The journey back to the station was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. Lucas and Vaylara sat side by side in the cockpit, watching the gas giant shrink behind them as the medical skiff made its approach.

It had been a good night.

Lucas wasn't sure what he had expected from a date with an alien scientist who had no cultural concept of romance, but Vaylara had tried. Really tried. And… he found himself appreciating that effort more than he had expected.

As they landed in the station's hangar, Vaylara turned to him. "Did the experience meet your expectations?"

He smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, it really did."

Her frills twitched, and he was starting to realize that meant she was pleased. "I am glad."

They walked back toward the medical wing together, a quiet understanding between them. Whatever this was—this connection growing between them—it was real.

For the first time since waking up in this alien world, Lucas felt like he wasn't alone.

That feeling didn't last.

Later that night, alone in his quarters, Lucas finally allowed himself to dig into the question that had been clawing at the back of his mind since his awakening.

What happened to humanity?

He had been avoiding it. The weight of knowing his species was gone had been enough, but now, with his life slowly stabilizing, curiosity and dread won out.

TALOS provided access to historical records, though much of it was fragmented, lost to time or intentionally buried. Still, there were enough pieces for Lucas to form a picture.

And it was horrifying.

Humanity had reached the stars. They had encountered alien civilizations. They had seen the beauty of the cosmos, the infinite potential of other worlds.

And they had tried to destroy it.

The records told of a time when mankind waged war across the stars. At first, it was territorial expansion. Then, ideological superiority. Then, sheer xenophobic fear. They saw alien life not as neighbors, but as threats. Instead of diplomacy, they brought weapons. Instead of learning, they sought control.

Lucas read in stunned silence as the truth became clear—humanity had not been wiped out by some external catastrophe. There had been no plague, no cosmic disaster.

The galaxy had fought back.

The species humanity sought to dominate had formed an alliance and crushed them. The final war had been brutal, relentless. Humanity, once a force of unchecked aggression, had been systematically destroyed. Their worlds fell one by one until there was nothing left.

Lucas sat in the dim glow of the display, his stomach twisted in knots.

He wanted to deny it. Wanted to believe the records were biased, incomplete. But deep down, he knew.

This was the legacy of his species.

Not explorers. Not pioneers.

Conquerors. Murderers.

He closed his eyes, his breath unsteady.

Had they deserved to survive?

The next few days passed in a blur. Lucas still worked in the medical wing, still studied alien technology, still interacted with the station's residents. But something had changed.

He kept his head down, spoke less, withdrew into himself. He felt… tainted.

Vaylara noticed. Of course, she did.

At first, she observed quietly, as she always did. But then, on the third day, she cornered him in the medical lab, standing between him and the door with her arms folded.

"Something is wrong," she said.

Lucas sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm fine."

"You are lying."

He let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

She tilted her head, golden eyes sharp with concern. "Explain."

Lucas hesitated, but the weight inside him was too heavy to keep holding alone.

"I looked into what happened to my people," he admitted. "Why they're gone."

Vaylara's expression remained neutral, but she said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"They were monsters," Lucas whispered. "They saw the galaxy, saw all of this—" He gestured vaguely, frustration bubbling under his skin. "And they tried to kill it. They waged war. They were wiped out because the rest of the galaxy had to defend itself. And now I'm sitting here, the last remnant of a species that did nothing but bring pain."

He exhaled shakily. "Maybe… maybe it's better if humans stay gone."

Vaylara's frills flared slightly, and for the first time, she looked genuinely angry.

"You are not them," she said firmly.

Lucas looked up, startled.

"You are not the ones who waged war. You are not the ones who burned worlds. You are Lucas—a man who is curious, who seeks to understand, who is kind." She stepped closer, her gaze intense. "You did not choose the actions of your ancestors, and you are not bound to repeat them."

Lucas swallowed hard. "But—"

Vaylara placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart.

"You are not a mistake," she said softly. "You are a second chance."

For a long moment, he said nothing, just staring at her.

Then, finally, something inside him cracked. The self-loathing, the guilt, the grief—it didn't vanish, but in that moment, it didn't crush him either.

Lucas closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

Vaylara hesitated only briefly before wrapping her arms around him in an embrace.

Lucas melted into it.

It wasn't just comfort. It was acceptance.

After a while, he whispered, "Thank you."

Vaylara tightened her hold briefly before pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Whatever happens… as long as we have each other, we will endure."

Lucas felt a small, fragile ember of hope spark to life in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, she was right.