“I understand, Roxanne.”
The male was trying very hard, though he was clearly a bit nervous. His somewhat naive attempts at mediation could not escape the eyes of Sakti and Clark.
However, the high-ranking insect did not expose the little scheme.
“Thank you.”
He simply gazed gently at the white insect before him. Compared to their first meeting, Gra had changed significantly. Initially, the mere sight of him would cause the male to tremble in terror. But now, the little male, clutching his partner’s arm, could offer counsel with firmness and patience.
To this, Clark offered a small smile. “Don’t be afraid. I am past the age of acting on impulse.”
Gra turned red at this steady promise. The fact that his indirect attempts to plead for his partner had been discovered by the party involved made him feel rather embarrassed.
“It will take some time for the results to come out. Why don’t you talk to Arthur first? I’ll head over to the Great Information Nest,” the Core-seed, who had been watching the drama from the sidelines, finally spoke up. He nonchalantly offered a suggestion that served as a buffer for both sides. “It’s not like the identification report is going to run away.”
The Sub-royal immediately made a "stop" gesture.
“Shut up,” he said, his temper seemingly flaring up again. Silver-grey scales threatened to crawl up the side of his neck.
“I don’t want to stay here and listen to you two give a poetry recital,” Sakti said, his expression blank and his tone serious. “Are you sure you want two searchlights sitting next to you while you and the human pour your hearts out to each other?”
Gra gave his scaled tail a hard yank, causing the Core-seed’s next words to take a sharp turn.
“I won’t wander off; I’m just taking my partner back to the Great Information Nest. Once the results are out, I’ll return immediately.” He added, “I never run away before a matter is resolved.”
The silver-grey female closed his eyes several times before finally waving them away, as if what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over.
“Get lost.”
The response was concise; he couldn't be bothered to spare another word.
Following the suggestion with alacrity, Sakti promptly "got lost" with his partner.
The moment the doors closed, the Sub-royal, who had remained seated, bent his body and buried his face in his palms, his scales shielding his form. He sat there quietly, moving no more.
“Clark is actually... very sad,” Gra whispered.
He was still clutching his partner’s arm, looking back as he spoke until Sakti picked him up entirely.
“That is inevitable.”
The pitch-black Core-seed strode forward.
If one day Evelyn told him that both she and the Holman family were working for the Federation, Sakti’s mental state would likely collapse on the spot as well. He didn't just view the other as a friend; he was training him as a successor. Clark had handed over a portion of the Grey-wing command to him, letting him practice in battle and allowing him to integrate with the Armored-types using his own combat style. This had long since transcended a simple partnership and moved into the realm of focused cultivation.
“It depends on whether he can accept it himself.”
There was little emotion in those golden-brown pupils.
“If he can overcome the instability brought by hatred and seek a more long-term cooperation...”
When Sakti lowered his eyes, he found the male looking up at him with his head tilted, listening intently to every word he said. It was a look of unreserved trust.
“By then...”
He let out a soft sigh, all his emotions slowly settling into something deeper.
“—I am willing to return an alliance more stable than blood, more intimate than brothers of the same origin, and more unbreakable than the connection of a swarm.”
Not just the Zerg; he would try to negotiate with the Empire. If the silver-grey Sub-royal could suppress his murderous nature and not let hatred cloud his mind, it meant the Grey-wing swarm would become relatively controllable under his leadership, allowing for an attempt at long-term cooperation with humanity.
“What you want is stability,” the male, who had always been good at perceiving the emotions of those around him, said softly, his arms circling his partner’s neck. “You want to eradicate conflict, to break the cycle of aggression, depletion, destruction, migration, and re-aggression, and to gain the beginning of a relatively long peace.”
In response, Sakti kissed him twice without ceremony.
“That’s right. My greed is just that bloated.”
“And that is exactly the version of you I like,” Gra answered righteously.
The tip of his little white tail curled high, wagging twice in a show of bravado.
Adorable.
Irresistible.
The consequence of being overwhelmed by cuteness was that Sakti carried his partner the whole way, having no intention of putting him down. To hell with the identification report; nothing could interfere with his "cuddle time" with Gra.
Unexpectedly, that conclusion was reached a bit too early.
The moment the Core-seed stepped into the Great Information Nest, he witnessed a scene that left him speechless, bringing the cuddling to an abrupt halt.
Xiao had already taken the members who had received their assignments and begun their respective work. At this moment, only those few Broad-wing males remained gathered around Kleiman.
To put it nicely, they were new residents; to put it bluntly, they were prisoners of war. These insects, rescued with nothing to their names, didn't even have private property. Because they were too weak to immediately throw themselves into work and earn a corresponding wage, they could only rely on the security resources arranged by Gra to live. They had successfully reached the passing grade of being fed and safe, but they had no further possessions—they couldn't even find a container to store honey-dew.
It had to be said that this amber liquid held a massive attraction for males. Even Gra, who had been raised on various delicious exotic beasts by Sakti until he filled out, couldn't help but let out a buzz of delight when he first tasted this rare and precious liquid.
“Stay away from me!”
Warning the circle of cowering insects with a tense face, Kleiman forcibly suppressed the scales bristling on his tail as he portioned the honey-dew from the bucket into small jars. He had previously thought Gra was the one who needed it, which was why he had only brought this much. If he had known the other wanted to distribute it to all the males, he would have prepared more.
The thinnest Broad-wing couldn't help himself; he quietly crawled to the edge of the bucket, sniffing and using his scent glands to distinguish the clear, sweet aroma.
The deep-grey Armored-type leader glanced at him and raised his arm.
The skeletal male—Kara, who had been rescued while carrying eggs and was the first to step forward to mark the incubation nests on the construction map—closed his eyes with lightning speed, his forelimbs tightly clutching his head.
A puppy that has been hugged and petted will only joyfully nuzzle its head into a human's palm when they reach out; however, a dog that has been beaten will fear human arms and wooden sticks, and any small movement will cause them to cry out in terror.
Immediately afterward, a spoon was shoved into the male’s mouth.
An indescribable sweetness exploded instantly.
Cool, crisp, and carrying an extremely unique and enchanting fragrance.
This was a taste that no middle or low-level male had ever had the chance to experience. For an insect who couldn't even get his fill of leftover exotic beast blood and meat, it was hard to imagine this impactful, gentle sweetness.
The male, whose ribs were clearly defined and who couldn't fill out his oversized woven coat, froze. He sat there for a long time without moving, a small spoon stuck in his mouth.
“Do you like it?”
This reaction confused the blunt-minded Kleiman. He had thought the other was impatient to taste the honey-dew, so he had scraped a bit from the wall of the bucket to feed him. Instead, when faced with the outstretched spoon, the male had not only performed a bizarre head-clutching gesture on the spot but had then frozen in place, motionless and unresponsive.
For a moment, the Armored-type leader wondered if he had misinterpreted the fellow’s meaning. For instance, perhaps this male didn't actually like honey-dew and had only poked his head out of curiosity.
But in the next second, he saw the male, who was as thin as a reed, begin to tremble violently.
Kara bent his body.
He let out a beast-like wail of sorrow.
Low-level males were unable to produce a perfect mimicry; they lacked tears. Even as he shook with what seemed like sobbing, there were no tears to shed.
A male who had suffered abuse and cannibalization, who had laid many empty, dead eggs, but who had ultimately survived it all to be rescued—after tasting the first sweet nectar of his life, he lay on the ground and let out a painful, broken howl.
He bit down hard on the little spoon, sucking it into his mouth without letting go.
Kleiman was startled. Without thinking, he quickly reached out to pull the spoon from the other's mouth, fearing the male might swallow it in his agitation. Females could munch on starship armor plates like candy, but males clearly could not.
The Broad-wing was dry and small, seemingly weightless, and appeared quite weak and powerless when gripped by the Armored-type leader. It was a pathetic struggle. No adult female would take it seriously.
Every scale on Kleiman’s body was bristling.
The male’s body was very soft. His fingers brushed against the other’s slender tongue and tiny, non-aggressive canines, becoming wet with sticky honey-dew and other fluids. Deep-grey scales stood up along the tip of his tail, and for a moment, the female was almost uncontrollably covered in defensive armor even across his chest and neck, nearly entering a combat stance.
This state nearly cost the Armored-type leader his life; for the first time since reaching adulthood, he felt a sense of fear and persecution.
Even so, the male did not let go of the spoon.
Despite the tall, terrifying female forcefully stirring his oral cavity, the Broad-wing tucked his tail tightly and curled himself up. He bit Kleiman’s hand and, trembling, slurred out the first syllable of the Common Tongue.
“Sweet.”
The male said.
He kept his eyes closed, fearfully yet stubbornly, his expression frozen between instinctive pleas for mercy and terror. His jaw shivered against Kleiman’s fingers.
“Sweet.”
The strength slowly drained from the deep-grey female’s arm. The Armored-type was in a state of total bewilderment. He very gently tried to withdraw his hand, and this time, he succeeded.
“It’s sweet, so... do you like it?”
Asking somewhat dully, Kleiman didn't know what to say. In truth, he didn't understand males—he didn't understand their personalities, emotions, likes, dislikes, fears... any of it.
The other did not answer.
“Do you want... uh, another bite?”
The other three Broad-wing males were uneasy and fearful, huddling together and watching this strange scene with rustling movements.
The female, who could easily crush their heads, was half-transformed, fragmented scales scattered across his body's surface as he racked his brain to find the right words.
“Give me the spoon, and I can give you some more.”
The thin male—Kara—opened his eyes timidly to look at him. He no longer let out the sorrowful cries of a moment ago, as if the tiny bit of gathered courage had vanished in an instant.
Kleiman tentatively reached for that spoon, the root of all evil. The other’s teeth were still clamped down, but after he controlled his strength and gave a few tugs, the jaw finally loosened.
The Armored-type hurriedly scraped a spoonful of honey-dew and held it out to the male again.
“Want it?”
His face was taut, his expression caught between wanting to crumble and a mask of coldness.
This time, the male obediently opened his mouth.
***
