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| The Beloved Little Mother Insect (LITTLE MOTHER) |
The caverns beneath the Irradiated Wasteland were like an entirely different world. The interwoven stalactites were a pure, pale white, varying in size, clustering and hanging from the cavern ceiling like a frozen waterfall—magnificent and serene.
The tips of the inverted stalactites were beginning to be enveloped by white mycelium.
Fluffy, dense mycelium nearly covered the entire underground cavern, like connected threads and veils, shrouding the area in a hazy, dreamlike, mysterious depth.
But everything here was too white.
So white that it placed a great burden on the eyes.
Where all the white mycelium extended and converged, a figure sat.
His posture was upright, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Large expanses of his bare, deep wheat-colored skin were obscured by the interwoven mycelium, revealing faint outlines of muscle and silvery-white hive markings intertwined with subcutaneous blood vessels.
Amid the heavy exotic style, there was also a hint of concealed divinity.
Aslan sat silently there, his arms covered in silver markings strong and robust, his palms broad with distinct knuckles. The interwoven hive markings split from strands into threads, and coiled inch by inch around his dark joints.
His hands were large, thumb and forefinger spread apart, the webbed space between them—covered in crisscrossing silvery-white hive markings—cupping Pearl's chin with his fingertips pressing against the other's cheek. With just a slight application of force, he made the unconscious artificial person part his lips halfway.
The psionic power controlled by its master was a rich silvery-white and cold as glacial meltwater.
It carried an intense, ice-like pressure, but at this moment, it softened its aura while threading a strand by strand into Pearl's partially open lips.
Sensing the young one's eager, kitten-like absorption of nourishment, Aslan gently stroked the little one's head. The silver markings on his deep wheat-colored hand seemed to visually intertwine with the artificial human's dry white hair, as if becoming one.
His voice was deep and cool, yet held an elder's tolerance, "Good child, eat slowly."
The feeding and swallowing condensed from psionic power was a peculiar and strange experience for both the injector and the receiver.
For the Narga People—and even for all life in the interstellar era—psionic power was like a second heart that could flow freely inside and outside the body. It was both the core that safeguarded life and a weapon that could resist and defend against external threats.
Among the five great empires of the Star Alliance, races that evolved strong physiques under cosmic radiation typically had relatively weaker psionic power but excelled in physical attacks.
Races that did not evolve super-strong constitutions, on the other hand, possessed more outstanding psionic power, capable of advancing or retreating, attacking or defending—in a way, this could be called magical attack.
As for the Narga Hivemind Imperium, it was evident that the Narga People, with their super-strong primitive forms, were typical physical attackers.
Their elytra allow them to fly through the skies, their pincer legs and tail hooks can slay Beasts, and even when mimicking human form they retain formidable physical strength—dismantling a hovercar single-handedly is no challenge. Yet simultaneously, their psionic power became their weakness as it was susceptible to turmoil, collapse, and even self-destruction due to Frenzy Syndrome.
For the evolution and continuation of life, after the great and magnificent cosmos gave birth to the Narga, the benevolent and wise universe likewise created the Insect Nest uniquely for the Narga people.
This is the Hive Will, revered and followed by all Narga people.
Like a cosmic mother, the Insect Nest extends Hive Substance, which nurtures and sustains the Mother Insect and the Narga People—the former excels in psionic power, the latter in physical prowess; the former serves as the core to soothe the Offspring, while the latter become iron-blooded warriors protecting their mother...
They depend on each other like symbiotic vines, with psionic power forming the tightest bond between them.
Psionic power is also intensely private.
And now—
As silvery-white psionic power, channeled through the throat as a medium and delved deep into the little artificial person's torso, Pearl, curled against Aslan's leg, let out a faint whimper.
It was thin and weak, and so light it was nearly negligible.
Aslan looked down, his broad hand still gripping Pearl's overly narrow cheek. Even in sleep, that pale face was uneasy, and showing signs of fear and distress, helpless and fragile, completely reliant on Aslan's embrace.
Pearl trembled slightly, his body aching from the fissures caused by the psionic power, and instinctively trying to curl into an even smaller, tighter ball, taking up almost no space.
Those lacking security often seek warmth and safety through hugging or curling up.
Aslan's gaze darkened.
His body was far more robust than the slender adolescent form preset before the artificial human's creation. Pearl resting on his lap was like a fledgling kitten, thin and frail, with a tattered short robe draped over his pale torso that faintly reveal a bloodstains like cracks.
Thus, the infused psionic power split into finer threads, slowing and gentling until it was almost imperceptible.
They had achieved the most intimate contact with the artificial human's body, and precisely because of the deeply private nature of psionic power, Aslan glimpsed into Pearl's past within the Mental Landscape.
He had no intention of probing the little one's secrets and only meant to withdraw his consciousness. Yet, just as he pulled away, he heard Pearl's sobs from the memory scene.
They almost overlapped with his whimpers in reality.
He always seemed so pitiful.
Finally, a subtle change appeared on Aslan's calm and profound face.
The aloof guide tilted his head as his hand slid down from the back of Pearl's head to gently grasp the nape of his neck. Then, through deep feeding and nourishment of psionic power, he pushed open the door called memory and saw Pearl's past—
It was a dim, small room where even adults would bump their heads if they stood straight. Dark and cramped, without any lighting, and the already tiny space was cluttered with messy items. Only a palm-sized window was carved at the very top of the side wall.
In the light streaming through that small window, Pearl lay there with his fluffy, soft white hair spread on the ground, refracting delicate, almost ethereal halos like a spirit's.
Pearl wore a loose long shirt with a number written on it. He had little strength and his skin was so pale it seemed to glow. He was curled up in the corner with one hand covering his stomach while the other weakly reached for a chipped ceramic bowl placed at the edge.
It contained only clear water, and just a few drops left at the bottom. After carefully sipping the last drop, he could only stare sadly and helplessly at the empty bowl.
He was so hungry.
So hungry his stomach burned with pain.
So hungry he wanted to cry.
This was the punishment after the little artificial person's first return.
The one who had previously purchased him was the young master of a merchant guild—generous and wealthy, who would gaze at him with wide eyes saying "You're so beautiful," "Your eyes are like the sky," "Your hair is smoother than silk satin...". The young master adored this beautiful artificial human, never despising his slowness, clumsiness, or delayed speech. He would even recite poetry to him and tell bedtime stories.
Even in the young master's study with books filling three walls, the artificial human flipped through pages with an antique feel and chose a name for himself.
Pearl, meaning pearl.
He said his name was Pearl.
In that book, pearls represented being cherished and treasured.
But no matter how much the young master loved this beautiful little pearl, he couldn't defy his father who believed he was wasting his life on frivolities. When the master of this luxurious household spoke, even the young master could only bow and comply.
Thus, the artificial human who had gained his own name was returned, provoking the angry auction house owner to grab his arm and shove him into the dark basement.
That was the punishment after Pearl's first return.
Just a bowl of water, and a little artificial person who never understood what he had done wrong.
In the basement, the hungry Pearl whimpered softly. His limited knowledge left him helpless and confused while silently shedding tears as he stared blankly at the pitifully small window.
Then, Pearl's damp eyelashes fluttered slightly as he saw a white shadow peeking halfway through the small window.
It was the white ferret that had previously escaped from the auction house cages.
Pearl blinked his pale blue eyes before cautiously sitting up. Tears that hadn't yet stopped still slowly traced paths down his cheeks, but the corners of his lips finally curved into a faint smile.
Yet the freedom-loving white ferret wouldn't linger for long. Having satisfied its curiosity, it flicked its tail and prepared to leave. Beyond the psionic-powered memories, Aslan heard Pearl's faint, sob-choked plea—
"Don't go..."
In the pure white cavern of reality, Aslan's fingers tightened slightly around the nape of Pearl's neck. In that moment of eye contact across psionic energy and memories, he almost believed he was that white ferret passing by the window, running past Pearl.
Only when the sleeping Pearl emitted restless whimpers did Aslan snap back to attention. Relaxing his grip, he silently and strangely stared at Pearl's pitiful face with his brows furrowed from dreaming memories.
The Mother Insects of the Narga Empire were all born with silver spoons in their mouths. They enjoyed the empire's finest treatment and privileges, residing in the exquisite Sun Palace with crowds of servants and guards. Whatever they desired, they didn't even need to ask—countless Narga People would speculate and fulfill their wishes...
Calling them golden and precious, and heaven's favored children wouldn't be an exaggeration.
Yet Pearl, sleeping on his lap and even crying cautiously, had to ration every bowl of water.
How could the gap between the previous Mother Insect and this current Mother Insect, the previous King and this King, be so vast?
Who was responsible for the Narga New King's past?
Aslan's palm still rested on the artificial human's head, but after brief emotional fluctuations, his mood returned to pond-like stillness.
The little one sleeping on his lap greedily devoured psionic power to nourish himself while uttering restless murmurs from dream memories.
"...Don't go."
"Please don't leave... I beg you..."
Even his eyelashes were dampened by tears, exuding a wet, pitiful aura.
...A bit noisy.
Aslan, accustomed to the cave's prolonged silence, thought to himself.
His palm shifted slightly, moving from Pearl's head to his forehead.
The deep tan hand nearly covered the artificial human's entire face—a posture almost restraining and controlling, yet unexpectedly devoid of any aggression.
With Aslan's movement, the memories in Pearl's dream transformed—
Still the gloomy basement, the narrow little window, and the thin youth kneeling in the light and shadows.
But the departing white ferret returned while dragging a piece of bread as it squeezed through the backlit window crack.
Scattered light dispelled the room's darkness.
The fine-furred white ferret emitted a faint silver glow as it leaped onto Pearl's shoulder, its tail brushing the artificial human's shoulder and cheek before dropping the bread into Pearl's lap.
When Pearl reached out to keep it, the ferret nimbly dodged and slipped out through the high window.
The bewildered little artificial person, with his face still marked with undried tears, looked down at the bread in his hand. Slowly tearing it apart, he fed it into his mouth piece by piece.
Chewing and swallowing.
The sugar in the bread dissolved in his mouth, and gradually soothing his burning, hungry stomach.
In his dreams, Pearl, lying on the basement floor, would secretly glance at the small window through the narrow metal bars, where he always caught sight of a fluffy tail that kept him company through the three days of confinement after his first rejection.
...
Finally, silence fell.
Pale, withered long hair spilled into Aslan's hands, a stark contrast to the soft, silk-like strands from his memories where the white ferret had once nuzzled.
His hands were large enough to easily envelop Pearl's shoulders, patting the little artificial person's back in gentle, rhythmic strokes.
As if lulling a young creature to sleep.
Tear stains were still visible on the face of the little artificial person sleeping with his head pillowed on Aslan's thigh.
The once unruly psionic power that was now nourished by Aslan, grew docile and obedient, retracting strand by strand to lie dormant once more within this overly frail and fragile fleshly vessel, awaiting its master's next summons.
In slumber, Pearl looked utterly placid—though he was usually just as well-behaved, his waking hours were always tinged with an inescapable timidity and caution.
Only when asleep, free from nightmares and the need for vigilance, did the fear lingering in the little artificial person's brow gradually dissipate, revealing his innate softness and harmlessness.
So very, very docile.
And utterly captivating.
No wonder those mad pups had already learned to fight over this little one...
But then, fighting for a treasure that makes one's tail wag is only natural.
Aslan lowered his gaze, his silver-white eyes appearing cold against his deep tan skin, divine and detached, like a statue devoid of desire.
Seeing the little one on his lap quiet and obedient, he raised a hand while carefully avoiding the fine cracks on Pearl's skin that were caused by the overflowing psionic power, and laid him on the soft bed woven from mycelium.
But before he could withdraw his hand, the little artificial person, whose head had just touched the mycelium pillow, fluttered his lashes uneasily and let out faint whimpers from his throat.
...Like a kitten that couldn't bear to be left alone.
Aslan's brow twitched slightly—not in annoyance, but he halted his movements, continuing to allow the other to rest on his lap and even tolerating the grasp on his long hair.
The underground cavern was so silent a pin drop would echo.
The mycelium spreads from Aslan's form connecting the entire space, from ceiling to floor, enveloping his world like wall paint or drapes.
Amid the shadowy mycelium, perhaps due to the monotony of color and light, Pearl's partially visible face and arm stood out vividly, lending even his pale lips a touch of color.
The feeding of psionic power continued steadily.
A continuous stream of force seeped into Pearl's body, mending his battered frame and his nascent, overly reckless psionic power with a sluggish gentleness that seemed at odds with Aslan's nature.
As the recipient, Pearl transitioned from greedy devouring to a slowed, numb acceptance.
When the silver-white, icy psionic power reached a certain threshold, Pearl momentarily struggled to adjust as he emitted a resistant gasp from his throat.
Too cold, too crowded, too full.
He tried to curl up slightly again, but Aslan held his back, wrapping his limbs in resilient clusters of mycelium to prevent his struggles from worsening the bloody wounds on his body.
In memories from long ago, Aslan would never have been in such close contact with any Mother Insect.
Those Narga New Kings standing at the pyramid's peak had Hive Substance guiding their psionic power even before birth. As Mother Insects and "Mothers" of the Narga People, they inherently knew how to coexist with their own psionic abilities.
But Pearl did not.
He remained completely unaware of the power and charm he possessed.
Aslan pinched the bridge of his tall nose, once again easing the intensity of his psionic infusion, then leaned back and briefly closed his eyes to rest.
As he moved, the scattered Mycelium around them slowly retracted, revealing Aslan's lean and muscular abdomen.
Curling, mysterious silver-white hive markings trailed downward, reaching the groin and extending into deeper, more concealed areas. These peculiar patterns glowed with a faint luminescence resembling blood flowing through veins as their master manipulated psionic power.
—Like the nurturing of life.
During the deep connection of psionic feeding, Pearl also glimpsed memories not his own in his dazed dream.
He stood almost bewildered on a battlefield littered with severed limbs and mangled corpses. Everywhere was stained with dark red blood so thick the metallic scent choked the air and even dyed the sky a deep crimson.
Across the battlefield, countless Narga People in their primal forms charged forward.
These towering humanoid creatures shimmered with strange metallic luster, using their own Pincer Legs, Tail Hooks, and even Elytra as weapons. Though they appeared heavy, they moved with remarkable agility as they charged through the tsunami-like Beast Tide.
From the moment they were born from Hive Substance, these iron-willed Narga warriors instinctively knew how to fight.
They wielded every organ and body part as weapons, and under the Empire's discipline, came to see themselves as living weapons—slaughtering, slaughtering, and slaughtering again until the last Beast was eradicated.
Amid the chaotic battle between Beasts and Narga People, Pearl trembled, frozen and helpless.
He wanted to escape this living hell, but the horrifying scenes before him drained his strength, making even the simple act of moving his feet an impossible luxury.
The endless waves of Beasts seemed truly inexhaustible.
Pearl saw several fallen Narga warriors being brutally devoured by Beasts, while other victorious warriors roared in triumph.
Tragedy and victory seemed to arrive simultaneously in reverse.
The overwhelming metallic scent of blood irritated Pearl's throat with acidic reflux, stirring waves of nausea. Just as he nearly vomited on the ground, a piercing terror shot up from his feet straight to the crown of his head.
Renewed strength gathered in his limbs, propelling Pearl to dive sideways at the critical moment.
His soft long hair scattered across the blood-soaked ground as, precisely where he had been standing, the earth erupted in a spray of dust. A grotesque-fanged lizard emerged from beneath the surface swiftly turning to sever the pincer leg of a nearby Narga person.
Scalding blood splattered across Pearl's body, nearly burning his nerves.
When the giant lizard, still dangling the dismembered limbs between its teeth, shifted its attention toward him with ominous intent, a silver-white figure descended from above like a falling star.
While cratering the ground upon impact, surging white mycelium swept over everything that instantly engulfed the creature in a living, velvety whiteness.
Within mere seconds, the giant lizard's flesh and blood dissolved in a horrifying manner, becoming nourishment that made the mycelium swell and emit sighs of satisfaction.
The transition from warm flesh to bare bones happened in an instant.
As the swollen mycelium receded, Pearl's pupils contracted sharply at the sight of a tall, slender figure.
Before he could fully discern the person's features, his entire consciousness was captured by a pair of silver-white eyes.
They were eyes that simultaneously held divine compassion and devilish cruelty, filled with a cold indifference still radiating residual brutality.
—As if they would eliminate any trash standing in their way.
Pearl, who had fallen sitting on the ground, instinctively scrambled backward. His damp eyelashes that were trembling with terror, uncontrollably secreted tears once more.
He was terrified by the emotions reflected in those eyes.
Then, from the crimson-stained battlefield in the distance, someone called the name belonging to the owner of those eyes.
They called him, Aslan.
...
In reality outside the psionic realm, Pearl—who had been resting his head on Aslan's lap—suddenly shuddered. His body curled inward, tugging at the mycelium coiled around his limbs, while his steady breathing grew rapid again, punctuated by frightened whimpers.
Aslan, who had been resting with closed eyes, lifted his gaze, and realized for the first time how challenging it could be to deal with a youngling.
Compared to a novice like Pearl, whose control over psionic power was practically amateurish, Aslan naturally knew that an outsider had fallen into his memories.
Being someone with no secrets, he didn't mind such trivial details. Thus, when the bewildered Little Mother Insect stumbled into a memory fragment saturated with bloodshed and violence, Aslan had silently permitted it, allowing the little mouse to freely burrow and explore.
But he never expected the situation to escalate to the point of tears...
Pearl's restless struggling interfered with the ongoing psionic nourishment and was detrimental to soothing the physical strain caused by his earlier psionic outburst.
He needed to calm down.
Yet, as the white mycelium began to approach Pearl's limbs in greater quantities, Aslan heard an even clearer sob.
The mycelium froze mid-air, uncertain whether to advance or retreat.
Aslan lowered his gaze as a trace of helplessness finally flickering in his silver-white eyes. In the end, he reached out and gathered the trembling form into the crook of his arm.
The robust warmth of his arm that was pulsing with vitality, eased the tension in Pearl's expression. His subconscious sobbing gradually ceased, though his eyelashes remained damp and upturned, casting shadow patterns like butterfly wings.
The underground cavern fell silent once more.
Aslan stared expressionlessly at the Little Mother Insect in his arms.
So small, so fragile.
He had seen many generations of Mother Insects.
They might be tall or slender, but all were well-nourished—figures built from gold and silver, embodying a pursuit of "beauty" that he could never comprehend.
Yet the little one in his arms was terribly thin and his body barely more than a sliver with his ribs palpable beneath the skin.
A subtle doubt arose in Aslan: when those mad pups bring this child back to the Sun Palace on the Imperial Star, could they truly raise such a delicate, pitiful creature properly?
Not into a timid, self-deprecating figure, but into a glittering little Pearl, a willful and bold little prince, or perhaps a New King who could act with impunity throughout the entire Narga Empire?
Aslan questioned the nature of those mad whelps.
After all, aside from the pups who already fought for the Little Mother Insect's favor and willingly wore collars, there were still more unruly and difficult brutes—their temperament would likely reduce this child to tears...
Aslan glanced at the slender limbs of the youth in his arms, so fragile they seemed ready to snap, unable to withstand any hardship. He wondered if he ought to consider returning with them—seeing as he was the one awakened by this little one. With him as a guide, perhaps the Narga Empire's newly born king could avoid many pitfalls.
But staying close for long periods with a creature as fragile as a newborn... he...
Aslan paused, lowering his pale eyelashes.
He needed to think it over.
As for those mad pups searching for their mother—they were already on their way...
For a long time afterward, Pearl rested in the crook of Aslan's arm and slept deeply while clutching the strands of Aslan's silver-white hair. His cheek was pressed against the other's firm, powerful chest. Through the deep wheat-colored skin, Pearl listened to the steady heartbeat, finding the sleep profoundly comfortable.
He was light—an unhealthy lightness that made Aslan feel as if he were holding nothing but a feather. So much so that when Aslan slipped into a meditative state of psionic power nourishment, he would instinctively start to lower his arm.
At such moments, the clingy kitten-like creature would let out a soft, spoiled murmur, reminding Aslan to tighten his embrace and continue cradling this weightless little feather.
Muscle memory gradually formed in Aslan's strong, dark wheat-colored arms. He remained motionless while still holding the Little Mother Insect, and almost merging with the surrounding Mycelium and Stalactites—serene and profound.
—Like a stone sculpture awaiting weathering and erosion.
But this enchanting tranquility couldn't last.
When the psionic power nurturing Pearl was withdrawn by Aslan, the Mycelium draped on the ground shifted slowly, clearing a path. A massive StarCloud Hound emerged from the pale distant cave while carrying prey in its jaws.
Elevated beyond its biological rank by the Symbiotic Mycelial Carpet and temporarily reaching King-level, the StarCloud Hound was no longer the creature Pearl first encountered.
Its jet-black fur had shed, and replaced by a soft, fluffy Mycelium, and those pitch-black, lightless eyes had grown translucent, gathering a spark of keen intelligence.
Holding Pearl with one arm, Aslan cast a cold, impassive gaze, signaling the Beast favored by the Little Mother Insect to remain quiet.
The StarCloud Hound, understanding human nature, knew what this meant.
It carefully placed its prey on the ground, and the previously spread white mycelium quickly retracted, as if afraid of getting dirty.
The energy armor surrounding the StarCloud Hound clung snugly to its fur. When it approached Aslan, following the internal hierarchy of beasts, it slowly lowered itself and pressed its chin against its joined front limbs, conveying its submission to the superior being.
It could sense that this male, who shared the same origin as the mycelium on its body, was powerful.
Aslan lowered his gaze, tacitly approving the beast's intelligent behavior.
The StarCloud Hound rose, its bright eyes flickering, prompting it to press its ears back and cautiously move forward in a submissive posture.
It wanted to see the little cub it had regained.
But before the StarCloud Hound could get closer, the mycelium stirred.
They floated up, blocking the Beast's approach. Just as Aslan was about to use the mycelium to wrap up the beast and toss it out, a faint, subtle movement came from the ends of his hair.
Then, Aslan looked down and met a pair of vacant, clear light-blue eyes.
—Like Kurse's ice-blue gemstones.
The giant StarCloud Hound's eyes instantly brightened, and its tail, which had been drooping behind, began to wag like a propeller.
At the same time, the previously soft mycelium silently surged, wrapping around the StarCloud Hound once again as it tried to approach. The resilient strands entangled the Beast's limbs and firmly secured its snout to prevent it from making any noise.
StarCloud Hound: Speechless with rage.jpg
Pearl, who had just woken up, couldn't see anything, but he knew someone was staring at him.
A wave of tension instantly swept over Pearl's entire body. He was like a small animal caught by a predator in the wild, with his fur standing on end, but with paws too soft and harmless, he could only curl up trembling, unable to even resist.
Aslan withdrew his gaze. His cool, long hair slipped from Pearl's palm. As the latter clumsily groped at his fingertips, Aslan's silver-white eyes regained their usual aloofness and detachment.
He lowered his arm and placed the tense little artificial person on a bed made of mycelium.
"Since you're awake, get up."
The slight coolness of the little one's body left Aslan's arm, making him feel somewhat unaccustomed to it, but the feeling quickly faded.
Upon hearing this, Pearl immediately tried to sit up, but his body, still recovering from waking up, felt somewhat weak and sore. Just as he was about to collapse weakly from the mycelium bed, a strong, scorching hand steadied his shoulder.
The person advised, "Take it slow."
"S-sorry."
Pearl stammered an apology, his beautiful features clouded with timidity.
Aslan withdrew his hand before silently rubbing his fingertips. He had intended to say something, but when he met the Little Mother Insect's fearful and dazed eyes, he ultimately remained silent.
Pearl groped his way up from the mycelium bed and stood barefoot on the cool floor. His memory still lingered on the moment he had fallen from a great height, but as for what happened after that...
Pearl had no recollection.
He cautiously straightened up, but the overly quiet space made him feel anxious and helpless again. When his pale face showed an expression as if he were about to shatter, Aslan, who had been silently observing, finally moved.
Aslan: "Come here."
The voice was cold and indifferent, but for Pearl, who was engulfed in the world's darkness, it was enough.
He rushed toward the source of the voice, his pale long hair streaming like a banner, brushing past the StarCloud Hound's snout and ears, and carrying that soft, sweet fragrance as he stumbled into Aslan's embrace.
Aslan, who had only intended to guide him with the Mycelium, froze for a moment with his hands hovering mid-air as he looked down at the Little Mother Insect clinging to his waist.
That icy exterior of his seemed to crack open just a little.
Pearl, having thrown himself at the other, belatedly realized his actions and murmured an apology before stepping back but unsure what to do next.
His mind remained hazy, as if even simple thoughts were a struggle.
Curling his fingers, Pearl braced himself for a scolding.
But what came was not reprimand—instead, a large hand gently took his wrist.
Aslan stepped around the StarCloud Hound bound on the ground and headed toward the prey.
Pearl, holding onto his hand, followed closely like a young beast afraid of getting lost, sticking close to the only one he could rely on at that moment.
He was truly well-behaved.
Aslan suddenly felt a subtle emotional shift from caring for a young one.
The prey lying on the ground was lifted by the Mycelium, which had initially disdained it.
It was a large fish that was rare in the desert's water sources—massive, silver-scaled, and sharp-toothed, a dominant force in the lake. Its flesh remained tender and delicious, unaffected by the Radiation Storm, highly nutritious and perfect for a young one to eat.
The agile Mycelium transformed into the sharpest of kitchen knives, descaling, dissecting, and slicing the fish, before eventually carving it into thin, nearly translucent fillets that were offered to Pearl, swaying before his eyes.
The slight movement made Pearl tilt his head, and he couldn't help but give Aslan's finger a gentle tug.
Aslan said, "Open your mouth."
At the words "open your mouth," Pearl shuddered as he instinctively obey and parted his lips obediently, though his muddled mind flashed a fragment of someone telling him to eat slowly.
Was it the person beside him? Who was he? What did he do?
Was it him who saved me? Then... where did those Narga People go?
Or is this the place where Artificial Humans go after death?
Pearl had many questions swirling in his little head, but fear kept him from voicing them. During those few seconds of mental wandering, thin fish slices were fed into his mouth by the Mycelium. The exquisite flavor made the little artificial person chew and swallow instinctively without a second thought.
He ate somewhat hastily, like a greedy little kitten, until Aslan—slightly frowning—pressed the nape of his neck and reminded in a deep voice, "Eat slowly."
The moment the words and voice registered, Pearl abruptly realized: It was him.
Then, another wave of memories broke through the floodgates, reminding Pearl of the soft, cold psionic power that had seeped into his body while he was unconscious.
The nightmares and memories from the chaos—screams, bloodshed, turmoil, and the giant lizard on the Beast battlefield that were instantly drained of life by the Mycelium and its flesh devoured...
And those icy, cruel eyes that seemed capable of killing any trash standing in his way.
The terrifying memories jolted Pearl, who had just swallowed the fish slice. He hunched over while coughing violently until his already pale cheeks flushed red with strain.
His slender chest trembled, and his delicate fingers abruptly pulled away from Aslan's hand. Clutching his chest and covering his lips, he coughed until his thin back arched and taut like an overly fragile line.
Aslan's expression darkened instantly. Fearing the Little Mother Insect's violent coughing might reopen the psionic wounds on his body, he raised a hand to soothe him when a tremendous roar suddenly erupted from the pale cavern periphery not far away.
Pearl coughed even harder, but his frail physique left him unable to support himself. As the ground shook following the roar, his weak legs gave way, and he tumbled back into Aslan's embrace.
—A blend of scalding flesh and icy Mycelium.
As the trembling little artificial person was enfolded in a one-armed embrace by the slightly stooping Aslan, silver-white psionic power coalesced once more around Pearl like supremely soundproof earmuffs, blocking out the sudden external clamor.
In the moment the noise was cut off, the towering white Stalactites in the distance that were standing like a city wall, shattered completely, revealing a massive breach torn open by brute force.
Through the opening, where the arid daylight of the wasteland streamed in, dust billowed, and several Narga People stood on their Mimicked human forms.
A vague shadow gathered beneath Aslan's striking brow ridge.
—The little mad dogs have come looking for their mother.
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