The newly healed bones were somewhat brittle; even after Kala emerged from the treatment pod, he still walked with a slight limp.
The leader of the Armed-species, having finished his urgent business, returned as promised to take him to see the males who had been transferred to the warship.
Most of the males, who had been on the verge of death, were no longer in immediate danger after receiving timely aid, though they remained gaunt and haggard.
A small number of them had offspring. Some clung tightly to their larvae, shrinking into corners in fear; others displayed visible loathing, repeatedly waving away the cubs that tried to approach them.
It was a situation that gave any onlooker a headache.
The Armed-species had never lost a fight, but when it came to the aftermath and providing comfort, they were all as approachable as grim-faced temple guardians. Furthermore, the circumstances of these victims were intricate and messy.
Dragging his body along, Kala slowly approached the rescued members alongside his fellow Broad-wings.
They comforted the others in soft, gentle voices, recording the specific situation of every individual during their tender conversations, and then categorized them for subsequent placement.
After two Great Cycles of rushing about, the Broad-wings had acquired ample work experience.
Kala could understand the rejection these males felt.
The subjects who had been confined and abused hated and feared the Marauder-species; they could not project a single shred of biological instinct or affection onto larvae that represented nothing but coercion and beatings.
For such pairings, the only option was to temporarily separate the kin from the larvae and provide them with individual care.
After spending most of the day handling the related tasks, the dusty Broad-wing sat exhaustedly in the corridor.
Every time he encountered a similar incident, it felt like a bout of rumination—he saw his former self, and those dark, terrifying experiences replayed one by one before his eyes.
But he had worked very hard to learn how to not be afraid anymore.
"Go eat."
The expressionless leader picked up the immobile Kala, giving him no chance to sink into his memories.
Influenced by Sakti, Kleiman’s current cognition was roughly at the level of "eating is the first priority" and "you must eat much to grow strong." That black Core-species often hid small snacks and would stuff food into Gela’s mouth every so often during work breaks, to the point that the Grey-wing had developed the illusion that "there is nothing a meal cannot solve."
"You are injured; you need to eat more."
That grey-black tail wagged gently.
"During the cruise, we captured a Great-clawed Decapod. It is very delicious."
To the Zerg, this kind of exotic beast was a rare delicacy. The fresh meat required no processing to remain soft and sweet; even the least picky female Zerg found it hard to resist such rare ingredients.
"You should taste it."
Perhaps because the impression of having a spoon snatched away back then was too profound, Kleiman instinctively felt that such food would cheer the other up.
The one being carried felt his temperature rise instantly, clearly remembering that awkward past as well. His voice was as small as a kitten’s mewl.
"Thank you."
"No need."
The Zerg were essentially biological repeaters.
Once they had collected their meals and sat down, Kala gently sniffed the raw food before him.
It was pale meat, looking somewhat like crab claw meat stripped of its shell, snowy white with a hint of pale red, carrying a sweet fragrance.
His scent gland pulsed with a joyful prompt, telling his brain just how delicious this was.
Unconsciously, behind his normal teeth, those small molars unique to the Zerg began to emerge.
The secondary teeth of males were far less practical than those of females, lacking the ability to bite through the reinforced decks of warships; those tiny fangs were more like cute decorations.
Kala couldn't help himself and took a quiet taste.
His past of facing daily hunger in his early years had given him an instinctive possessiveness toward food, a desire to hold onto things he liked without letting go.
After being treated with kindness, he had learned to share and to leave rations for weaker companions in specific situations, but being able to eat a delicacy he had never seen before still made that newly healed tail wag rapidly.
The male ate quietly, quickly, and urgently.
What started as a tentative nibble turned into rapid swallowing. The speed was enough to make even a female Zerg, known for their ferocious eating habits, watch in awe.
As the other held onto the empty plate firmly, Kleiman subconsciously forked a piece of claw meat from his own portion of Great-clawed Decapod and handed it over.
Without thinking, Kala opened his mouth and bit into the fresh meat.
The next second, realizing what he had done, the male froze in place.
"I'm sorry..."
He quickly let go, his voice of apology as faint as a mosquito's buzz.
The Armed-species leader smiled.
On Kleiman’s usually expressionless, paralyzed face, such a candid smile rarely appeared. The reserve of his direct lineage made him stick to a rigid behavioral pattern, using coldness and majesty to awe all the Zerg under his command.
Now, he pushed his plate forward a little, right in front of the flustered male.
"Eat."
The Grey-wing tried his best to make his voice sound less cold.
"I still have plenty."
"Y-you eat too."
His brain stalled and his hands in a flurry, Kala even stuttered as he spoke, using incredible hand speed to quickly fork the largest piece and thrust it in front of Kleiman.
"..."
The Armed-species was momentarily stunned by the piece of claw meat, which was half the size of his own head.
He seriously considered whether he should enter his transformed state just so his mouth could open wider. Doing this in human form was truly a bit too difficult.
Realizing he had done something silly, the Broad-wing’s tail drooped in embarrassment.
Every time Kala did something foolish, it seemed the other was always there to witness it. Once, he had desperately tried to shove a spoon into the other's mouth; now, several Great Cycles later, history was repeating itself.
The male, who lacked confidence, was usually cautious and meticulous, but facing this Armed-species before him, he always made the same mistakes.
Before that arm, which had lost its strength, could retract, Kleiman took the fork first.
He took a bite of the gargantuan claw.
In the end, the female did not enter his transformed state; some small, latent emotion reminded him that letting his head transform at a time like this was something only a fool would do—a manifestation of idiocy.
His long, powerful grey-black whip-tail swayed once, and miraculously, the scales did not bristle.
"Thank you."
"N-no need."
Kala’s little tail also couldn't help but wag, and he smiled quietly.
Repeaters would eventually rule the world.
While cutting the Great-clawed Decapod meat into pieces and piling most of them toward Kala, Kleiman searched for a topic.
In truth, there were some things he was relatively concerned about but hadn't found the chance to ask before.
"Most of the males rescued this time..." Hesitating as he organized his words, the Armed-species slowly expressed his doubt: "Their scaled tails look very strange."
When he had led his subordinates to dig those terrified males out of ship after ship, it was inevitable to notice that many of their tails were scarred and presented in confusing postures—twisted into slender spirals or other regular shapes that could not grow naturally.
But at that time, the rescued ones, who had fallen into madness and tremors due to fear, were simply unable to provide any rational response.
When faced with a problem he didn't understand, a stubborn, straight-laced Zerg like him would keep thinking about it.
This led Kleiman to ask Kala, who was relatively more familiar.
"You mean that..."
Gently shaking his head, the Broad-wing did not take another bite of food.
"Some Marauders perform 'tail-clipping' on their cargo."
He explained in a thin voice to the Armed-species, who was showing a look of shock: "Many smugglers and Marauder tribes believe that specially shaped tails are more popular, so they trim the cargo's tails, breaking and wrapping the bones to fix them in place."
"Our recovery ability is not as formidable as that of the females, so our limbs are easily reshaped and molded by external force, making them quite suitable for this kind of modification. Sometimes, Marauders even implant decorations into the tails."
Explaining without much emotion, Kala lowered his eyes.
"Traders want to buy a piece of pleasing furniture."
A Zerg's tail had many functions; females used them as part of their weaponry, practical for both offense and defense, while males, who lacked combativeness, also relied on them to regulate body balance.
They were primarily composed of bone, covered by a thin layer of scales, supple and flexible.
Creating a special shape meant shattering the original bone structure, grinding down protruding parts, and then forcibly fixing them with wraps. This was a level of pain that would make even an adult female Zerg howl and roar.
Kleiman nearly kicked the table over.
"What?"
His auditory system often worked too fast, causing him to receive things he couldn't comprehend.
Clark protected the direct lineages within his designated sanctuary too well.
In the early days, that silver-grey Sub-King Zerg had a fierce and clearly defined style. He was ruthless to outsiders, an eye for an eye and blood for blood, crushing even the partners and eggs of his enemies to eliminate future troubles, but he was incredibly protective of his own.
Aside from the fringe planets, the true Core Star-regions were relatively stable; savage idiots like the Katra rarely appeared there.
This had also caused the former Armed-species to feel a bit of annoyance and impatience toward males—at that time, he believed the weak were unable to shoulder responsibility, and those who couldn't contribute to the protection of the race were valueless—but he had never known of something so outrageous and absurd.
A feeling akin to nausea surged within him almost instantly.
The dark grey female remembered the nests in the Broad-wing Star-region used to hatch exotic beasts; the males torn apart by sharp spinal thorns let out endless screams, blood drenching the walls all the way to the treatment pods, and they died during the rescue.
These Zerg were all objects trapped in a quagmire.
For the continuation of a race, or for an insignificant hobby, they were pinned down, their bodies cut open, their limbs broken, and their bones reshaped.
those who committed these acts did not need to consider whether a male, after receiving a mutilated tail, could still walk normally, or whether he could survive the long and intense pain.
A long time ago, when he spoke with Gela, that white Zerg seemed to sense the Grey-wing's blustering toughness. He had gently held the Armed-species' hand, which was nervously clawing at the table, and calmly recounted suffering in a soothing, soft tone.
Because the other was too gentle, Kleiman had unconsciously marveled at his strength and resilience upon first hearing it, yet lacked a tangible understanding of the pain itself.
—"When I first met Sa, I was about as thin as Kala."
—"When he found me, I was severely injured and couldn't escape. My wings and tail were broken."
Females were fierce and good at fighting; their tolerance indicators needed a separate category in his eyes.
As long as their hearts weren't gouged out or their heads cut off, they could crawl back up and continue biting even with only one breath left.
Thus, Kleiman had once been unable to empathize.
Startled by the other's bristling pheromones, Kala moved his hand away from the plate. He shrank back slightly.
"We didn't want to, either."
After a long silence, the male let out a tiny sound of defense.
"We didn't want to become like this, either."
His voice was very calm.
"But in those times, there was nothing we could do."
Realizing that his expression of disgust had caused the Zerg before him to misunderstand, Kleiman's grey-black scaled tail swayed slightly.
The Armed-species slowly crouched down.
"I am sorry," Kleiman said.
He had learned to say thank you, and he had also learned to apologize.
"Such things will not happen again."
The rigid and solemn leader thought for a moment, seriously organizing his words to give a relatively practical promise.
"The Grey-wing habitat is very safe, and it will become even better than before."
"The new laws have taken effect; every Zerg belonging to the Armed-species will abide by them."
"Gela is leading you to learn how to work; your companions will gradually increase in the future."
His lead-grey eyes stared directly at the other without moving, his expression grave.
"I will slowly uproot those Marauders and smugglers, so that in the Third and Fourth Quadrants, and even the First and Second, no male will ever have his tail clipped again."
"It might take a long time."
He added, carefully mulling over the details.
"It won't be that fast. Those Marauders are very good at running, and many wandering tribes will choose a remote planet to hide on. Finding them is very difficult."
"It will take many Great Cycles."
"But I will do it."
Kala sat there in silence for a long time.
Finally, he took one of the Armed-species leader's hands and pressed his cheek against the palm.
Zerg of the mid-to-low tiers lacked tear glands.
Kleiman’s fingers felt a delicate sensation; the male felt very soft to the touch. He stiffened because of it, but his scales did not bristle.
Because he heard the other's tiny, muffled voice, like a smile held back by tears, hidden within his palm.
"Thank you."
The no-longer-timid sunflower said softly.
They were both very clumsy and had not learned a better way to express themselves.
"No need."
The giant pinecone answered seriously and gently wagged his tail.
***
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