Saona
"Three of you took their lives. Less than I expected. Other groups lost up to ten," Saona said, her voice calm and measured.
She explained their responsibilities, duties, and potential rewards to her group. Their task was making clothing for civilians across various species - not just Sulonians.
The factory floor contained tables stocked with tools. When workers pressed a button, fabrics descended from the ceiling.
'They understand basic technology but remain ignorant of so much else,' Saona observed as her group began working. 'The Saints' judgment appears accurate. Biologically similar yet distinct - same chromosome count as Drakon, Elves, and Dwarves.'
Saona positioned herself at a table near her workers, watching them closely.
Vessels from different species monitored compliance and efficiency while emitting neutral Essence signatures to gradually increase human receptivity.
The overlords' plan was straightforward: use humans for labour, lure remaining rebels, and potentially cultivate new Essence devotees.
'He works with unusual focus,' Saona noted, studying Niam. 'No visible distress like the others. No sadness, anger, or despair. Just... purpose.'
His slightly darker complexion stood out among the group. Black hair persistently fell across his face, requiring constant brushing aside. A subtly crooked nose and beard stubble completed his average features - except for those intense eyes and the missing fingers on his left hand.
Her ring fed her data: 'Age: 19 Sol years, 4 months. Height: 6 feet. Health warning: Incomplete biology. Missing fingers with no genetic cause.'
The others showed typical issues - genetic defects, stress injuries from unskilled labour. Humans remained deliberately ignorant of Essence's potential. Some called them experiments, and watching them struggle, Saona understood why.
Niam
Each day brought increased workloads as human skills were assessed. Rumours spread of failed rebellions - all predictably crushed.
Niam excelled at his work. The clothing he crafted revealed much about his "employers": Sulonians preferred loose garments - suggesting a hot, humid home world. Elves color-coded by tribe, Dwarves favoured short sleeves. And Drakon demanded extravagant custom pieces.
As he packaged a completed Drakon suit, chaos erupted.
"Die, monster!" a man screamed, charging Saona.
'No way...' Niam thought.
"Surely you won't," Saona replied, sounding more disappointed than threatened.
When the attacker persisted, she flicked a finger. An invisible force punched through his chest, leaving a hole the size of a fist and spraying blood across a 25-foot radius. Warm droplets splattered Niam, his workstation, and his next project's fabrics.
"Tsk..." Saona massaged her temples. "Niam, would you please take him outside and bury him?" Her request sounded almost polite.
['I will,'] Niam responded in broken Sulonian.
Two weeks had sufficed to learn basic phrases. If the stories were true, human language originated here before their ancestors fled, so some type of grammar was bound to be recognizable.
His efficient handling of the grim task and subsequent cleanup earned attention. Niam became the first human to verbally communicate with another species - showcasing humanity's greatest strength: adaptation.
To gain trust, knowledge, possibly favours, he needed to perform flawlessly, analyse everything, and shed human-centric perspectives because those might not apply. Like a pet learning its owner's habits, he would study these beings on their own terms.
***
At the end of the twelve-hour shift, as Niam prepared to return to his quarters, two hands gripped his right shoulder. He turned to see Saona, and all his pride evaporated instantly.
"Come," she said, tapping his chest with one finger.
Before he could ask where, his feet left the ground. The ceiling parted as usual, and they soared through, joined by other Sulonians flying toward an ornate building near the factory.
Niam caught murmured exchanges among the Sulonians as they traveled. The structure ahead clearly received more care in its construction than the utilitarian factory. Blue marble facades shifted hue with perspective, while arched wooden beams showcased traditional Sulonian architecture.
'Their living quarters,' Niam realized as his feet touched down. The fact that he'd just flown barely registered - bigger concerns occupied his mind.
["Why?"] Niam asked, testing the Sulonian word he'd learned.
["The others want to see you. They're intrigued,"] Saona replied.
Niam pieced together the meaning from recognizable words. ["Sulonians... see me?"]
Her nod confirmed it. A flush of pride warmed his chest - he fought to keep it off his face, but Saona's knowing look said she noticed.
The white entrance door bore engravings of an endless, flowing pattern that captivated Niam completely. The design suggested a wave with no beginning or end, so mesmerizing he momentarily forgot everything - his circumstances, his losses, even himself.
A tug at his shoulder broke the trance. ["Time."]
Niam puzzled over the word's meaning as they entered. The interior matched Sulonian minimalism - wavy-patterned paintings, sparse furniture, potted plants. They led him to what appeared to be...
'A mess hall?' The long tables and communal dining reminded him of military films. Sulonians ate from simple plates, chatting and joking much like humans would. His arrival drew glances - some curious, others tinged with jealousy. Whether directed at him or Saona, the attention warranted caution.
Xenophobes back home would rage at his fraternization, but xenophobes tended to die quickly these days. Niam couldn't bring himself to care. Dead men told no tales.
"Grab a plate, let's eat," Saona said, confirming the military parallels.
This situation demanded every ounce of his intellect. Two paths lay before him: live with the enemy and learn, or eat their food and learn. Both terrible mantras he'd just invented, but the point stood.
Seated on a metal bench, Niam examined his meal - green and yellow plant sprouts. Compared to the nutrient paste provided during shifts, this looked like a feast. He sniffed, prodded, then finally took a bite with the provided utensil - a stick with a square scoop.
The texture resembled broccoli, but the taste surprised him: turnip-like with umami richness, likely protein-dense.
'Stronger gravity on their homeworld? Or aquatic adaptation?' He shelved the speculation. Survival came first.
"You've shown promise, Niam," Saona said between bites. "First to take steps toward redemption. Commendable."
The Sulonian beside him smiled, continuing his meal. Others at the table seemed equally unsurprised, as if they'd anticipated someone like him emerging.
"We could translate your language instantly," Saona continued. "But cultural exchange provides necessary insight for those pursuing Essence."
Niam nodded. The logic held.
She turned to a wrinkled elder Sulonian. "We have this item prepared."
The elder produced a thick wooden block from dimensional storage. "When the time comes - and it will - you'll become a [Marked Vessel of Essence...]"