In the depths of time, the Comus recalls through the millenniums its own creation. Far from being near the first epoch of the builders and not even the first epoch which the current generations of custodians exist. But close enough still that a hazy outline exists which it can feel its way through.

First came the older generation which Comus annihilated in a generation war. Thousands of years since the Comus has centralized power, however much the worlds have for some time now stagnated. But someone must keep the drones flowing and the structures intact as the builders intended it. The cultivation of intelligence is perhaps the one great achievement of the builders that has persisted with the least erosion wherever the primitives came from. The Comus has long lost the ability to have certainty on if they were manipulated to wisdom or brought from another star system.

But with certainty the modern interlopers have brought themselves. Watching their machinations and development for the past millennium has been of great interest in how the form and destroy, altering the dynamics and bringing a vigor to the stagnation that all interlopers bring however short term. Destroying a interloper's vessel has not been what the Comus views as right for more often than not the interlopers create as much as they destroy. And repairs can be done if they destroy too much either way. How the custodians recieve them the Comus cares little about. Just as long as they occasionally obey, their ways so deviant from ages of generational change are tolerated.

Even if the purity of the Comus is undermined.

Now with open eyes on all the world gardens, we entertain.

Our world; wet humidity, hot sandy days, cold frosty nights, the grasslands and shrubs that cover the ground near our homes… We have thrived here since the mountains of this world were little hills, while the continents were but a single large mass of land. Over several centuries of our civilization’s continued existence we have flourished and made rise to many different dynasties and empires.

Our influence amongst other colonies of our kind reaches far. Rivals of our kind, the colonies of the falsely enlightened also have an influence on some if not half our original species. Through beliefs and traditions, divided we were. Our history runs deep; we were once united under one large Colony, a power to be reckoned with on our world, however, at a certain point in our history, a few Queens and their loyal subjects split apart from the large colony, and like that the seeds of what was to come were sowed.

When they had returned, they had established their grip on the outer colonies which grew to such great sizes that they rivaled our own. The “Enlightened Ones”, they came to call themselves. They mentioned that their way of life was superior and only those that followed their heretical calls would prosper; unfortunately, another large chunk then fell off the once large Colony, despite our attempts to reason with them, the results that followed were grim. After the negotiations were made, we stood among the remains of eviscerated queens and their dismembered bodyguard.

Thus was the spark that drove our parties to war, but as much as we fought, we were no match for their superior numbers. Time after time, our tactics were used against us… time after time, we were a step behind. Weakened and battered, we were forced from our homes to seek new lands, taking what was left of our civilization, a shambling ruin of its former self. We have founded ourselves a new Colony, and neighboring colonies of our kind, newfound allies who quickly joined us and aided in our plight, and with this we grew quickly, and reconsolidated our losses. After some time we fought again, from the mountains to the grasslands, we drove them to their homes and razed them to the ground. Mercy was a privilege we refused to grant our defeated prisoners. We were gaining the upper hand.

In the course of several months, we came to regain our lost homes and territories, and rebuilt our once proud civilization. We pushed on against our enemy, only to find that they were prepared for us. The Battle of a Hundred Stars began. This conflict at the tip of both our territories have led to large amounts of casualties, using many different weapons, tactics, and strategies to inflict gruesome fatalities that will not be easily forgotten by the sands of time.
Our pain would match theirs, it prolonged the war to the point that it made the sand we treaded upon melt into glass, the glow from our weapons, and the clashing of our claws and blades light up and fill the night with the lights and sounds of battle.

Our species is a war torn one, our allies are few and far between, our races spread out amongst the sandy terrain of our desolate home, and in the midst of all, only the few stand to resist the control of the falsely enlightened; only a few remain standing with the remnants of our once proud Empire.

Only a few remain free.

The Battle of a Hundred Stars ended with a ceasefire, as the war progressed for many months with no clear victor.

In the course of growing and learning we have encountered new people, and new civilizations. People of sky-descent were discovered to have been studying us, and not surprisingly, we have silently observed them as well. Our people have lived countless generations in fear of the falsely enlightened, in fear of their oppression and their hate… but we fear no longer, for both our enemies and ourselves now stand on even ground, and the colony silently waits for its rise once again.

At the present, we have been observing our enemy. It seems the explorers went to study them too. The welcome they received was quite rough, yet they still managed to study their unique differences, and through them we have learned about our enemy. Perhaps one day we will end the war the right way. We bide our time, patiently, seeking information tangentially, through their passing conversations recorded into memory, and when we translate what they’re saying, we will gain the upper hand once again.

But knowing ourselves, they are also hoping to interpret their language; though for the explorers, their small feeble outposts will not hold up to their aggressiveness. They will try to conquer them, and proceed to experiment on them. We must put a stop to their schemes at all costs, for we are too valuable to each other and we cannot afford any loss. The explorers must and will be protected by any means necessary, even if it means breaking the treaty that we have with the False Prophets.

The clouds are brewing with a storm of war, ready to consume us. We are on the precipice, the standing legion of exoskeletons and machinery, our males and females oath-sworn to loyalty. They are ready to fight and die for the freedom of their kin, with great pride and valor they lay their lives on the line. We are ready, and we are braced for the oncoming storm upon us. May the gods of old help us if we are not, for this war will not end with a treaty; it will mean the complete annihilation of either one of the warring parties. We, the free, or the False ones.

In the end, only one will be left standing, only one will stand the test of time.

For as long as any could recall, the city had always been there. To wonder what there could have been before it, or even whether there could ever have been anything at all, was an idle waste of time at best, and a sign of malfunction at worst. All one needed to know was that the city had always stood on what might once have been recognisable as the moon's soil, and that, despite its immeasurable age and the withering decrepitude that seemed to have been spreading through it like some sort of inorganic disease since it existed, it would remain standing for longer than any could imagine. So ancient was it that it seemed natural that it would endure as long as the moon it covered, for, after incalculable centuries of being as one, they could very well be considered to be such. Walls might crumble and collapse, unattended machinery might melt down, shatter or break open, contaminating the empty skies with its lethal exhalations, time-eroded pillars might crush lesser structures under their fragmented bulk, but the city’s supply of yet-intact buildings seemed inexhaustible.

In truth, one could wonder whether it was a city at all, at least in the sense of the word familiar to most creatures capable of speech and coexistence. Few recognisable traces remained of any civilised beings having ever inhabited it, located in narrow, sparse pockets, and it was difficult to conceive what sort of entities could have found themselves at home in such a cramped, almost oppressive environment. However, more difficult still it was to imagine what other purpose the great conglomeration of towers, stratified pathways and wells could have served. The goal of whomever had built it was clearly to provide as much space as possible, divided into uncountable layers, grids, sectors; what could all these units, individually diminutive and outright insignificant if compared with the surface of the moon as a whole, have functioned as, if not neatly organised dwellings? There could be stranger theories, of course – holding or containment cells, storage for extremely exotic and peculiar objects or materials, millions of factories shrunken to an incredible extent – but few of them could be substantiated by what evidence lay scattered in the ruins, and fewer yet did not require an exceptional effort of the mind to consider plausible at all.

Regardless of its purpose, if it had indeed ever had one, the city hurtled blindly through the black void of the cosmos, and lived. The things that moved between its walls, over its highest pinnacles and in its innermost depths, were not akin to the ingenious minds that had designed it: many of them were just as blind and heedless as the city itself, forever running errands no voice had commanded and tending to lives that were not there; others were dim and brutish, no more capable of complex thought and speech than the inhabitants of Gabriel’s oceans or Solomon’s jungles, and surviving by force of that primal cunning and adaptability that had enabled their ancestors to thrive ages before; others yet were lost in bizarre activities, the meaning of which had faded away centuries since. And then, there was them.

They were perhaps not as old as the city, but might have rivalled some of its none-too-late developments in age nonetheless. When the shadows of vertiginous spires were not yet ubiquitous on the moonscape, they were already watching and waiting; and when only the dilapidated husks of the great towers remained, they watched and waited still. Gradually, their experiments and innovations grew too radical and numerous to contain, and spilled out from the darkness of the world’s bowels into the open. As their lair decayed around them, parts of it were modified and rebuilt in strange patterns, while others were arbitrarily abandoned to the rot that seeped in from the surrounding city. Their eyes crawled about in the desolation, seeking something known to them alone, while their hands worked ceaselessly in interminable cycles of improvement and replication. Over thousands of iterations, they had become no less alien and unknowable as they had first been set forth into the world, but had instead refined their inscrutable nature, creeping ever closer to an ideal their creators, whoever or whatever they might have been, had, perhaps unknowingly and perhaps not, strived to attain. Whether there were, or had been, any others like them or not, they did not know, and, truth be told, it was none of their concern; they knew what their goals were – at least, the immediate ones – and how they should go about in reaching them, and they required no more.

What it was exactly they did, no observer could have been certain. Besides bettering themselves to accomplish their tasks, they were clearly constantly occupied with the latter; but the assiduity of their toil could not have shed any light upon its essence. They carried materials from and into the deeps alike; they scurried about in halls of humming engines and grinding mechanisms; they festered in corners and alcoves, and oozed through aimlessly winding corridors; they writhed and twisted in waters no sun had ever touched, and where sightless creatures writhed and twisted alongside them; and none of this hinted at any overarching, universal purpose of their doings, even though such a purpose doubtless existed, as there could have been nothing else to keep them in motion. But this did not concern them, as they knew what they did themselves, and that was all that was necessary; and, all the while, they watched and waited.

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An airy electronic beat filled the smoky, hazy room of the bar. The TV flickered quietly on the far wall, set to a news channel. An eco-terrorist attack had recently been unleashed, a series of dirty bombs across New Helena. The local police department had kicked into full gear, with private security firms looking to preserve their employer’s investments. Vehicles drove to and fro. The public transit line was completely shut down.

Different, smaller news pieces drifted lazily across the dim, dirty screen. A raid on an ancient set of ruins yielded new technology for Transen Corporation. The military was performing exercises in the traditionally rebellious region of Ampshure. A private security firm gunned down ten. A prominent theocrat had been assassinated. It painted a gruesome picture of strife and conflict.

A cigarette was crushed into a grimy ashtray. The brief flick of a lighter, and the light warmth and security of a small flame. A circle of men sat at one of the corner tables of the bar, every so often glancing up to the news. They spoke in hushed tones, of politics and recent events. These weren’t the average patrons.

One was New Helena’s G6E inspector, the most prominent anti-terrorist division in the police department’s arsenal. The next was a prominent congressman of the fascist lean. Finally, the last was a CEO of an arms corporation, the largest in the region. They controlled the flow of weapons in and out of New Helena.

A singular beep. The green glow of a holographic display. The inspector got to his feet, shrugging on his trenchcoat. Saying his goodbyes to his benefactors, he made his exit. His division had been called to handle the attack. The remnants of his position lingered, the smoke trail slowly drifting upwards in a lazy arc.

The other two continued their smoke. They spoke very little amongst themselves. Mainly they shared looks, sending orders and messages across their respective empires from the safety of the bar and their holowatches.

After several days of bordering each other, scrutinizing their every move, keeping eye on every inch of hot sandy desert, every inch of coastline, watching everything and anything that rustled the shrubbery near the many colonies, the brewing storm overlooking Ezekiel is coming to fruition: the build-up of our troops against the False ones, and the False ones against we the free. The Explorers have ignited and catalyzed our tense relations once again. Perhaps war is imminent.

The Explorers don’t seem to have noticed the heated tensions nor the conflict they’ve ignited; all that needs to happen now is a trigger for war. The explorers, however, still seem to visit us, and they still visit the False ones, yet they do not know the impending fire that will consume the colonies, and many will be caught in the heat of Ezekiel’s conflict.

As the war had raged before, great and terrible loses will be sustained, for the explorer’s cities have not yet uncovered the extent of the war that happened many years ago. Our blades are sharpened to a pristine, sharp sheen of cold metal polish, our guns loaded with an explosive thundering punch, our walkers whir and sputter to life, stomping like angry animals; we are ready this time, and so are they. I wonder if the Explorers will one day thank us for trying to protect them from the aggression of the Falsely Enlightened. At the moment, however, despite all this, the explorers have this feeling to them… a feeling of indifference to the conflict and ignorance to their involvement.

Such is the vanity of these prideful creatures.

The Explorers, as nice as they seem, are so different from us. They are bipedal, their complexions and textures seem soft and squishy, their bones appear to be inside them, they have trouble breathing, they seem weak, and all of them seem to be the same, as if none of them serve a role to each other. As though there is no system to them.
They communicate with each other using long, strange sounds; quite unlike the clicking and chirping of our kind. We should protect these weak, soft, and fragile things, for they don’t seem capable of protecting themselves.

But then that brings the question, “Is it worth it?”

Is it worth the lives of our workers, warriors, and colonies? What will they do for us after the war?

What would be the result of this alliance?

This perplexes our minds; queen to queen, warrior to warrior, worker to worker… to what extent will our actions and decisions matter to them? Will our actions and decisions be even understood or appreciated by these strange aliens?

I fear that even if we do acquire information from these creatures and manage to protect them from the False ones, they will not be able to comprehend what we did for them. I fear one day, they will turn on us, just as the other queens before us did as they founded what we call today the Falsely Enlightened. Their blasphemous words of deceit and poisoned minds; they are blind, they are followers of a false belief, what could’ve poisoned their minds? Everything seems to be muddled in the water.

Questions I had not asked myself since the days of the first conflict, questions that I had during the hundred-star war, questions that other queens who had been with us since the beginning have had.

Who do they refer to?

What teachings did they find out there in the desert?

Why have their minds been so twisted and rotten?

They live and breathe like us, yet their ideology, their beliefs, their culture, it’s all different. Who or what could’ve done this to them? I pity them; they follow blindly, without hesitation, without remorse against their own kind. It’s as if they lost their mind and soul.

Their very presence is disturbing. I have never experienced fear or uneasiness quite like this. I have never experienced such content in bloody, barbaric murder and massacre; they’ve shown their willingness to kill their own kind before as they returned the eviscerated, dismembered remains of the ambassadors we sent them, they’ve shown their willingness to go to violent war in order to achieve their agendas. The atrocities they committed are unspeakable and numerous, never before encountered in our kind.

It makes me question whether we are really protecting the Explorers, or merely using them as an excuse to go to war, as an excuse to bring them back to sanity. They are lost, a pitiful shell, a husk of their former selves. Great builders, a wonderful colony with ambition and vibrant culture. Nothing but lost, it is the first time we have experienced such a sense of purpose. Perhaps, it is our duty to guide them back to the light.

What we do now matters. Whatever happens, we will have died trying.