Yur Lolitec

The Breaker of Chains

I watch Fraeia raise their rifle, their sights trained on the admiral. "No."
They turn to me with narrowed eyes, "Excuse me?"
"I'm not looking to die in a blaze of glory. I still have work to do."
They lower their rifle and let out a sigh. They scan the area and lower themselves back to the ground. Something caught their attention. I look and see a white light blinking off and on from the opposite side of the outpost.
Fraeia smiles and reaches for their waist, opening a small compartment hidden in their armor. They pull out a tiny metal tube, a light with a focused lens like a laser. It's a form of communication meant to ensure the only ones who can see it are the ones you're pointing the beam at.
Fraeia flashes the light four times, then waits for a response. The white light flashes twice and Fraeia turns to me. "No choice now. A fight is going to happen."
I stutter, dropping my rifle and raising my hands as I speak, "I- I can't."
Fraeia takes a deep breath, their eyes closed as if pushing the anger back down. "Understood." They let out a lung full of air. "That's a better idea. You'll stay clear of the fight and push toward the thought grave." They pick up the rifle and hand it over. "I hope you can run."

We call ourselves the lebha. We begin life in a vat, a tube… a glass prison. We are not born but grown. We are spoon-fed knowledge from the moment of conception, a trickle of facts embedded in our minds as the neurons form and fire. We will continue to feast on that information till the day we are fully grown, artificial embryos growing fat on hard truths.
Our nursery is nothing but sterile halls, a place far from any civilized world. By the time our eyes develop, we long to see what lingers beyond. We learn of our culture, of the worlds we inhabit. We learn the scraps of history our species managed to retain. We learn of ourselves. This is when we choose. We choose our appearance, our gender, our very sense of identity. The universe is our muse, so naturally, it takes time.
"What species should I look like? We ask, "What color should I paint my skin and fur?" With so many options, even I failed to see what was missing among the flotsam. We can't not choose. Why can't we just appear as we are? My species is legion, yet none of us can call ourselves lebhan. The lebha are long gone.

---

Conflict

Fraeia watches as Amber moves deeper into the woods, the shadow covering the forest floor concealing every movement as if swallowing her whole. Fraeia sends a signal, three pulses of light from the tiny metal cylinder.
They raise their rifle and scan the area for Yur. Fraeia is forced to stifle their anger again. Yur lingers out of sight on the other side of the transport. They didn't have time to relocate. The Dhitol soldiers guarding the perimeter will have to do.
Fraeia takes a deep breath. It's not an attempt to harden themselves against the terrors of war. Their breath shakes in eager anticipation. Fraeia calculates the opening volley.
The second shot will meet the soldier patrolling the outside of the outpost. He may be closer but the element of surprise reveals an opportunity Fraeia can't ignore. The first shot will find the soldiers guarding the transport, two Dhitol marines standing side by side. If aimed just right before taking the shot, the round would penetrate through the first and hit the second, killing both.
Fraeia takes aim, exhales, and pulls the trigger. The round exits the barrel at an alarming speed with a loud crack, a trail of prismatic vapor following behind. The Dhitol turns its head at the sound of gunfire, and the round passes through it. It then connects with the chest of the marine behind it. Fraeia pulls the trigger again, her sights already lined up with the final target. The body falls. It twitches, writhing in the mud before finally going limp.
Fraeia steps forward, their eyes darting from left to right as they search for their next target. The snap and crack of rails fill the afternoon air as Fraeia reaches the edge of the outpost. They stalk near the wall of the outermost building, their ears listening for any sign of life.
Just before turning the corner, fraeia hears the sounds of wings. They step back and aim as three dhitol soldiers appear. They dart through the air and turn, their weapons primed.
Fraeia takes a shot and one of the soldiers drops to the ground. The incoming fire forces Fraeia to move, dodging to the side. They fire back in a hailstorm of antimatter rounds.
The sound is deafening. With every impact, the enemy rounds sound off with a bang as if detonating a bomb. Fraeia feels every shockwave and takes note of the small craters left behind.
Fraeia fires once more; two calculated shots. Each round finds a head, a faint red mist tinting their rainbow trail. The bodies fall and hit the ground hard.

Considering the antimatter rounds, Fraeia decides to rendezvous with the other Lebhan soldiers. They turn the corner and slowly push toward the sound of gunfire. The sight of black armor fills them with a sense of pride. The lebhan squad fires from the relative safety of overturned vehicles used as cover.
Fraeia lets out a sigh of relief, taking note of four dhitol marines currently engaged with the lebhan. The dhitol hunker down behind cover as well, able to carefully pick and choose when to fire back. They haven't seen Fraeia yet.
Fraeia turns on their heels. They flank from the side, firing round after round. Two enemies are killed while a third tries to flee. It opens its wings and rises into the air, then falls after taking a shot to the chest.
Fraeia smiles while lining up the final shot. Before they can fire, a scream echoes across the outpost. The smile fades. They look up and see nothing, but it could only mean one thing. Yur, the breaker of chains, admiral of the 4th fleet, roars from the skies above.

First breath

The vat is filled with a thick black fluid with light shimmering off of it, an aura of countless hues. We are molded by it, shaped into a perfect specimen of a race that isn't even our own. Despite perfection, we are simulacra. We could never hope for more.
We emerge from the vats, our lungs heaving. Everything goes dark as we walk a fine line between life and death. It passes with time. The wet nurses watch over us, tend to our every need. It was such a peaceful time of my life, a pleasant memory slowly fading with every passing year. Every moment I'm forced to live in this wretched body is worse than the one before.
After our first breath, the gray ships come. They take us from our home promising adventure and glory. They line us up like toy soldiers, like chattel, packed into the transports and sent off to all corners of our "great empire." Most of us won't even know our names by this point. We were not taught the ways of the galaxy. Many of us knew nothing of the species we chose to emulate and even less about how to interact with them.

Neophytes

Neophytes are such sad creatures. It's amazing how I survived. We are thrown into the black waters, dropped on a random world to sink or swim. This is where we find our name, our calling, our friends and lovers. As a neophyte, you are expected to experience life to the fullest.
We find work. I began as a humble farmer, though underpaid in comparison to my peers. Most are eager to scoop up those too naive to negotiate the terms of their employment. In time, we find those like ourselves. We find comfort in numbers, and again, at least for a while, our lives are unusually pleasant.
We live, we love, and in time, we move on. As the eons pass us by, it's only natural to seek more. We are no longer neophytes when we leave our homeworld. In reaching for the stars beyond our scattered specks of rock and air, we are complete. While some relocate to vigil worlds or planets inhabited by those we imitate, most will likely spend the rest of our lives in the void between.

The Loop

Every lebhan has a question, a problem in need of solving. We see the variables, but the formula is missing. It's the same for each of us. We know who and what we are, but what about why we are? What brought us here?
This question can never be answered, not because it's beyond our ability, but because some truths are best left unspoken. The secret of our first sin is buried deep. Every lebhan spends their life avoiding the answer, but also trying to find it. This is what we call the loop.
Somnihein… to be one with all, and yet separate. Circumventing this loop is impossible. To do so makes you part of it. To learn the truth is to keep a secret you never truly wanted, and one you'd never pass on to another. It is a heavy burden, these chains of mine. Why else would I seek to break them?