PoV T’lish

  The teachings of Ellor say that only the worthy may use the Mother’s Blood. For most of my life, I believed that. I had never questioned our gods. Aulor gave us knowledge, helped us transcend our homeworld. Kevlor taught us that dying in battle was the greatest honor and it was through struggle, we elevated all races. Our history was full of glorious conflict. Victories. Lessons carved in the bones of lesser species. We improved, and they improved. It was the true cycle of the universe.

  But then came the humans.

  We attacked them, like so many races before them. It happened before I was born, but history files showed we were winning. We were bringing them enlightenment via conflict.

  But they did not yield, they used the Mother’s Blood without permission. Without reverence. They shattered our brood worlds, poisoned the sky, and stole our eggs. They turned our own soldiers against us, again and again, their minds copied and looped. We fought the same faces until they were nightmares in our sleep.

  And then the virus came.

  Not a weapon of fire or steel, no it was something far more patient. It nested deep in our genome. With each generation, more human genes expressed themselves. Slowly. Quietly. Skin tones dulled. Armor plating malformed. Minds altered. The scientists caste discovered this too late, resulting in our demotion.

  I was infected.

  My color never developed it had been stripped away, overwritten by borrowed code. I was marked from birth as tainted. They didn’t say it aloud, but I saw it in their eyes. Even as I passed every exam, earned every accolade. A room full of sealed trophies. Unseen. Undisplayed. A compromise as honor wouldn’t let them deny my achievements, but shame kept them hidden.

  I wasn’t allowed near the cure labs. Not officially.

  Instead, they gave me this little workshop. Quiet. Out of sight. I wasn’t meant to change anything. I was to just tinker. Just exist. Until I died.

  And now… I was here. Helping humans. Talking to them. Playing their strange games. Laughing, even. Maybe the virus had worked.

  Or maybe I was simply waking up.

  Because I couldn’t ignore these scans.

  The simulations ran again and again each time they came back clean, clear, and undeniable. Using the data Lazarus had shared, I’d rebuilt the entire specimen the organ belonged to. Not myth. Not divine magic. They were real. Biological machines. Our gods were elegant, yes, but not sacred. They hadn’t been chosen by the Mother—they had simply won the evolutionary lottery.

  The gods were real. But they were just… older. It seemed so clear now. What was also clear was that helping Lazarus wasn’t blasphemy. He was alive, well in his own way. His systems mimicked the same patterns. His mind worked like ours. There was no clean line that said where life ended and machine began. Not anymore. Not since the humans had arrived.

  The design I’d modelled wasn’t just viable to replace the crystal, it was superior. Cleaner, more efficient than the clumsy, brute-force methods the humans had used.

  There was just one problem.

  All the genetic printers capable of creating the organ were located in the cure wing. Heavily restricted. Guarded.

  And I was not allowed there.

  Because I was infected. Because I was tainted.

  Because I was part human… just enough to be feared.

  I told the others, expecting disappointment or perhaps even anger. I explained that the only way to construct the organ was with access to the cure wing’s genetic printers. It felt like admitting failure. I braced myself for their frustration. That we had come all this way for nothing.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  But they didn’t even blink.

  Lynn stared at me. “Are the machine designs stored anywhere on the station’s systems?”

  I nodded, confused. “Yes, of course. I stored them locally. But I fail to see how that helps”

  “Laia can use her nanites,” Stewie cut in, tapping his temple like it was obvious. “She could build it.”

  Mira frowned. “Nanites can’t make organic matter. They’d need raw biologicals. T’lish, is there anything else we’d need?”

  “Yes,” I admitted slowly. “Some base organic compounds, and synthesis materials to bind them. They're stored in the supply center.”

  “Is it guarded?” Kel asked, casually.

  I stared at him. “No. Why would it be? You take what you need. There is trust.”

  All four of them burst out laughing. I blinked at them, utterly confused.

  Kel grinned. “See, Like in poker, deception is the key. We download the designs, grab the supplies, and ghost back to the ship.”

  I stared at them like they'd just grown extra limbs. “That is… that is theft. That is not honorable, Mother will not accept it”

  Mira shrugged. “It’s survival.”

  Lynn smirked. “We're not the Mother’s chosen children. We humans are more like the Father's disappointment.”

  “There is no Father in our faith,” I replied, more confused than ever.

  That earned another round of laughter.

  But beneath their jokes, I felt that fierce, unshakable loyalty they carried. Not to a god or a nation. To each other.

  I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stood at the threshold of my workshop, claws trembling slightly, every part of me frozen. Theft wasn’t just wrong for a Kall-e, it was forbidden. Dishonorable. It was something that severed you from the Mother, from your people. It was a betrayal of everything I had ever been taught.

  My breath caught as Mira approached, her presence quiet but steady beside me. She didn’t try to force me, didn’t scold or mock. She just… spoke.

  “They abandoned you,” she said gently, eyes soft. “T’lish, they gave you away. To us. To their greatest enemy. Not even as a diplomat or envoy. As a prize.”

  Her voice didn’t carry judgment it was just sadness. And truth.

  “They don’t get to claim you anymore,” she continued. “But we will. If you want us. We’re not perfect, and we’re definitely not honorable in the way your people define it, but we’re your crew now. Your family. And families survive together. Sometimes that means doing things that hurt.”

  She placed a hand lightly on my shoulder. “You can do this.”

  I looked at her, and for a long moment, I couldn’t answer. My hearts pounded, my throat tight. But beneath the fear, beneath the guilt, something else stirred.

  I had been given away. Cast aside. Branded by a genetic mark I didn’t choose.

  Maybe it was time I chose something for myself.

  Even if every bone in my body recoiled at the thought, I nodded.

  “I will do it,” I whispered.

  And I stepped forward.

  I walked alone to the supply center, every step echoing in my mind. My hearts beat faster. Surely someone could feel what I was about to do. I kept waiting–– for a voice to stop me, for a guard to appear, for judgment, for one of the gods to intervene.

  But no one even looked at me.

  Inside, the storage was quiet. Unlocked. Orderly. I loaded the ingredients I needed onto a transport trolley with shaking hands. Still no one came. Still no alarms.

  I returned to the lab unchallenged.

  Stewie met me at the door, grinning. “Hey! Your first crime. Congrats.”

  I nearly had a panic attack.

  Kel lightly smacked the back of Stewie’s head. “Ease off. She just broke a lifetime of faith and culture.”

  And strangely, I laughed. Just a little.

  If I was going to commit one crime, I figured I might as well commit several. So I downloaded the schematics as well as everything else I thought might be useful. Data on Kall-e genetics. On slipstream phenomena. On the cure.

  We left the lab in silence. I had taken everything I could, the data, yes, but also my old exam awards, my sealed commendations, the sentimental things I had never been permitted to display. They were tucked carefully into a small satchel.

  Lynn glanced over at what I carried. Her expression didn’t hold judgment but a kind of quiet sadness. For me, maybe. Or for what these symbols meant in a place that had never truly welcomed me.

  Kel gave me a small smile. “When we get back home, I’ll make sure you’ve got a space to hang those up properly.”

  Back. Home, he said.

  I turned the word over in my mind. Home. It sounded strange. Was Lazarus home now? Could it be?

  I didn’t know. But the thought didn’t feel as alien as it should.

  The five of us walked together through the station’s sterile corridors, back toward Chunkyboy. I moved with quiet anticipation, still half-expecting to be stopped. Someone would call out. Someone would accuse me of theft, of betrayal. The weight of generations of law and tradition still hung on my shoulders like chains.

  But no one stopped me.

  When I requested clearance to depart, the male on duty didn’t even look up. “You shouldn’t come back,” he muttered, barely concealing his scorn.

  And all I could think was: I wouldn’t want to.

  family photo