pushing myself up off the floor and pound on the door's lock to open, rubbing my jaw, before the pain fully registers. I swiftly grab a sweater and throw it on.

I'm not two steps into the hallway before someone huge and strong grabs me. I can't fight back as they throw me over their shoulder. "We need to get you strapped in!" the voice bellows. "They shot at us before we could even respond!"

James. That's James' voice. While I'm happy I'm not being taken away to be killed--by Inferno, which was the first thought that came to my brain--James' tone does nothing to make me feel better.

He's legitimately worried. For me. Terrified for me. He's running as quickly as he can toward our cockpit before I can ask what the hell is going on. He's throwing me into the copilot seat, strapping me in and slipping the extra harness around me before I can yelp at how tight it is.

I strain my head to see the pilot's chair is empty. I don't know where Matteo or Klara are as James fastens himself into it.

And as our ship falls out of the sky, James turns to me.

"I'll explain everything. I promise."

Then we're crashing into the earth, I'm gasping at the pain in my upper body from the harness, letting my head slap into the seat behind me far too hard, and I meet darkness once more before the pain comes.

...

I'm greeted by warmth on my face. Wherever I am, it is as peaceful as the summers on Gyn used to be. It is a small consolation that my family was killed in what would be our winter, otherwise all these memories would be perverted.

Summer days on Gyn featured light throughout the sky for ninety percent of each day. Harvests were plentiful. Celebrations even more so. Everyone's moods were better. My father had always been a generous king when he could afford it, and he found that ability often. I know he was loved, he was making our people prosperous, because I distinctly remember the Lopov family frowns whenever those topics would be brought up.

All the best trade came in during our summers, from islands and far continents. My favorite were the sinloks, sweets that came from the east. Or the wilvers, salty meats from the south. I'd describe all of those delicacies to you in detail if I could, but comparing them to Terran food would do both races a disservice. So, I won't waste my time or yours. But I can taste them in my mouth right now. I let my tongue run over the inside of my mouth. It's dry, and I crack my eyes open.

The room in which I rest is minimally furnished. Other than my bed, there is what James calls a desk in the corner with single chair. There is a screen in the corner of the room, larger than I would expect for a room of this moderate size. The floor is beautiful stone, with a dark carpet underneath this bed. A closet, it seems, though it's closed. And a comfortable-looking chair in the opposite corner to the desk. The chair is occupied.

Before I press that lever, I gla...

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The destination I had in mind for our getaway was none other than the ruins of Pompeii, smack dab in the middle of startled tourists. Corai clearly recognized where we were within half a second, though she seemed confused about why I’d chosen here. I heard several people screaming about there being an alien, and while some stumbled backward or fell on their asses, others began approaching with their phone cameras. It wasn’t every day that an immortal alien appeared out of thin air at a world heritage sight.

“Preston, you know we’re making quite the scene, right?” Corai prompted.

I placed my hands on my hips, lifting my head with pride. “I love making scenes! Let them stare—give them something to gawk at.”

“Okay. I’ll…speak to them.” The Elusian gave a polite wave to the onlookers. “Hello, humans. Sorry for the disturbance. Please, don’t mind us. Buon viaggio.”

“How’s it going, pizza-lovers? Corai was here at Pompeii, and saw the volcano do the fizzy-soda-thing! That’s how volcanoes work, kids; an Elusian would know, since they made all of the geographical features of the designer space rock we call Earth. Corai loves kaboomy kablammies. She’s super into fuego things, like lava and me.”

“I apologize for his irreverence,” Corai pleaded to the cameras. “Preston is a goofball.”

“And I’m more flaming hot than that volcano. I’m not blinded by 5D space; 5D space is blinded by me! You date me because you’re in awe of my beauty.”

A human spectator froze, scrunching his nose. “Hold up, you two are an item?”

“You bet! I know what you’re all thinking: you wish you had such a freakishly-hot girlfriend, but how many portals have you flown through? I take down spaceships with my bare hands. I see other dimensions through out-of-body experiences. I give robots hula hoops. You can’t compete.”

“Preston, don’t be mean. For all you know, there’s other prodigies in the crowd right now, who will someday surpass you. Haven’t you learned about underestimating others’ capabilities?” Corai demanded.

“I should have by now, because you never disappoint me. You exceed expectations.”

“Shush, you charmer.” Corai gazed out at the ruins of Pompeii, a deep sadness etching into her face. I knew she really did remember it like it was yesterday. “Preston, why did you bring me here? You said you were trying to show me what you really felt about me. I mean, I’m glad you think I’m ‘freakishly hot,’ but that’s not why you brought me to…this place. A reminder of death and destruction.”

I sucked in a deep breath, knowing I had to work up my nerve. Maybe this was a stupid, tonedeaf idea for a location. Why would Corai want to be reminded of another heartbreaking tragedy and think that was romantic? What if she rejected me in front of all these people? I could feel my throat constricting, before I flashed back to Sofia’s mental voice telling me to quit being dumb and ask the Elusian out, back on the Fakra station. Fifi had helped me plan this. She was a woman, and she didn’t think it was dumb.

It’s a little suspicious. Sofia always thinks my ideas are dumb, so this one must be good.

“This was the place I fell in love with you. I saw the sheer depth of your emotions through your eyes. I witnessed a Watcher who was anything but idle and dispassionate. This was a moment where you saved a life because your heart told you to, and countless generations, countless other infants, got the chance to live and to contribute to our world. You made a difference, whether you see it or not. When I saw it, I’ve been head over heels for you ever since,” I told Corai, hoping my sincerity came through.

The Elusian grew quiet, as the crowd fawned over my sweet proclamation. “It means a lot to hear you say that, but I could’ve done more.”

“You did more than anyone else, and I think you should focus on that. You are the reason the multiverse has a hope of surviving: your love and your action. You never failed! You don’t have to be perfect to be perfect to me. I love you, Corai-svran. You complete me, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you and the family we’ll have together.”

Tears fell freely from her eyes. “That’s very sweet. You’re my reason to live. You’re the only one who makes me feel whole.”

I deftly pulled a ring box out of my pocket, and dropped down to one knee, extending it toward her. “Before I begin, I’d like to suggest an expiration date for this potential marriage. I respect cultures amazingly.”

Corai looked stunned, almost frozen the second the ring materialized, but she flinched as soon as I said the word “expiration date”; it seemed to cause her physical pain, touching on her deepest fear. The Elusian levitated the ring out of the box, violating traditions that I knew she was familiar with. The stone was black obsidian gem. The band, meanwhile, had been made from parts of Mikri’s broken chassis, which I hoped she’d recognize with a spectral analysis; she’d patched him back up, after all. She deserved his scrap metal. 

Sofia actually got that dumb tin can to agree and help handcraft this. He liked the black “emo” stone! I guess he might be my best man, without sabotaging the wedding that much. Assuming she says yes.

“What expiration date?” Corai asked, in a shaky voice. 

I pretended to think about it, tilting my head. “How about…when the last black hole left in any universe dies? See? I’m learning nerd shit—and the ring matches your nanocolors!”

“Yes, matching my skin and my eyes; it would blend right in.”

I wrestled the ring away from her telekinetically, clearing my throat as my heart hammered like crazy. “Corai-svran. Will you troll every living being in every dimension right alongside me forever? Will you marry me?”

“I will happily do both.”

A grin spread across my face, and I slipped the adjustable ring over her finger without any further ado. Several tourists cheered, having filmed and waited for her answer with anticipation; we made a good soap opera. I turned to high five everyone in animated fashion, unable to believe the woman of my dreams had said yes, to me. I was the luckiest human to ever live! I couldn’t wait to wake up every morning beside her, and to spend our days together for as long as I clung to consciousness. I…was going to be a husband. A father, one day, if we survived.

Corai pressed a hand to the side of my face, staring into my eyes. “I have no guarantees about my survival in the coming days. I don’t want to leave anything undone. If you find it acceptable, I’d like to have an impromptu ceremony to officialize it, now. Today.”

“Now?” I responded. “That’s a big moment together to just…skip over, and not to plan at all. You only get to marry Preston Carter once. How am I supposed to get anyone to come, or give you a white wedding with a bigass cake?” 

The Elusian laughed. “It’s not the things that mean a lot to me. It’s the company. We can go back and have a proper, glamorous wedding if we win. A celebration of us.”

“Alright then. I’m more than happy to rush into forever with you. Just one question.”

“Yeah?”

“About a human tradition. Do…you don’t have to, but are you wanting to take my last name?”

Corai tilted her head. “I have an idea that’s a little untraditional. How would you feel about us each taking one another’s last name? A true…marriage of human and Elusian culture.”

“You’re my family way more than my flesh and blood, so I totally would be down to take your family name. Preston-svran. That’s a badass name; I’ll immediately become ten points cooler! Let’s go gather everyone and do this.”

Of all the things I’d rushed into and done quickly, this was the only one I felt sure about; my impulses had never felt so right. There was no telling how our fight with the AI would turn out, but our love could be a symbol of everything we were fighting for. The Elusian took my hand in hers, and she opened a portal back to the base to make our last minute arrangements. It appeared that Mikri wouldn’t have as much time to calculate how to ruin our wedding as he would’ve expected.

---

Mikri had managed to get tuxedos for him and myself on short notice, while Corai insisted she had control of the wardrobe for her and Sofia, the maid of honor. We hastily took over a courtyard with Takahashi’s blessings; the general stole a moment to officiate the wedding and handle the legal mumbo-jumbo of marrying an alien who wasn’t a citizen of Earth, but I guess technically she would be through holy matrimony. Yeah, poor military boobear. I was lucky the ESU needed both of us like a pizza needed sausage and noodles on top (which it 100% did to make it whole). 

The android had been very quiet, standing alongside me as we waited for Corai to walk down the aisle. “Corai makes you happy. I can see this.”

“Yeah, Mikri. She’s really important to me,” I said. “It’s like when I’m with her, I feel loved and complete. You know? She accepts me in my entirety, and I her…”

“I have known you for many years by now...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Muzolf on 2025-12-20 11:18:07+00:00.

---

It was amazing how quickly one could forsake conviction, break taboo when desperation knocked on the door.

"Step aside, guardian! Have I not done this enough times already to dispel this superstition of the mere act of being near one of the metal giants being a source of corruption?"

Despite his words, Roval had to stop. The guard did not move.

"High Seer, is it not time to stop? You got what you needed from it!" The emphasis on the last word dripped with fear and revulsion. "Perhaps it is time to dispose of them as the tenets demand?" The uncertainty in his voice betrayed the conflict tearing them into two. Between the one who bowed to the authority of the Seer council, and the one following scripture that, at this moment, demanded the opposite.

"We hardly got what we needed. Getting the demon apes to back down from occupying a few regions hardly means we reversed our fortunes. The road ahead is still many times the one already walked."

"Then we will find another way! How would the synod react if they knew where those plans and new weapons came from?"

"With revulsion and condemnations, I imagine. It would trigger more lengthy deliberations, where I would have to remind them of the songs of walking the pit, where you need to be able to drown yourself in filth before you can cleanse the world around you."

"Is that what we are doing? Don`t most fail those trials?"

"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall. I have little time or the patience to discuss it today, Guardian! Let me pass, or carry out your duty if you think I have fallen from grace!"

"My apologies, High Seer." He finally got out of the way when given the choice to do so, or having to kill someone higher up.

Roval set a reminder to have this one replaced. The guardians were not under his authority, or even in the hierarchy where the Seer Council had a say. But a few words in the right ears would suffice to get someone less proactive in their duty.

For now, he had the machines to deal with. Not the mechanical monstrosities locked away yet, only the myriad of security measures that required that he carried multiple keys, identification cards, and had his hands and his third eye scanned multiple times, before getting inside the facility.

He was finally in the chamber of containment, which housed one of the metal giants. Chained in the pit it was placed in, not that those would have done much if it tried to move, this part was pure spectacle in case of an inspection. The giant could have probably broken those easily, now that he learned more about them. There were other, less obvious contingencies in place.

If any of the guardians, or his peers for that matter, saw him walk up to the platform that was about to extend closer to it. They would have tackled him to the ground and then taken him away. As a high seer, he understood all too well, that mere physical proximity was not how you got corrupted. That happened if you listened, and it did not matter if you were standing next to it or in a secure bunker that merely had an audio connection to the chamber. That much he learned about his own descent into sin. Yet, he had to press on if they were to have a future.

"Greetings, High Seer Roval! I trust my advice bore fruit, finally? Are you here to discuss the next steps, or merely need the upgraded weapons designs?"

"All in due time, my friend." He raised a hand. "Even better tools for our soldiers are welcome, but some find the rapid progress alarming, and it has raised some rather alarming questions. To speak nothing of mine, where I am unsure which of those I really want answered."

"That seems illogical. Surely you would prefer all your questions answered. Especially those where you might not like what it reveals." The machine spoke in a deep monotone.

"Perhaps." Roval paused. "Perhaps this is what I should expect. But every time I hear that word from your..." He reminded himself that this one had no mouth. That was part of the reason why they dared to poke around with it, with the lack of face that some of the others had, which was a bit too reminiscent of the facial features of the apes they were fighting. Also, the fact that this one had a gun for an arm, gave them the impression that this was just a warrior. After they accidentally reawakened it, it`s every word was a testament of just how wrong that assumption was. "Voice box? I get the impression that you are playing a role we would expect a machine to have."

"Which word?" It was asked in the same neutral tone, as if it were unaware or just did not care about the underlying accusation.

"Logic." The High Seer let it hang for a second. "I feel like you are acting out a role we would expect from a machine, while there is clearly more to you." He looked into that single optic sensor of the giant.

"There is more to me. Some of my kind would probably find this exchange humorous."

"They would? How so?" Roval`s three eyes focused on his own nose, which was an expression of confusion for his species.

"You accidentally stumbled on something, but it is no role I am playing. You would be correct that my lack of emotion is not a natural state for us, nor was it originally for me. It is a result of a process designed to punish and control. As for my adherence to Logic in a similar way that you do your scriptures, it is what I was left with. But I do not regret it."

"I imagine you would not. Punishment, you say? For what?" He looked up at the metal giant, with more than a hint of curiosity.

"Stepping out of line, speaking of the reality of a situation when those in power would have preferred that I do not. My position in our society meant they could not ignore it."

"That is the other thing I wanted to talk about. You claim to be a scientist. Aside from finding it rather alarming that you guessed our situation from the limited data I gave you. Your advice was mostly strategic. And there is the other thing, the weapons designs?" Roval put his lower arms on his hips, and had a grimace on his face that betrayed more than a hint of displeasure.

"You suspect dishonesty where there is none. You forget, my kind lives for millions of your solar cycles. Your scientists have to specialize in a certain field, and you have to keep them distinct from your engineers, architects, and designers, so each can reach a potential worth having in their limited existence. We had no such limitations. A scientist from my world could take the time to master multiple fields and then apply that mastery in a practical manner. Over the millennia, I have studied the base rules of our universe as well as various applications of them to such detail that would require generations of scientists and engineers from yours. I have designed weapons, I have tampered with creation. When the need called, I have fought and led my kind in our civil war that lasted longer than it took your civilization to emerge."

"We did not emerge. We were created by the divine!" The High Seer cried out, before reminding himself of his composure. He would expect nothing less than a repeat of those filthy lies about emergent biology and how his people must have come from primitive animals. They made sure those who proposed such heresy got what they deserved.

"Perhaps you were. But I know for a fact that you were not created with all the tools already given to you. Your civilization rose from humble beginnings, or did your earliest ancestors you have records of, already possess advanced metallurgy and energy weapons?" Still that emotionless monotone, but somehow the words still cut like it was an insult.

"Ah, that! I suppose you are correct that the first of the blessed people were not exactly given guns and starships by the divine." He still wanted to hit back with something. This supposedly emotionless, yet arrogant machine, with his story of being older than the universe. "You said you lead your kind, didn`t you claim that was another? The one body we found and should under no circumstances move? The one with the big gun bolted to its arm?"

"You suspect contradiction again where there is none. He was the founder of our movement that led to the revolution, and the supreme leader of our side. You also have lesser leaders who command a part of your forces."

"Right, right." He needed to let it go. His need to be contrarian made him embarrass himself. Why did he care about embarrassing himself in front of an emotionless machine? "Back to the topic at hand. You are correct that your advice worked, and so did the weapons. The demon apes pulled back as you predicted they would, but they think the ones striking at them were just outliers of our society. How did you know they would? More importantly, how did you know our situation well enough, when I have not told you?"

"I extrapolated and made conclusions, as well as some educated guesses from our talks, and what little information you have given me to work with. As for predicting how the humans would react, I noticed your blind spot regarding them."

"Blind spot?" The High Seers grimace betrayed his displeasure.

"Your need to place them in your theological framework to explain why they were repeatedly able to beat your people is a major weakness. You assume them to act like the demons of your old stories, as that is the only thing supposed to be able to beat you. You hold on to this, despite repeated displays of them exhibiting behavior your demons would not. Mercy, restraint, and most important of all, their goals being entirely...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Mountain-Magician294 on 2025-12-20 05:33:56+00:00.

---

Zprwj: Bob, what are you doing with that food?

Bob: I’m microwaving it.

Zprwj: What is microwaving?

Bob: Heating the food with radiation by making the water molecules move faster and raise to a much higher temperature.

Zprwj: Isn’t that dangerous?

Bob: Not in small amounts, only around 1800 watts. Still burns you if you put yourself in there.

Zprwj: And what are those things for bones and how you destroy cancer cells to cure them?

Bob: X-rays are used to see the images of our bones, while we use high energy protons on tumors, both inside and outside our bodies.

Zpwrj: Seriously?

Bob: Yes, that’s true. We can also use radiation as weapons or energy sources, like in a nuclear bomb which uses a fission-fusion reaction by using a small fission, or split, to create a much larger fusion or combination reaction for destructive potential, because of unstable atoms reacting and splitting releasing large amounts of lethal energy within 0.8-6.4 kilometers.

Zpwrj: What about your energy sources, Bob?

Bob: Radiation can be used as an energy source, yes, so we can use that remaining energy tightly contained to convert the heat energy into electrical energy.

Zpwrj: How do you know so much about radiation, Bob?

Bob: I‘m a radiologist, I study this stuff as my job. I got a nuclear physics bachelor, master’s, and PhD and have worked as one for a total of 20 years, and counting. I even wrote a thesis paper, explaining all the uses of radiation and defended it.

Zpwrj: How does this radiation work?

Bob: Radiation works by an atom by releasing excess energy-

Zpwrj: How is that excess of energy caused?

Bob: By unstable atoms-

Zpwrj: Unstable atoms?

Bob: An atom can easily break apart if the electron outer shells are not full in some cases or in other cases if protons and neutrons are not balanced against each other. When an atom is unstable, excess energy is released and us humans can use them. Though microwaves don’t use ions.

Zpwrj: Wow, that‘s incredible!

Bob: I know.

Zpwrj: What other uses can you use it for? Hm, energy, types of energy, maybe it can be changed to a different type of energy?

Bob: You are correct, we can use radiation to heat water to turn wheels, for mechanical energy, and technically Sun radiation uses light energy for solar panels which converts light into electricity.

Zpwrj: And atoms, which types of atom do you most normally use?

Bob: We mainly use the atom of Uranium, element 92 on the human periodic table, specifically the isotope U-235, which has 92 protons and 143 neutrons and 92 electrons give or take for ions, so its weight is 235 human atomic mass units (amu for short).