This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Im_yor_boi on 2025-05-11 17:31:37+00:00.

The Coalition Citadel, the epicenter of the Galactic Accord, floated like a metallic god between the spiral arms of the Milky Way and Andromeda. A marvel of Xel'Thara's technology reverse-engineered, it pulsed with power and light, bonding a thousand species as one. It was peace forged out of war. And it was humans at the forefront of it all.

Sri'Akana walked within her own personal chambers, her taloned hands fluttering. The ceremonial armor of the Trelzari Order hung heavily on her shoulders, but she bore its weight with pride. Her people had conquered worlds before humanity had ever invented the wheel. They were born for war—six-limbed, carapace-wearing, with minds hardened for strategy and battle.

And still, when she encountered a human being in the hallway, it was she who nodded first.

It gnawed at her.

"Why?" she grumbled to herself, staring at her reflection. Her compound eyes strained. "Why do they receive so much reverence?"

They rarely fought. They never boasted. They gifted planets like trinkets at a bazaar just to make inferior species happy. And when insulted, they merely smiled. Always that accursed smile.

She had done it all by the book. Filed a complaint with the Central Accord Council. Had meetings. Demanded explanations.

Nothing.

Only vague phrases like: "They're different."

"We owe them more than you know."

'Let it be.'

Unacceptable.

So Sri'Akana did what she had always done best—she took things into her own hands.

The mess hall was unusually quiet as she walked in. Her heavy footsteps echoed off the highly polished alloy floors. Behind her, Myxari agents, the Enkh, even two Ral'Zhurian defectors—all carefully chosen allies—followed in formation.

At the far end of the room, sitting at a corner, a lone human ate in peace.

Sri'Akana approached.

The man looked up, bite in progress. His face was unadorned, no armor, no obvious weapon. Brown complexion. Lean physique. Black hair slightly disheveled. He looked up from his plate with confusion.

Yes?" he inquired.

She towered over him. "What is your name, soldier?

He blinked. "Uh… Wasif. Why?

"Rank and full title, soldier," she snapped.

Wasif's eyebrow flicked up. "Don't really go by much. Just a Peace Ops liaison. You okay?"

Sri'Akana fumed. "You don't even make an announcement of your title, and yet you eat alone in your reserved seat while everyone else have trouble finding seats around you. You're treated like a monarch.".

Wasif shrugged. "Everyone acts weird around us. It's not my fault"..

She went on. "What is that food you eat?"

"Chili chicken", he said, and pierced another piece on his fork.

"Let me have a sample", she said unceremoniously.

Wasif paused. "Sorry, but interspecies sharing of food is prohibited for humans. Something about incompatible diets.".

"There's nothing you eat that I can't handle, human. Now let me see what makes you so different from us!", she said.

Wasif sighed. "Seriously… I don't want trouble.

She didn't speak. Just looked.

A few seconds later, Wasif capitulated. He shoved the tray forward. "Just one bite. Don't say I didn't warn you."

She took a chunk of the reddish flesh, examined it, and put it into her mouth.

It took less than two seconds.

Her throat ignited. Her mandibles burst open as her body shook. She fell to her knees, gasping. Her claws clutched at her throat. Her breathing came in rough wheezes. Tears—actual tears—ran from her unblinking eyes.

For the first time in three centuries, Sri'Akana cried tears of pain.

Her Enkh subordinate rushed to help her.

"Commander!"

Wasif, eyes wide. "Oh hell—call Medbay!"

Sri'Akana looked up as her vision blurred. Wasif was still chewing. Still eating that poison. And smiling, not with malicious intent—but with tranquil concern.

What kind of animal eats chemical fire for lunch?

Moments before she fainted, she asked to herself one question.

What else are they keeping secret?

She awoke in the med chamber, the taste of smoke and spice lingering on her tongue.

Doctor Hamlock—a qualified Ral'Zhurian physician—sat on a chair beside her.

You're lucky," he said. "Capsaicin overdose. Your species doesn't have receptors to metabolize it. None of us do. It nearly caused a neural collapse.".

And yet." she croaked. "The human.".

Shien looked away. "They… consume it. Some of them even like it. It's a common delicacy to them.".

Sri'Akana sat up, her body shaking.

Why do they do that?" she exclaimed. "Eat poison. Smile through pain.".

Hamlock hesitated, then whispered, "You've heard the stories, haven't you? The ones about the Third Galactic War."

"Propaganda," she snarled. "They're exaggerated myths."

No, he replied. I've witnessed the records. The Xel'Thara. The greatest command vessel. Destroyed by one man. One human.

Sri'Akana remained silent.

"And when the Council presented humanity with the chair of ultimate command," Shien continued, "they refused. Informed them they would prefer peace. Peace, after winning the most brutal war in galactic history."

"Why would they do that?"

Shien tilted his head. "Because they don't act like us. They don't conform. They laugh when wounded. They joke when threatened. And when cornered… they sacrifice themselves just to make a point."

Weeks went by, but the question never faded away.

Sri'Akana began to watch them. In silence. Learning the habits of humans at the Citadel.

They were… ordinary. Unarmed. Fragile. Yet they acted opposite to reason.

One of them tripped and broke his arm during the simulation training. He laughed. Laughed while the bone protruded through his skin, asking if someone had caught it on camera.

Another lost her rank following a disciplinary hearing. She threw a party celebrating "finally getting time to sleep.".

They performed rituals in which they intentionally frightened one another as a source of entertainment. They listened to music of death and heartbreak. They viewed fake records filled with violence, loss, and betrayal—and had entertainment from it.

None of it added up.

One day, she cornered Wasif once more. This time in the observatory.

He nodded graciously. "Commander."

She sat next to him. The silence persisted.

"What are you?" she ultimately asked.

Wasif smiled, gazing out at the far-off stars.

"People ask that a lot."

"I do not understand your kind," she confessed.

He glanced in her direction. "Ever had a pet?

Sri'Akana blinked. "A… pet?

“Something you raised. Smaller, weaker. But loyal?”

"I've trained war beasts. They are bred for killing."

Wasif laughed. "I used to raise small dogs. Soft, cute, friendly things. But if you were in danger, they'd charge at something 10 times their size without hesitation."

She leaned forward. "That is… foolish.".

"Maybe." He leaned forward, his eyes growing. "But when you're exposed, when everything around you can kill you—from animals to the weather to even your own kind—you learn something. Not to run. But to restrain."

He looked her in the eye.

"Fear kept us alive. But defiance? Defiance made us human."

Later during the same cycle, Sri'Akana again appeared before the Council.

"I would like to request permission," she said, "to visit Earth.".

"On what grounds?" a Myxari representative demanded.

"Research," she answered. "Cultural. Historical. Personal."

There was a pause.

Then approval.

As her shuttle entered Earth's atmosphere, Sri'Akana gazed out at the blue planet below.

Small. Beautiful. Quiet.

But beneath the clouds, concealed in oceans and cities and ruins, were the solutions to her questions.

Not just how humans survived—but how they bent the rules of nature.

They burned when they bled.

They laughed while they hurt.

They battled when they ought to have fled.

And the galaxy, with all its armies and monsters and gods, grew to fear the one thing it could not predict.

Not strength.

Not technology.

But the unrelenting will… of humanity.