Chapter 31

Chapter 31

The Domain Clan was the War Clan's neighbor, not far away, yet the contrast between them couldn't be starker.

The War Clan had spent years fighting abroad, plundering wealth along the way, building starship after starship, expanding their territory again and again. The Domain Clan, meanwhile, stayed quietly in its corner—few bugs to begin with, and rarely any activity year-round, giving them almost no presence in the galaxy.

But recently, that stagnant pond had finally been stirred—Purification Lord Zane had sent over a Broodmother.

Many domain bugs who would normally only laze around basking in the sun had actually roused themselves, dragging back to the Domain Lord's homeworld from their various posts, eager to see the fabled Broodmother.

Yet after actually seeing it... well, let's just say their enthusiasm cooled off quickly.

The Broodmother sent by the Purification Department did have alluring pheromones, but the mental sea link... it was hard to find any clear consciousness in that lump of rotting flesh, much less establish a connection.

This wasn't the Broodmother the Domain Clan had been hoping for.

If sending it back weren't such a hassle, the Domain Clan probably would have shipped the Broodmother straight back to the Purification Department.

As for the large-scale, dedicated mental energy irrigation Zane had requested to soothe the Broodmother... the domain bugs, who barely left home once a year, claimed that just making it back to the homeworld had already drained them dry. Irrigating an unconscious lump of flesh? That kind of work, they figured, was better left to some other clan.

Just like with the War Clan, Zane had been rebuffed once again, his brow twitching in fury, yet completely helpless against the Domain Clan's total indifference to material wealth.

The Domain homeworld was bathed in abundant sunlight, with rich soil and lush waters. Though it lacked high-tech elements, everything felt fresh and natural, as if time itself moved more slowly here than anywhere else.

Lord Seraphiel lay on an old recliner worn smooth, eyes half-closed. Hearing footsteps approach, he didn't even open his eyes: "Don't tell me you're here for the Broodmother too? Zane sent one your way as well."

It was, naturally, Leonius. His tall shadow fell across Seraphiel, who waved a hand dismissively: "Scoot over, you're blocking my sun."

The two lords were clearly old friends. Leonius walked over and helped himself to a seat, shaking his head: "A defective product. Nothing worth seeing."

With the sun back on him, Seraphiel squinted, sunlight spilling across his pale gold hair. He looked ready to doze off again.

Leonius decided to cut straight to the chase: "I might have fathered a child."

Seraphiel didn't even blink.

What was so special about having an egg? Among bugs these days, with the Broodmother gone, young bugs were basically all cloned from a lord's genes anyway.

Crude cloning only ever produced low-grade bugs, and a High-Grade Insect only emerged by sheer luck. But after all these years, that was hardly news.

"It's the next War Clan Lord."

Seraphiel's eyes snapped open. He sat bolt upright: "You found a new species? One that can breed bugs?"

This was one of the reasons behind the War Clan's years of conquest—the universe was vast, and who knew how many incredible races were out there. Keep searching, and maybe they'd find another means of reproduction besides the Broodmother.

Leonius didn't answer. He kept his eyes lowered, staring at his own fingers resting on his knees, obviously not wanting to say more.

Seraphiel studied him for a few seconds, his expression slowly changing: "You found a Broodmother?"

The words had barely left his mouth when he shook his head. "No, that's wrong. If a true Broodmother appeared, the Guard Clan would have revived long ago. Those bugs and their sensitivity to a Broodmother's aura... hmph..."

At the mention of the Guard Clan, Leonius's fingertips trembled slightly.

That was a fear rooted deep in their genes and inherited memories.

Seraphiel, oblivious, sank back into his recliner and mused: "Speaking of which, the Broodmother's disappearance is a good thing. I don't want to live in a world where I wake up one day and hear that another friend got eaten."

He let out a soft chuckle, amused at his own dark humor. "If a true Broodmother ever returned, and the first one to meet her was you, the War Clan Lord... you'd kill him without a sound, wouldn't you."

Leonius didn't bite, so Seraphiel had to ask: "Then what exactly did you come to me for? Same as Zane—want me to run experiments? See if that race can bear Domain bug eggs?"

Leonius was silent for a long moment before speaking, his voice dropping even lower: "Does the birth of a War Lord bug absolutely require irrigation from a large number of war bugs?"

Leonius lifted his head, his eyes full of tired grief and barely hidden pain.

Seraphiel stared at him, his smile gradually fading.

He sat up straight: "It's the only way. A Lord embodies the collective will of the entire clan—only eggs that have been heavily irrigated can be born successfully."

Heavy, genuine irrigation, filled with expectation.

Leonius was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse: "I need your help."

In front of Seraphiel's simple thatched cottage, the two lords talked for an entire afternoon.

By the time Leonius rose to leave, dusk had already fallen. "Then I'll leave it to you," he said. "I'll head back to get ready."

Seraphiel nodded gravely, watching him disappear into the twilight.

After Leonius left, Seraphiel lay back down on that old recliner, but he couldn't fall asleep.

A figure appeared silently behind him, a lazy, curious voice breaking the silence: "What did that tin can want from you?"

Seraphiel didn't turn around or respond.

The bug who had arrived was in no hurry. He circled around to the side, revealing a face strikingly similar to Seraphiel's.

But unlike Seraphiel's easygoing demeanor, this one's features were sharper, with a crooked smile tugging at his lips—the whole look screamed danger.

The bug seemed used to Seraphiel's silence.

He sat down without being asked, idly kicking at the dirt: "Haven't you noticed something different about that tin can? Not just him—that young war bug who came with him as well. Both their mental seas are completely clean." He looked up at Seraphiel. "They must have gotten their hands on something good."

Seraphiel wasn't in the mood to deal with him.

The bug stood up, scraping the dirt off his shoes: "I'm going to go check it out."

Seraphiel finally spoke, his voice tired: "Amon, don't cause trouble. This time... something big is really about to happen."

The bug called Amon turned around, a tiny point of light appearing in his hand as he tossed it up and down idly.

The light danced between his fingers, glowing a faint gold, as if it might go out at any moment.

If Yor were here, he would recognize it in an instant—it was the Broodmother fragment he'd found in the Centaur Clan's mental sea.

The thing Zane treasured like a precious gem and kept hidden with the utmost care was being casually tossed around by Amon like it was nothing.

As Amon slipped out of Seraphiel's courtyard, his eyes shifted through several shades of color. Finally, he tucked the little light carelessly into his chest and, following that scent that had grabbed his attention so strongly, boarded a nondescript little ship and gave chase.

============

When Yor woke up, he felt... bewildered.

He was hungry.

Not the craving for male bug pheromones he'd suffered since his transformation—this was genuine hunger, a real hollow feeling in his stomach.

He hadn't felt this in a long time. Ever since the gestation sac started draining his energy relentlessly, everything he consumed was siphoned away the moment it entered him. His body was left with that hollow, floating feeling where eating or not eating made no difference—he was just barely surviving.

Lima sensed his thoughts and prepared a table laden with food for him.

The other bugs watched him wolf down his food, and Taste looked at Lima in shock: "You guys haven't been letting Yor eat his fill?"

Yor was too busy scarfing down food to even acknowledge him. By the time he'd polished off most of the table, he looked down at his slightly swollen belly, a strange feeling stirring in his chest.

He wasn't the same as before.

After thinking it over, he dug through the supplies scavenged from Wicks' lab and found a calming agent. Ignoring Taste's startled protests, he tentatively gave himself a shot.

As the liquid hit his vein, his body tensed for a split second.

He waited two seconds. No pain. No cramping in the egg sac.

He waited a little longer. Even that familiar, nagging soreness was gone.

His body felt quiet and at ease.

He set down the empty syringe, so comfortable he felt almost dazed.

He reached back and touched the small bump between his shoulder blades—the one that had been dormant for so long—and it itched faintly again.

That was his elytra. The kind only male bugs had.

Yor sat on the stool, quietly savoring the itch, and felt his lips curve into a smile on their own.

His pheromones told him: his body was a little more his own now.

The egg sac was still his lifeline, but it was no longer that merciless, bottomless pit that drained him dry at every turn.

If he could just tough it out a little longer—until the life inside the sac was safely born—he could keep using the calming agent, wait for his body to recover or get strong enough, and then have the sac removed. He could become... a normal male bug.

Ignoring Lima and Taste's bewildered looks, Yor couldn't help but get up and pace around the cabin, his steps as light as if he were walking on air.

He had no one to share his joy with, but he couldn't help laughing out loud.

He was truly thankful to those male bugs at the mining colony. It was their combined, clumsy, wholehearted will that had changed his body and given him back the right to choose.

Their gift didn't end there—they'd also paid him a hefty sum.

Yor opened his terminal and transferred a large sum to an interstellar agency. The ashes of the centaur clan's Broodmother could finally be given a proper resting place and sent home.

He sent another transfer to Lima. "That's to pay you back for the calming agent. And I'll need you to order some more for me."

He'd dropped a fortune, and he was absolutely thrilled.

Just as he was over the moon, his terminal buzzed.

A message from Zhuoluo popped up: "Your elytra are done."

Yor pressed his lips together. Soon he'd have his own elytra—real ones, truly his own.

Not as ornate as what Zhuoluo made, but the meaning was completely different.

He quickly replied: "I'm on my way to see you now."

When he pushed open the studio door, Zhuoluo was standing by the workbench, lit up by the dreamlike elytra in front of him like a painting.

Yor walked over, opened his arms, and gave him a big hug.

Zhuoluo's whole body went stiff, his pheromones going haywire.

Yor let go and stepped back with a smile, as if he hadn't noticed the pheromones filling the room.

He gently slipped off his outer garment, turned his back to Zhuoluo, and let him carefully attach the pair of wings onto his shoulder blades.

They were light, slightly cool, and gave off a faint shimmer.

"Want to take some photos?" Yor asked, tilting his head with a smile.

Zhuoluo nodded like crazy, scrambling to set up the holographic camera equipment.

Zhuoluo snapped a ton of photos.

Yor stood in the light, the wings looking like they'd grown naturally from his back, draping lightly at his sides with a faint golden sheen along the edges.

As the light shifted, the patterns on the wing membranes flickered in and out of view, like fine gold dust hidden in morning mist.

The mood was perfect. Zhuoluo set down the equipment and gave Yor a shy smile.

Then, with a slight movement of his back, a pair of elytra slowly unfurled.

Unlike Zane's flashy butterfly wings, Zhuoluo's wings were... understated and restrained, but no less luxurious.

Deep green, with fine luminous patterns, like moonlight rippling across a deep pool—silky and supple, with a delicate sheen along the edges.

The wing veins extended outward from the center like small rivers, quiet and soft, like a fairy... a fairy prince, or a forest spirit straight out of a beautiful dream.

Yor watched him and instinctively fluttered his own wings.

The two stood together, their wings overlapping in the light. Yor glanced down at his own wings, then up at Zhuoluo's—the dark patterns on his wings almost perfectly matched the flow of Zhuoluo's.

Looking at his own alone, he hadn't noticed. But side by side, the perfect match was unmistakable.

Like they were made for each other.

Zhuoluo noticed him looking, and his ears turned bright red.

But for the first time, he didn't look away or hang his head. Instead, he stood before Yor, his voice shaking with nerves but refusing to use his voice synthesizer: "The auctions—they're unstable, and dangerous. I... I'll work hard to earn a ton of money. Will you stay and be my Broodmother?"

Yor looked into those earnest eyes, let his smile fade, and stood up straight.

A steady, ordinary, unchanging life—how appealing it sounded.

If only he didn't have real Broodmother pheromones. If only he didn't have an egg in his belly.

He took half a step back and said seriously, "I'm sorry. I can't do that."

Zhuoluo's elytra trembled slightly. He blinked.

"You saw it yourself—I'm a failed Broodmother experiment." Yor paused, trying to make himself clearer. "My path is destined to be hard and rough. And if I do make it to where I want to go, there's already a dependent bug I've chosen waiting for me."

Zhuoluo stood still, silent for a moment, then slowly folded his wings away.

He didn't ask who the dependent bug was. He didn't look hurt or let down.

He just stood there quietly, pulling his gaze away from Yor's wings, as if gently putting away a feeling he'd already prepared.

"Hope you get what you wish for."

Yor nodded gently. "Thank you."

The sunlight slanted in through the window, falling on the floor between the two of them, leaving a narrow, warm golden strip.

In the distant starry sky, the War Lord's starship slowly took shape on the horizon, to welcome its master's return.

Dexter hurried after the Lord, his footsteps quick, "Does it have to be this way? He... he can't possibly endure it..."

Leonius's iron-gray eyes held a weariness that wouldn't lift. "First, he has to survive."

==========Author's Note:==========

Just barely made it in time.