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"Speech"
'Thoughts'
~"AI"~
*Sound Effects*
POV/Location/Time Change.
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The Quarian Dilemma
June 11, 2305 ES
New Rannoch, Nubian Expanse, Near the Perseus Veil.
Rael'Zorah stood atop a newly constructed observation platform, watching as the land before him transformed into something he had never thought possible—a true Quarian homeland. The warm glow of Rannoch's twin suns bathed the construction site below, illuminating the vast stretches of untouched land where massive machines worked tirelessly, laying the foundations of what would soon be the first true Quarian city in centuries.
It still felt unreal.
Just months ago, the Quarians had been a people without a home, drifting through the stars in a barely functional, cobbled-together flotilla. Their entire existence had been defined by scarcity, by the desperate struggle to survive in the cold void. Now, in what felt like the blink of an eye, they had land again. Not just land—a future.
And all of it, thanks to the humans.
The Confederation had not just made promises; they had delivered with a speed and efficiency that left the Quarians reeling. Within a week of negotiations, a suitable world had been located—a habitable planet, rich in resources, with a breathable atmosphere and a climate stable enough for long-term colonization. It was a world that could sustain them, a world that could become their home.
But the humans hadn't stopped there.
They had assured the Conclave that the Geth were no longer a threat, though they had been frustratingly vague about how, exactly, they had reached that conclusion. Regardless, the message had been clear: the Quarians were free to expand, to settle, to build. There was just one stipulation—they were not to breach the Perseus Veil, nor infringe upon sovereign territories. It was a reasonable request, but even so, Rael couldn't help but wonder why.
What had the humans done?
He shook the thought away. Right now, there were more pressing matters at hand.
The construction was progressing at an astonishing pace. Human engineers, working alongside Quarian volunteers, had already begun laying out the streets, installing power grids, and constructing the basic framework of what would soon be a thriving metropolis. And the humans were doing it for free. That part still baffled Rael.
A new city, rising from the ground.
A Quarian city. The first in Centuries.
It wasn't just the city, either. The humans were providing infrastructure far beyond what anyone had expected—a brand-new shipyard, a massive orbital tether skyhook, a constellation of defense and communication satellites already in geostationary orbit. It was overwhelming. The flotilla's ships, so long their only refuge, were now being systematically dismantled—scrapped due to what the humans called safety concerns.
Rael still wasn't entirely sure what an OSHA violation was, but from the way the human engineers had reacted upon inspecting some of their more 'vintage' vessels, he had a feeling it wasn't anything good.
In exchange, the humans had promised them a new fleet. Nothing too advanced—nothing that would disrupt the balance of power in the galaxy—but still vastly superior in terms of efficiency and quality of life. Even their non-military vessels were being designed with comfort in mind, something utterly foreign to the Quarian experience.
Rael exhaled, watching as a towering crane lowered a massive prefabricated structure into place.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't looking at a world through the reinforced glass of an environmental suit. He could breathe here. Because The humans hadn't just stopped at infrastructure.
Within days of arriving, human doctors had begun conducting thorough medical examinations of every Quarian who was willing to participate. Blood samples had been taken, genetic markers analyzed, immune systems scrutinized. The humans had access to some of the most advanced medical technology in the known galaxy, and it was clear they intended to use it.
Their findings, however, had been... unexpected.
The existing records of the Quarian genome, passed down and updated throughout their centuries-long exile, were only 98% accurate. That 2% discrepancy had been dismissed by the Conclave as a minor variance, but to the human researchers, it was apparently critical.
Rael didn't understand all the details, but from what little he had gathered, that missing 2% contained vital genetic sequences—sequences that could drastically impact their ability to repair and reinforce their immune systems.
The humans could have fixed it immediately.
They had the technology—advanced nanite therapies, genetic re-sequencing techniques, and medical procedures so sophisticated they bordered on the miraculous. But they refused to use them.
Not because they didn't want to help, but because their own government wouldn't allow it.
The official reason? Security concerns and the belief that giving such advanced technology to a non-Confederation species would stunt their own scientific progress. The humans, for all their generosity, were deeply wary of creating dependency. They wanted the Quarians to thrive, but they also wanted them to adapt and evolve on their own.
It was frustrating. It was infuriating.
But Rael understood it.
Still, there were whispers in the fleet. Quiet murmurs of discontent. Some Quarians didn't believe the humans were being entirely honest, that there was another reason they refused to provide their most advanced medical treatments.
Then there was the other issue. One that was rapidly becoming the most divisive subject among the Quarians.
The revelation that the humans had true, sapient AI.
The humans called them AGI—Artificial General Intelligences. Unlike the Geth, these AIs were fully integrated into human society, operating as partners, administrators, researchers, and even commanders.
For many Quarians, this was unacceptable.
The scars of the Morning War ran deep, and while some—including Rael—were willing to acknowledge that these AGIs were not the Geth, that didn't mean they wanted to work with them. The idea of living alongside an AI, of trusting them, of integrating them into their society?
Unthinkable.
But to Rael's surprise, a significant number of Quarians did want to work with the AGIs.
They had seen what the humans had built—how their civilization had thrived alongside their AI counterparts. These Quarians believed that it was time to move forward, to embrace change rather than fear it. A large number had even applied for Sol Confederation citizenship, willing to leave New Rannoch behind to integrate into human space.
The Conclave had been forced to take action.
The hardliners—those who outright rejected the idea of ever working with an AI—were given a choice:
Stay on New Rannoch and accept the Confederation's aid, with the assurance that no AGI would be developed within their new society for the foreseeable future. Or, Leave with a fleet of ships to make their own path.
Most had chosen to stay.
But a small number—led by Admiral Han'Gerrel—had refused. They had taken a fleet of cruisers and frigates and vanished into the void, their destination unknown.
Then, there was the final revelation.
The Confederation had been conducting clandestine slave rescue operations in the Terminus Systems for years.
Among those rescued? Hundreds of former Quarian slaves.
Most had already applied for Confederation citizenship, choosing to start new lives among the humans. But a few dozen had chosen to return to their people, to New Rannoch.
Their stories were harrowing. The things they had endured, the atrocities they had suffered—Rael could barely stomach it. But they had survived.
And now, thanks to the humans, they had a future.
For better or worse, the Quarians were standing at the precipice of a new era.
And Rael'Zorah could only hope they were ready for it.
April 16, 2305 ES
Presidium, Citadel, Serpent Nebula
The glass of Menae whisky shattered in my hand as soon as the human walked out.
A jagged shard sliced into my palm, drawing a thin line of dark blue blood, but I barely noticed. My entire being was seething, my mandibles flaring outward in a mixture of fury and disbelief. The room around me was thick with tension, but none of my fellow councilors spoke. Not yet.
Tevos sat unnervingly still, her usual graceful composure marred only by the faint tightness at the corners of her lips. She was calculating, always calculating. Bemort's bulbous eyes darted between us, his long fingers tapping against the table in nervous rhythm.
Cowards, the both of them.
I turned to the ruined glass in my palm, forcing myself to breathe. Slowly, I wiped my hand against the edge of my tunic, then set my gaze on Tevos.
"Well?" I snarled. "Are we really just going to accept this?"
Tevos inhaled softly, setting down her own glass of Elysian rum with far more grace than I had managed. Her violet eyes met mine, unreadable. "What would you have us do, Sparatus? War?"
"If it comes to that," I snapped. "And don't act as though you haven't considered it."
Bemort made a soft chittering sound, his fingers now entwined. "Let's not be hasty. We need to think—"
"No, what we needed to do was act before the humans swooped in and turned those suit rats into their latest project," I spat, my mandibles clicking sharply in irritation. "But we didn't. And now, the Quarians—the Quarians!—have a Protector."
I almost couldn't bring myself to say the word aloud.
It was one thing for the Confederation to integrate smaller colonies into their ever-growing sphere of influence. It was another for them to claim an entire species as their vassal.
And not just any species—one that had been broken. One that had been weak, scattered, reduced to a pathetic nomadic existence. One that had rightfully lost its place in the galaxy after its own foolish mistakes.
And now?
Now, because the humans had decided to take pity on them, the Quarians were suddenly poised to become a force again. A species with a homeworld, a fleet, an improving immune system, and worse—human support.
Tevos sipped her drink, watching me like a parent indulging a child's tantrum. It only stoked my anger further.
"Sparatus," she finally said, her voice infuriatingly even, "the situation is not ideal, but neither is it the catastrophe you seem to think it is."
I barked a harsh laugh. "Not a catastrophe? Tevos, did you not hear her? The humans just declared that any punitive action against the Quarians would be seen as a declaration of war."
"Which we will not be initiating," she countered smoothly.
"They forced our hand," I pressed, slamming my fist onto the table. "The Treaty of Farixen is already worthless! The Quarians were bound by it, but now? Now they can rebuild their fleets without restriction. They can produce warships. They can—"
Tevos waved a hand dismissively. "If they can," she corrected. "They have a long road ahead of them. The humans may be aiding them, but it will take time."
Bemort nodded sagely. "And their technology is still restricted. The humans are only permitting them a 0.3 advancement factor—hardly the kind of boon that makes them an immediate threat."
"An immediate threat?" I repeated incredulously. "You're thinking short-term. You always do." I turned to them both, my voice lowering to a growl. "You still don't understand, do you? The Quarians are no longer a species on the brink. They are a people with a homeworld. A people with an immune system that will recover. A people with a growing fleet. And most importantly—a people with human backing."
Tevos exhaled softly. "We understand, Sparatus."
"No, you don't." I leaned forward. "Because if you did, you would already be calling for the dissolution of the Treaty of Farixen."
That got their attention.
"The Union will not support such a move. It would be seen as—" Bemort began.
"Then the Union is weak!" I snarled. "Do you not see what this means? The humans have just claimed an entire species as their vassals! And you want to do nothing?"
Bemort's fingers curled tightly against each other. Tevos's expression didn't change, but I saw the slight shift in her posture—the subtle sign that she had not expected me to go that far.
Good.
"If the Quarians are no longer bound by Farixen," I continued, pressing my advantage, "then neither should we be. The Hierarchy must begin immediate rearmament procedures. We must reinforce our shipyards, expand dreadnought production, and—"
"No."
Tevos's voice was sharp.
I turned on her. "No?"
"No," she repeated, her tone like steel. "The dissolution of the Treaty of Farixen would signal to the entire galaxy that the Citadel is preparing for war."
I scoffed. "Perhaps because we should be."
"And against whom, exactly?" Tevos challenged, setting down her glass and finally giving me her full attention. "The humans? You want us to provoke a species that has just unilaterally declared their willingness to go to war over the Quarians? You would throw the Hierarchy into direct conflict with a nation that has already outpaced us in every metric we can measure?"
I bared my teeth. "If they think they can dictate the balance of power in this galaxy, then yes. We should prepare."
Bemort shook his head rapidly. "The Salarian Union will not support the dissolution of Farixen. It would send the wrong signals. We must be diplomatic—careful."
"Diplomacy has failed," I shot back. "We should have handled the Quarians before the humans got involved. But no, we let them suffer in exile, we let them fester, and now they have a backer powerful enough to force us into this humiliating position. And what's worse?" I glared at Tevos. "You. Let. It. Happen."
She exhaled through her nose, setting her hands neatly on the table.
"And what would you have done, Sparatus?" she asked coldly. "Wipe the Quarians out entirely? Send fleets after them to prevent them from settling a world? To what end? All that would have accomplished is forcing the humans to do exactly what they have just done, only sooner."
I curled my talons against the table.
"We had options," I insisted.
"We had illusions," she corrected.
A heavy silence fell between us.
Finally, Tevos stood, smoothing her robes. "We will not dissolve Farixen. We will not make rash decisions that will spiral into war with a power we are not prepared to face."
I clenched my jaw, but she wasn't done.
"The humans have made their move. The Quarians are under their protection. And that is now the reality we must deal with."
Her gaze locked onto mine, and I saw in her eyes what she would not say aloud.
We lost.
Not in battle. Not in a declaration.
But we lost.
And that truth burned more than any whisky ever could.
I took a slow, measured sip of my Elysian rum, but it did nothing to steady the chaos swirling inside me. My fingers trembled slightly against the glass, a minuscule tell, but one I despised nonetheless.
Breathe, Tevos. Keep control.
The chamber was filled with tension, thick as the cold mist rolling in from Thessia's frozen mountain peaks. But it was nothing compared to the storm raging in my mind. The plan was ruined. The future, uncertain.
For centuries, the Matriarchs had maneuvered the galaxy's chessboard with precision. We had ensured that every species played its part—some powerful, some weak, all predictable. And the Quarians? They had been a mistake left to fester, a lesson in hubris, a tragedy to remind the younger races of the cost of defiance.
And now, in the span of a single meeting, everything had changed.
The humans had shattered the board.
The carefully constructed downfall of the Quarians—so meticulously guided, so delicately maintained over centuries—was gone. Their suffering had been useful, their exile ensuring that they remained a fractured, insignificant people. The Council had let them wither, let them exist only as a reminder of what happens to those who disrupt the balance.
But we had been cowards.
We could have ended them. We should have ended them. We had justification for it after the war with the Geth, excuses woven into policy, whispered into the right ears. We could have swept away the remnants of their fleet under the guise of 'galactic stability.' And now? Now, they had a future.
Because of the humans.
They hadn't just given the Quarians a planet. They had saved them. In one move, they had undone centuries of Matriarch foresight, erased a keystone of the galaxy's balance, and declared to the universe that they alone decided who would rise and who would fall.
I had underestimated them. We all had.
And Sparatus.
Spirits, he was a blustering fool.
I resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose as he raged, his voice grating against my patience like a blade against stone. His anger was raw, blunt, a hammer striking wildly at the problem with no precision. If only Brahakus were still here—he had been firm but disciplined, a tactician, a man who understood the necessity of careful escalation. Not like this idiot.
Sparatus slammed his fist against the table, rattling the empty whisky glass beside him.
"We should dissolve the Treaty of Farixen! If the Quarians can rebuild their fleet unchecked, then so can we! The Hierarchy must begin immediate rearmament—"
He was predictable. Of course, he would see this as nothing but an arms race. Of course, he would assume that brute force was the solution.
Bemort shifted nervously beside me. "The Union will not support such a move. It would be seen as—"
"Then the Union is weak!" Sparatus snarled. "Do you not see what this means? The humans have just claimed an entire species as their vassals! And you want to do nothing?"
Oh, how I wanted to scream.
You think I want to do nothing? You think I don't see the catastrophe unfolding before us?
For all his posturing, Sparatus didn't even grasp the true depth of our failure.
It wasn't just that the humans had given the Quarians a home. It was how they had done it.
They had been methodical, strategic. They hadn't simply bestowed charity upon them—they had made the Quarians grateful. They had woven themselves into their future, bound their fates together. They had ensured that the Quarians would never look elsewhere for guidance or aid.
And that was the true disaster.
Because now, the Asari couldn't control them.
The Matriarchs had debated for centuries about how to handle the Quarian problem. Some had suggested wiping them out entirely, removing the risk at its source. Others had argued for a slow integration—an Asari-guided restoration, ensuring that when the Quarians rebuilt, they would do so as our allies, not another's.
We had done neither.
And because of that failure, we had lost them.
Sparatus continued his tirade, his mandibles flaring, but I had already decided.
I set down my glass.
"No."
The word silenced him instantly.
He turned on me, fury burning in his eyes. "No?"
"No," I repeated, my voice sharp as a blade. "The dissolution of Farixen is out of the question. If we do that, it will send a signal that the Citadel is preparing for war."
"Perhaps we should be!"
I met his glare without flinching. "War with who, exactly? The humans?" I leaned forward, my voice lowering into something far colder. "You want to march the Hierarchy into conflict with the most technologically advanced civilization in known space? A civilization that has already outpaced us in every strategic metric?"
His mandibles twitched. He had no answer.
I pushed forward.
"The humans played this perfectly. They waited. They watched. And when they finally acted, they made sure that there was nothing we could do without triggering a catastrophe. They have the Quarians, and there is nothing we can do about it now."
Silence.
Bemort shifted uncomfortably. I could see him weighing the options, considering the consequences. He was pragmatic enough to understand reality when it slapped him in the face.
Sparatus, however, was still bristling, still refusing to accept what had happened.
He wasn't entirely wrong. The humans had forced our hand. But unlike him, I understood what needed to be done. We needed to adapt. The Matriarchs would need to change course, to weave new contingencies, to salvage what we could from this debacle.
And it started with keeping the Turians on a leash.
"You will not escalate this, Sparatus," I said, voice cold as the void. "The Treaty of Farixen stands. We will not rush into reckless militarization and trigger the very war we are trying to avoid."
His jaw clenched. "You're a coward."
I exhaled through my nose. "And you are a fool."
He stood, rage written across his posture. Without another word, he stormed from the chamber.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself exactly three seconds to breathe before opening them again.
Bemort exhaled slowly. "The humans have changed the game."
"No," I corrected, finally reaching for my glass again. "They've taken it."
And now? Now we had to learn how to play on their board.
I inhaled slowly through my nose, gripping the edges of my chair to keep myself from slamming my fist into the table. My nails dug into the smooth, polished surface as if I could ground myself through sheer force of will.
Breathe, Tevos. Control.
The chamber was eerily quiet now, save for the faint hum of the holographic displays flickering above us. Sparatus had stormed out in a rage, leaving only the weight of his foolishness behind. Let him sulk. Let him rage. He was a blunt instrument, dangerous in his own way, but ultimately predictable.
My real concerns lay elsewhere.
I had spent centuries working within the Matriarch Council, learning the intricate web of influence that kept the Citadel stable. We did not rule through force. We did not dominate with fleets and armies. We ruled through power—true power. The power of influence, of control, of careful manipulation. The kind of power that ensured every species, every civilization, was kept in line.
But this?
This was chaos.
And chaos was dangerous.
I could already see the ripple effects unfolding, a cascade of instability that threatened everything the Citadel had spent millennia maintaining.
If the Turian Hierarchy began rearmament, it wouldn't stop there. They never did anything halfway. They would see this as a direct challenge, an insult, and Sparatus—short-sighted brute that he was—would push for escalation. The Hierarchy would demand military expansion, a restructuring of their naval priorities.
The Salarian Union would not sit idly by. They never did. They would counter with espionage and sabotage, tightening their grip on technological advancement. The STG would begin analyzing every detail of human military policy, searching for weaknesses, for leverage. They would try to counter this shift before it spiraled out of control.
And the Asari?
I exhaled sharply, my grip tightening around the glass in front of me.
The Matriarchs would be forced to act.
Whether we wanted to or not.
For centuries, the Asari had maintained dominance through calculated patience. We were the oldest, the most experienced, the guiding hand behind galactic affairs. That was how it had always been.
But now?
Now the humans had thrown a dagger straight into the heart of the balance we had so carefully cultivated.
By elevating the Quarians, they had created a wild card.
A species that had been on the brink of extinction was now protected, sheltered, and strengthened by a race that was barely three centuries old. And worse—they were grateful.
The Quarians had no allegiance to the Citadel, no debt to the Asari, the Turians, or the Salarians. For centuries, they had been cast aside, abandoned, left to rot.
And now, they had been saved.
By humans.
I could see the pieces shifting already. The Quarians, a people long discarded, were no longer beholden to our influence. They had no reason to trust us, no reason to seek our aid. They had a new patron now. A new ally.
And that made them dangerous.
I needed time. Time to think. Time to maneuver. Time to salvage what could still be controlled.
I turned to Bemort. The Salarian's large, amphibian eyes met mine, and I saw the same calculations running through his mind. He was still unsettled, still reeling, but he understood.
"We need to control this," I said, my voice low but firm.
His throat swelled slightly in that way Salarians did when they were tense. "Difficult. Turian response is already unpredictable. If they rearm, we'll have no choice but to escalate in kind. The Union cannot afford an arms race."
"And the Asari?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
He hesitated, then exhaled. "You tell me."
I looked down at my glass, swirling the amber liquid within.
The Matriarch Council would be in chaos.
Some would demand retaliation. Some would urge patience. All would see this for what it was—an existential threat to Asari hegemony.
The easiest option, the one that would have been preferable centuries ago, was eliminated.
We could no longer crush the Quarians. They were under human protection now, and an act of aggression against them would be an act of aggression against the Sol Confederation.
And the humans had made their position very clear.
Any move against the Quarians would be seen as a declaration of war.
I exhaled through my nose.
That was the part that terrified me the most.
Because for the first time in history, the Asari had no control over what came next.
We had always guided events from the shadows, using diplomacy and influence to shape the galaxy. But the humans had bypassed every mechanism we had built.
They hadn't asked permission.
They hadn't negotiated.
They had decided.
They had moved unilaterally, reshaping the political landscape with an audacity that left us scrambling to react.
And that meant one thing.
We were no longer in control.
Bemort tapped a clawed finger against the table, drawing my attention. "Tevos. The Matriarchs will need a strategy."
I looked up, meeting his gaze.
"I know."
"We need options. Countermeasures."
I exhaled slowly, my mind already racing ahead, searching for weaknesses, for opportunities.
"The humans have played their hand," I murmured. "But that doesn't mean we can't maneuver around it."
"How?" Bemort asked, his voice cautious.
I stared at the holographic display still hovering in the air, the image of New Rannoch glowing in the dim chamber.
"They may have given the Quarians a future," I said. "But the question is... will the Quarians always remain loyal?"
Bemort's eyes widened slightly.
"You're suggesting we—"
I cut him off with a glance. "I'm suggesting that gratitude is a fragile thing. And alliances built on necessity... are rarely permanent."
A long silence stretched between us.
Then, Bemort nodded slowly. "I'll begin making inquiries."
I turned back to the display.
The humans thought they had won. They thought they had rewritten the rules of the game.
They had only ensured one thing.
That the game was still being played.
A thought struck me so suddenly that I nearly dropped my glass. My fingers tensed around the delicate crystal, my breath catching in my throat.
The Krogan.
The room around me faded into the background. The hushed voices of aides, the murmurs of Salarians poring over intelligence reports—none of it mattered.
Because if the humans had been willing to uplift the Quarians, then what was stopping them from turning their attention to the Krogan?
My blood ran cold.
The very idea was unthinkable.
But then again, so was today.
I turned sharply to Bemort, my voice lower, sharper, almost a whisper. "What if they help the Krogan?"
His eyes widened, then narrowed, his expression shifting from surprise to rapid calculation. "They wouldn't. They couldn't. The risk—"
"They helped the Quarians," I cut him off, my voice dangerously quiet. "Not just with relief aid, not just with infrastructure. They're restoring their biology, Bemort. They are curing the very thing that kept them in check. If they did that for the Quarians..." I trailed off, letting the unspoken horror sink in.
Bemort's throat swelled and deflated rapidly, his equivalent of a swallowed curse. "The Krogan Genophage is the only thing keeping them contained. If the humans interfere—"
"It would be the end of the Citadel's control," I finished.
Not just the Citadel's control. The end of the galaxy as we knew it.
I swallowed, my mind racing. I could already see it—Krogan warriors without the sterility curse, their numbers multiplying once more. It would not take centuries, not even decades. A single generation was all it would take for the Krogan to flood the galaxy with warriors, an unstoppable force bred for war.
And worse—they would be loyal to humanity.
The Krogan owed the Citadel nothing but hatred. We had betrayed them twice—first when we abandoned them after the Rachni Wars, and again when we shackled them with the Genophage.
The humans, however? They had no blood feud with the Krogan. If the Krogan Warlords came knocking on their door, if they asked for aid, for a cure, would the humans deny them?
After what they had just done for the Quarians?
No.
No, they wouldn't.
A sharp exhale escaped my lips as realization set in. This wasn't just a possibility.
It was a probability.
I turned to Bemort, my voice urgent. "We need to prepare. Immediately. We need to increase surveillance on Tuchanka, on any Krogan diplomatic envoys to human space. If there is even the slightest sign of communication between them, we need to stop it before it begins."
Bemort nodded rapidly, already pulling up his omni-tool. "I'll have STG increase intelligence assets in the region. We can disrupt communications, slow down any diplomatic overtures—"
"Not enough," I snapped. "If the humans are as covert about this as they were with the Quarians, we may not see it coming until it's too late."
Bemort hesitated, his eyes sharp and calculating. "You're suggesting preemptive action?"
"Of course I am."
Silence stretched between us.
I had just crossed an unspoken line, and we both knew it.
The Citadel had always maintained a policy of control, but not direct aggression. Not like this.
But the humans had changed the game.
And now we had to play by their rules.
Bemort's throat pulsed again, and he leaned in slightly. "The Daltrasses won't like this."
I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my temple. "They'll like it even less if we wake up one day and find a Krogan army marching under human banners."
Bemort was silent for a long moment, then finally nodded. "I'll see what can be done. Quietly."
I nodded, my grip tightening around my glass again, my mind a whirlwind of calculated urgency.
This was a disaster.
I had spent centuries weaving influence, ensuring Asari dominance was never questioned. But the humans—in their audacity, in their naivety—had shattered the web in a single move.
And now?
Now the entire balance of power teetered on the edge of collapse.
I needed to alert the Matriarchs. We could not afford complacency. We needed to accelerate our technological advancements—yesterday.
The Athame Beacon held secrets, far more than we had ever revealed. For centuries, we had carefully rationed the knowledge gained from it, ensuring our edge remained uncontested. But we had never accessed all of it. Some of the most advanced Prothean archives within the Beacon had remained locked, too dangerous, too disruptive.
Now?
Now, we needed all of it.
If the Krogan were freed from the Genophage—if the humans, in their reckless benevolence, dared to uplift them—then the Citadel would be powerless to stop them. The Krogan would rise again, stronger, smarter, angrier.
And we would need Prothean-level technology to beat them back into submission.
I turned to my most trusted aide, a quiet young Asari with sharp eyes name Ka'ira. "Send word to the Matriarchs immediately. Tell them that the gates of the Temple need to be opened. All of them."
Ka'ira hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly. "But, Councillor, what temple are you—"
"You do not need to know," I cut her off, my voice cold, final. "This is between me and them."
The aide swallowed but nodded, swiftly stepping away to carry out the order.
I exhaled sharply, turning back to the others.
The Treaty of Farixen would be circumvented. That was no longer a question.
The Turians—predictable in their war-hungry arrogance—would start pushing the limits of rearmament. Their fleets, once restrained by the Treaty, would expand in secret. They would begin testing the Citadel's resolve, seeing how far they could go before meeting resistance. They would flood the galaxy with cruisers and frigates, if not faux dreadnoughts that barely avoid the treaty.
And the Salarians?
They would never accept a future where the humans dictated the course of galactic events. They would act, sooner rather than later. STG would accelerate black projects, pouring resources into disruptive technologies, seeking out weaknesses, exploiting every possible flaw. By Athame, they might even begin working on their bio monstrosities again. The very thought made me shudder. The Salarians may pretend that they didn't exist, but I know. They had multiple projects dedicated to creating biological monsters for the sole purpose of war. Monsters that make the Rachni look cute.
But the Asari?
We would never be able to field the armies the Turians could.
We would never match the espionage networks of the Salarians.
Instead, we would do what we had always done.
We would surpass them.
If brute force was beyond us, then we would rise above it.
The Athame Beacon held secrets of an empire lost to time—Prothean advancements, hidden knowledge. For millennia, we had rationed its discoveries, feeding the Citadel only what was necessary to maintain our lead.
But this was no longer a game of maintenance.
This was a game of survival.
We needed every advantage.
I turned to Bemort, my voice steadier now, controlled. "I want a full assessment of all human technological advancements. Everything they have ever shared, everything they have ever hinted at. And I want an analysis of their technological rate of advancement over the last century."
Bemort's eyes flickered with understanding. "You think they're advancing too fast?"
I exhaled slowly.
"They uplifted the Quarians in weeks, with us none the wiser. Their technological assistance, their terraforming capabilities, their medical breakthroughs—it is far beyond anything we expected. Either they have been holding back for decades, or they are advancing at a rate beyond anything we've seen in Citadel history."
Bemort didn't speak, but I saw the weight of my words settle over him.
That was the terrifying part, wasn't it?
It wasn't just that the humans had this power.
It was that they were still growing. Still advancing.
What would they be in fifty years?
In a hundred?
I could already see the reports in my mind, the projections of exponential growth. In a mere century, they had gone from a minor space-faring species to a force capable of rewriting galactic power structures.
What would they be in another century?
Would we even be able to stop them?
No. No, I wouldn't let it get that far.
I turned to my aide again, my mind racing through the possibilities. "I want an accelerated Prothean research initiative. Our scientists must begin working on every piece of recovered Prothean technology we have stored in classified repositories. If we are to survive, we must be more than what we are now."
The aide bowed slightly, moving quickly to carry out my orders.
I exhaled, my thoughts settling into a new shape.
We cannot stop the humans—not now. But we can prepare.
The Athame Beacon.
The Prothean archives.
We would rise—faster, stronger, beyond what the humans could predict.
Because if they dared to upend the balance of the galaxy, if they truly believed they could reshape civilization as they saw fit—
Then they would learn what happens when the Asari fight for their survival.
A/N: So there you have it folks. The Citadel Perspective. The Human's plans truly run deep. The Humans have successfully managed to convince everyone that they're benevolent saviours here to help everyone, all the while they're moving everything like 5D chess against the Reapers.
Also, as you might have notices the Slarians now have "Bio monstrosities". It's a personal addition I made to give them a fighting chance at survival. I think it makes sense that the squishy guys specialising ine Bio weapons and black ops would make genetically engineered monsters to fight for them. So there's that.
Also next chapter is a fun one, as finally our Resident Prothean Javik is going to wake up and not alone mind you. And that's a different can of worms.
See ya and,
HAVE A GREAT DAY/NIGHT!