The words Original Civilisation echoed in his mind until the syllables lost meaning, until all he could hear was the blood pounding behind his eyes. When he finally found his voice, it came out thin, brittle.
"What do you mean… the language of the lost—no, you said the original civilisation."
The robot's single yellow eye brightened faintly, a pulse of light that flickered across the chamber. "Affirmative," it said, voice low and distorted by time. "The Original Civilisation. The species that created all known human derivatives. Origin: Planet Earth."
Jinyue froze. The word hit too close, too sharp. "Earth," he repeated slowly. "You mean… my Earth?"
The robot turned slightly, as if scanning him again. "Your… Earth?" Its tone sharpened, curious. "Impossible. The original planet has been uninhabitable for several million cycles. Surface-level radiation exceeds survivable parameters. All biological data from that age was preserved only in the Dominion Archives."
Jinyue stared blankly. "Millions of years?" His voice cracked halfway through.
The robot continued, oblivious to the weight of what it was saying. "Affirmative. Historical data: Earth was once the center of the human species. However, industrial decay and unchecked radiation led to biological collapse. Fertility rates plummeted. The female genetic branch—vital to reproduction—declined rapidly and became extinct within recorded centuries. Humanity's only chance was adaptation. Mutation."
It paused, the glow of its lens dimming to a softer gold. "From those survivors emerged the proto-Zerg—resilient, adaptive, resistant to radiation. Their descendants evolved through generations of genetic drift and interstellar exposure, adapting further through intermingling with off-world species. Over time, these hybrid lineages became dominant. The Zerg Empire was their final form."
Silence thickened, swallowing the metallic hum of the ship.
Jinyue could feel the air leaving his lungs. The floor beneath him felt too solid, too real, as though reality itself had taken offence at his continued existence.
He was silent for a long time, struggling to process the enormity of it all. The world he'd known, the one that had poisoned him, betrayed him, and buried him, was gone. It had been totally erased, then replaced by something that had evolved beyond recognition.
His throat tightened. "You're saying… humans became Zergs?"
The robot's response was almost reverent. "Correct. The Zerg Dominion stands as the final evolution of humankind—perfected through suffering and adaptation. Your civilisation… our ancestor."
He wanted to laugh. He couldn't. His chest ached with something heavier, stranger—a hollow ache for a past that no longer existed.
He realised, then, that he was never going home. Not ever.
His hands shook as he pressed them against his knees. He lowered his head, breathing slowly through the nausea rising in his throat. A part of him wanted to scream, to deny it, but the logic was undeniable. The language, the technology, the airless wasteland, it all fit.
The robot stepped closer, its shadow long against the dim walls. Its voice softened, almost kind. "Young Master," it said, and for some reason, the title hit harder than everything else.
He lifted his head weakly. "Why do you keep calling me that?"
The robot's single eye pulsed warmly. "Because you are," it said simply. "This vessel is the Erebus-7, flagship of the First Expansion Fleet. Registered owners: General Keira Valen and Archeologist Arin Valen. Designated titles: Fleet Captain and Cheif archeologist. They are your progenitors, your parents."
Jinyue blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of the words. "My… what?"
"Your genetic profile matches their recorded offspring by ninety-nine point nine eight per cent," the robot continued, tone brightening with mechanical cheer. "Young Master Valen, you have returned home at last after ten years. The owner is not aboard, but their son lives. I am… pleased."
It even sounded proud. Delighted.
Jinyue's pulse hammered in his ears. "I…" He hesitated. Every instinct told him to stay quiet, to measure every word.
"I woke up here alone," he said at last. "I don't remember how. I've been… by myself for a long time."
The robot tilted its head, processing his words. "Alone," it repeated softly, the static around its voice thinning to a whisper. "Then you have endured much, Young Master."
He said nothing. He couldn't.
The silence returned, soft, humming, heavy with a thousand unspoken questions.
Jinyue sat there, the edges of his thoughts fraying into quiet disbelief. Millions of years into the future. A ship that thought he belonged to it. Parents who might have never existed, or who had died before time began.
And a machine that somehow was happy he was home.
******
"Would you like a tour, young master?"
He stared at the uncanny looking thing, he felt very tempted to refuse just to see how the robot would react. Then he thought to himself; wouldn't it be better to know the layout to better help my chances in running away?
Provided it was still raining or falling or whatever on earth was happening with the planet, he could find a chance to hide then escape later on. He was confident he could beat a rusted robot in running.
He nodded, and the robot helped him up. He wasn't at 100% yet, but he could at least move, which was a plus. The robot moved as slowly as possible to assist him. It was surprisingly gentle and motherly. He wondered who programmed it. Most of his code did not have such complex emotions and settings back on Earth.
The ship stirred like a sleeping beast, its veins of light flickering awake as the robot guided Jinyue through the corridor. The air smelled faintly of metal and oil—stale, old, yet somehow alive. The floor panels thudded under the robot's steps, its joints clicking faintly, every sound amplified in the hollow silence.
"System diagnostics stable at twenty per cent," it droned, though its voice carried something like satisfaction. "Welcome to your ship, Young Master. The Erebus-7 still stands."
Jinyue followed, still pale from fever, his clothes hanging off him like discarded cloth. The air pressed heavily on his chest; he didn't know what to feel. He wasn't sure if he wanted to believe any of this.
The hallway opened into a wide chamber lined with cracked glass cases. Inside lay relics, shards of alien ceramics, crystalline fossils, and metallic tablets etched in unreadable glyphs. Dust coated everything like an extra layer of history.
"This is the Primary Archive," the robot said proudly, motioning with its metal arm. "Your father's work. Sub-female Arin Valen, chief archaeologist of the Dominion Research Fleet."
Jinyue blinked. "My father was… a sub-female?"
The terms still shocked him; he couldn't help but wonder what these females and sub-females looked like. After all, how would evolution have changed them, provided he had a tail? Did other people look just like him, or would he see a person with a fly's head soon?
"Affirmative," the robot replied, almost warmly. "A brilliant one. His studies on the pre-Dominion ruins were unparalleled. His lectures were broadcast across five sectors. Many believed he would lead the Intergalactic Preservation Bureau one day."
The tone carried faint admiration, like a human remembering an old friend.
Jinyue trailed a hand across the nearest display, the glass cool against his skin. "And my mother?" he asked.
"General Keira Valen, High Command of the Dominion Warfront. A distinguished female Zerg of the Fifth Fleet."
The robot's single glowing eye brightened as it spoke, voice low, almost reverent. "The Erebus-7 was traveling toward the former Milky Way region when the Insect Clan intercepted us. They are a parasitic swarm species, known to raid Dominion ships for genetic material and core crystals. The General commanded the defense."
Jinyue stopped, heart beginning to thud in his ears. "And what happened?"
"The ship's outer shields failed under concentrated bombardment," the robot said. Its tone dimmed, static fuzzing through the words. "The General ordered your father and you to flee in the auxiliary pod. I was instructed to stabilise the core and remain aboard. The General stayed behind to buy time."
They turned a corner, entering a command deck half-drowned in shadow. The consoles were cracked, the walls scorched, and the scent of burned circuitry lingered like a memory.
"The last transmission recorded him slaying the Insect Queen before the fleet detonated," the robot continued quietly. "The General's body was retrieved post-impact. He had destroyed the swarm… alone."
The air seemed to sink around them. Jinyue swallowed hard, staring at the cracked glass screens, at the dried stains smeared across the floor.
"And my father?" His voice came out barely above a whisper.
"The escape pod launched successfully with both of you inside," said the robot. "But the ship was already falling into the planet's gravity well. The pod's trajectory deviated—atmospheric interference prevented tracking. Whether you had survived… is unknown."
Jinyue's fingers clenched around the railing beside him. "You've been here since then?"
The robot nodded, the motion heavy and mechanical. "Ten planetary years. Power conservation mode is active. My duty: to maintain the vessel, perform burial rites, and await the return of the Valen line."
Ten years.
The words barely registered. Ten years in which this thing—this half-ruined, loyal shell of metal—had been waiting for people who would never come back.
"Why didn't you shut down?" Jinyue murmured.
The robot's lens flickered. "The signals to the main network are damaged, there is no way to communicate to the outside world before repair to the ship, and myself. So I stayed, because you might return."
Something in his chest tightened, the ache sharp and sudden. He didn't know whether to feel pity, or guilt, or a kind of uneasy reverence. Additionally, since when did robots have emotions?
They continued deeper into the ship. As they walked, the walls bore scars of fire and impact. Some sections were sealed off entirely, others flickered faintly with unstable lights.
Finally, the robot stopped before a sliding door. "This," it said, "was your family's quarters."
The door creaked open. The air inside was cold, still, and faintly scented with dust and oil. There were traces of life here—shelves lined with preserved tools and personal effects, a workstation cluttered with fragmented data crystals, and on the far wall, a large photograph.
The photograph was sealed behind a layer of cloudy resin, its surface cracked but still legible. Three figures stood side by side, frozen mid-smile.
The tallest was broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark military uniform traced with geometric insignia. His expression was stern but not unkind—steady, commanding, the kind of presence that filled a room. Beside him stood someone smaller, softer in build, dressed in a lighter coat and wearing an almost shy smile. Between them, a child stared at the camera with wide, pale eyes and a tiny, flicking tail.
Jinyue's stomach did a slow, uneasy turn.
"The tall one," the robot said helpfully, its lens pulsing with light, "is your mother, General Keira Valen. The smaller figure beside him is your father, Sub-female Arin Valen."
For a few seconds, Jinyue thought he'd misheard. His gaze flicked between the two figures, then back to the robot. "Mother," he repeated weakly, looking at the towering man.
"Affirmative," said the robot without hesitation. "General Keira Valen—dominant genetic contributor and military head of the Valen household."
Jinyue just… stared. His brain refused to align the words. The General was male. Flat-chested, strong-jawed, visibly taller and bulkier than the one standing beside him. Yet the robot was saying he was the mother.
And the smaller one, the one with the gentle expression, the one who looked… more feminine so to say, by comparison… was the father.
His throat tightened. He swallowed once, twice.
The robot had said before that there were no females in Zerg society, but he hadn't quite grasped what that meant. Now, staring at the photo, the meaning hit with full, absurd force.
If the "female" class were the bulkier ones—the soldiers, the generals, the taller Zergs—and the "sub-females" were the slimmer, softer kind like the smaller man beside him… then wasn't that entire society just—?
He stopped the thought halfway, his pulse rising. The logic formed whether he wanted it to or not: a world of men, where the biggest and strongest were called female, and the rest—those softer, slighter bodies—were their mates.
His stomach dropped another inch.
So… everyone's just— he didn't even finish it internally, too thrown to put words to it. His mind supplied one, traitorously: gay.
He wasn't. Or at least, he hadn't been. He was certain of that. He could almost hear his old life echoing—colleagues, lovers, his wife's smile before the poison. A normal world. A human world.
Now, staring at a photograph where two men were labelled mother and father, and the broader one was the maternal figure, his brain simply… gave up.
He took a half-step back from the photo, heart ticking too fast.
No females… The phrase from earlier replayed in his head like static. If there truly were none, then maybe, biologically, this all made sense... if sense was even the right word anymore. But he couldn't help thinking, with dry disbelief, that he'd woken up in a civilisation where the very concept of gender had folded itself inside out.
His gaze dropped to his own reflection, faintly mirrored in the glass. Pale skin, lean limbs, fragile frame. The kind of softness that looked far closer to his supposed father than the towering general.
A quiet thought crept in before he could push it away. Does that mean I'm… a sub-female too?
He stared at his own trembling hands for a long time. They didn't look like a soldier's or a ruler's. They looked small, fragile, human. Or maybe something in between.
He didn't ask. He didn't want to hear the answer out loud.
The silence pressed harder than any noise.