Chapter 26

Chapter 26

"These elytra are too big," Yor walked back into the workshop, circling around the iridescent wings and gesturing to his own height. "Let's make one in my size?"

Zhuoluo's head snapped up, starlight nearly spilling from his deep green eyes.

He nodded vigorously, then opened his terminal right in front of Yor and requested time off. "No work for the next two days—let's focus completely on your elytra!"

Yor: "..."

Is it possible that only you're not working, while I... am actually working?

Zhuoluo had a very distinctive style.

His mechanical elytra were either dreamlike and ethereal, with tiny specks of light set between the veins, or more ancient and realistic, dominated by layered scale patterns, like the molted shells of ancient, powerful bugs.

Yor leaned over the table, watching for a while before finally picking up a pen. "Why don't you have any... feathery wings?"

Zhuoluo looked over, puzzled.

"You know, the kind that's... white, layered, really angelic."

Yor gestured vaguely, realized he wasn't describing it well, and just sketched a rough shape on paper.

He did his best to sketch a pair of spread wings with layered feathers, but next to Zhuoluo's designs, it looked like a kid's doodle.

When he finished, he stared at it for a couple seconds, then pushed it over, a little embarrassed. "This... I can't draw."

Zhuoluo took it, glanced at it—no disdain, just serious focus as he studied the drawing for a long moment. Then he said, "I can try."

He looked again, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. "What if we added a gradient glow along the feather edges? Would that look better?"

Yor blinked. "...Whatever you think—you're the pro. I'll trust you."

Zhuoluo pulled out a drawing tablet and studied Yor for a moment.

He had great aesthetic sense, and his hand was steady. In a few quick strokes, he sketched Yor's figure—tall and lean, slightly turned as if looking back at something behind him.

Behind the figure, he drew a pair of wings—enormous, nearly as tall as Yor himself.

Feathers layered in cascading rows, edges fading from white near the body to pale gold at the tips, the wingtips curling slightly, as if caught by a breeze.

The whole image had an indescribable quality—not flashy or seductive, just clean and light, like something out of a dream.

Yor stared at the design for a while, one word surfacing in his mind: pure allure.

He paused for a moment, then silently swallowed the thought.

"Isn't this still too big?" Yor asked.

"We'll use lighter materials—lightweight, but with texture." Zhuoluo smiled, pressing a button with a touch of pride.

As a mechanical hum sounded, Yor finally understood why Zhuoluo—a master designer of bestselling elytra—was broke...

Behind his workbench was an entire wall of material storage.

Metallic materials in every color, gauze in different textures, tiny glowing components, even hand-polished crystal chips...

The entire wall reeked of money.

It really was beautiful...

Even just sitting there, these materials were already stunning.

"Ah!" Zhuoluo rifled through the materials, his eyes suddenly brightening. "...Can I add a sensor? So the wings can move at your command."

Before, he'd made elytra purely for collection. Now that they'd actually be worn by a bug, Zhuoluo clearly had a lot more ideas.

He pulled an ultra-light silver-white foil sheet from a high shelf, then picked out a box of fine golden light particles, spreading them on the table to compare. These sparkly things were too eye-catching—Yor couldn't help but look over too.

The two of them—one human, one bug—leaned in, heads together, carefully adjusting the materials' curves to make feather samples.

Zhuoluo's fingers were long and slender with defined knuckles, faint blue veins visible under his pale, cool-toned skin. When he picked up the light particles, it looked like fireflies had landed on jade—you couldn't tell which was brighter.

Compared to Zhuoluo, Yor was clumsier, and he kept getting distracted watching Zhuoluo, misaligning several strips. Each time, Zhuoluo didn't mind—he'd quietly fix them when Yor wasn't looking, then move on to the next...

Pheromones slowly filled the workshop, like a pot simmering on the stove, warming the heart. Yor felt incredibly comfortable—the restlessness in his body was completely suppressed, even his lower back felt looser.

The client's pheromones were sufficient, so Yor worked hard, making small talk: "Your Purification Clan's wings must be beautiful on their own, right?"

He thought of Zane's breathtaking butterfly wings—gold dust interwoven with deep blue patterns, beauty beyond anything mortal. Too bad they were on a demon.

Zhuoluo kept his head down, his voice very soft: "...When your wings are done, I'll show you mine."

Yor glanced at his jade-white hands again. "Okay."

Speaking of wings, Zhuoluo seemed to remember something. He hesitated a moment before speaking: "I'm a Sub-Lord, so I also get a portion of inherited memories." He kept attaching feathers, his voice dropping lower. "I wasn't lucky—the memories I got were all awful."

"Then... when you remember them, does it hurt inside?"

Zhuoluo paused, then nodded. "In ancient times, before technology developed, the Purification Clan was almost useless except for our beauty. If our elytra were too magnificent, the guard clan would tear them off and attach them to themselves."

As if he'd truly experienced that pain through the inherited memories, Zhuoluo closed his eyes. "Like the War Department—just consumables..."

Yor felt his hairs stand on end. "The guard clan? Are they powerful? The war bugs ended up as outer perimeter guards because of them too, didn't they?"

Zhuoluo was silent for a few seconds, as if unsure how to phrase it. Finally, he gritted his teeth: "...It's said that because of their oppression, the Broodmother abandoned us..."

He noticed Yor's body tense and quickly added, "But don't worry—after the Broodmother disappeared, they all fell into slumber. Unless a true Broodmother appears, they'll sleep until they wither away."

The speaker meant no harm, but the listener's heart jolted violently.

The guard clan.

A true Broodmother...

Yor pretended to be busy, not responding.

But anger and fear rose inexplicably in his chest, even making his lower abdomen twinge.

Fortunately, Zhuoluo quickly changed the subject, continuing to discuss the wing design with Yor. Immersed in something they loved, time passed quickly.

Three days flew by. The wings still needed a bit of finishing work—not quite complete.

Zhuoluo looked at the half-finished pair with a regretful expression.

"It's fine." Yor patted his shoulder. "Once you finish them, I'll come try them on for you. I also want to recommend clients to order elytra from you—these are practically works of art!"

At that mention, Zhuoluo lowered his head, hesitating for a long moment before finally speaking nervously: "Yor... I... I don't want to sell them."

Yor froze for a second, then quickly caught himself, waving his hands: "Of course, of course, I'm sorry, I was out of line..."

He hadn't really meant to push Zhuoluo into selling those wings—he just thought something so exquisite shouldn't be left to gather dust, but he'd forgotten those wings were Zhuoluo's prized possessions. Whether to keep them or share them wasn't his call to make.

Yor couldn't help but think he'd really been getting too full of himself...

He looked up at Zhuoluo, his expression serious. "I'm truly sorry. What I said just now was way too careless. Your work is gorgeous, but it's also deeply personal... Bug, that was disrespectful of me. I'm sorry."

Zhuoluo stammered, his whole body flustered: "N-n-n-no... it's... fine... I... I mean..."

He fumbled over his words for a long moment, then took a deep breath before saying: "I'll do my job properly from here on out, and before I leave Vorna, I want to... shoot you again."

"Great!" Yor's lips curved into a smile and he spread his arms wide. "So we're good now, right?"

Zhuoluo's ears burned red as he pulled Yor into a hug.

The Sub-Lord-level pheromone concentration kept climbing, yet the owner's body stayed cool and pleasant—pressed up close, it was fragrant and comfortable. Yor couldn't help but take a deep breath before saying goodbye to Zhuoluo: "Next time we meet, don't forget to show me your elytra, okay? You promised."

Zhuoluo's whole face was red. He nodded once, then again, as if one nod wasn't enough to show he meant it. When the time came, he reluctantly walked Yor out of the workshop.

After handing Yor off to Lima, who'd come to pick him up, Zhuoluo went back into the workshop and caught Morris stirring in the corner.

Once the door was fully shut, Morris's red head suddenly popped right in front of Zhuoluo, his eyes burning with intensity: "...Can I go photograph Yor the Broodmother?"

Zhuoluo didn't have the money—but Morris did!

Zhuoluo froze, opening his mouth, but no sound came out.

He wanted to say, of course you can—Yor was free, they'd only had a short three-day contract—it wasn't like Yor actually belonged to him...

He even thought that if Yor really was the true Broodmother, he should be a treasure shared by the whole bug race.

But when the words were on the tip of his tongue, he found he couldn't say them.

He understood all the reasoning, but... he didn't want to.

Looking at his friend's hopeful eyes, he gritted his teeth: "...Can you give me some time to think?"

Morris's eyes dimmed, but... oddly enough, he could understand where Zhuoluo was coming from. He was silent for a moment, then finally nodded: "...Alright."

Yor had no idea about any of this. After three days around a Sub-Lord-level male bug, his body felt like it had been reborn—his lower back didn't ache, the heat was gone, and even the restless gloom before bed had mostly faded.

In the hovercar, watching Yor, who was clearly in a good mood, Lima said with a smile: "You didn't contact me for three whole days—have that much fun?"

Yor's hand, mid-scroll through elytra photos on his terminal, paused. "I just didn't call, not that I didn't miss you."

Lima kept that same smile, but it slowly widened. "Then tonight, you sleeping at my place?"

"...Alright."

In the evening, Lima smiled and carried his Broodmother—bug and all, backpack included—back to his underground den... resting spot.

The grass cage really was comfortable. Even with the guard clan business still weighing on his mind, the moment Yor buried himself in it, he was out like a light.

But this time, even in the grass cage, he dreamed.

A soft, glowing little orb of light bounced up and down on his belly. Though it couldn't speak, every time it touched him, it felt ticklish.

Yor was dead tired and swatted it away irritably, but it bounced right back.

He swatted it away again, and it bounced back again.

When he reached out again, the little orb stuck to his arm, then, satisfied, used the momentum to hop onto his chest.

Once it got where it wanted to be, the little orb settled down contentedly and started going "ah" "ah" "ah"~~~

Of course, it wasn't a sound—it was a special psychic fluctuation. Each time it gathered strength, a ripple of psychic energy pulsed outward.

Like a stone dropped into water, it rippled outward, slamming into the sea of consciousness in the most raw, direct way possible.

It was calling for something.

That psychic wave rattled Yor, his head pounding and his heart racing. He felt like something huge had happened, and he shouted in frustration: "Stop making noise!"

At the sound of his own voice, Yor's eyes snapped open. The room was silent—so it had been a dream...

Lima, who'd been holding him, let go and sat up to hand him a glass of water.

Yor took a big gulp, the panic in his chest easing a little, before asking: "I had the dream again. Can I sleep in the grass cage?"

Lima, who never said no to him, didn't nod right away this time. His gaze slowly drifted down, settling on Yor's lower belly.

Yor's hand froze. "What's wrong?"

Lima conjured a tuft of grass and pressed it against Yor's belly. Even though the leaves were made of psychic energy, they trembled like they were being blown by the wind. Lima's voice was soft: "...The little thing inside is feeding on my psychic energy."

Yor instinctively tightened his grip on the glass, holding it for a long time without lowering it.

He looked down at his still-flat belly, a mess of emotions churning in his chest.

He'd had a feeling, sure, but hearing another bug say with such certainty that there was a life inside him—that hit completely different.

His fingers pressed gently against his belly—warm, quiet, impossible to imagine what was going on in there.

"...I'm a little scared." Yor heard his own voice, shaking more than he expected. "I mean... am I going to die?"

A gestational sac that wasn't his, a pregnancy that went against his body's natural instincts.

No doctor. No exams. No precedent to follow.

He didn't know what he could do, or even if he'd survive.

Lima's eyes went hard. "If he so much as hurts you," his voice dropped, colder than Yor had ever heard it, "I'll cut you open and kill him myself."

The chewing on the psychic leaf stopped—as if sensing the mother's distress, or picking up on the male bug's hostility, that faint presence shrank back, going completely still, pretending it didn't exist.

Aboard the Lord's starship, Leonius was getting ready to board the fighter heading to the rescue site.

Just as he was about to step through the hatch, his gaze shot upward—as if cutting through the viewport, through the sea of stars, through countless light-years, finally locking onto one unmistakable direction.

Dexter, right behind him, followed his gaze and felt his heart skip.

Coincidence or not, according to the star chart, that was... the direction of Vorna.

He stepped forward. "My Lord?"

Leonius's voice carried a confusion and tremor he couldn't even explain: "...Just now... my inherited memories stirred."

"A newborn consciousness, hungry and crying out, is demanding that I give it what it needs to survive."

Leonius turned to face him, his iron-gray eyes almost dazed. "Since when do I have a... child?"

That rhythm, vibrating in perfect sync with his own psychic sea, made his knees go weak.

This wasn't just any offspring—it was a Sub-Lord, or even... the next Lord.