Intergalactic conquest with an AI

"I will take the cosmic core into myself," Gaia announced solemnly. "And with it, I will also claim this corrupted world. Over the course of one hundred thousand years, I will use the core's essence to cleanse the planet and restore its balance. When the time is right, life shall bloom here again."

The two Titans bowed their heads deeply, their massive frames shimmering before dissolving into streams of starlight, vanishing back into the void from which they came.

The primordial beasts, however, gave no words, only a low rumble of acknowledgment before they turned and left, their colossal forms fading into the endless dark.

And so, silence reclaimed the battlefield, broken only by the faint, rhythmic pulse of the cosmic core cradled within Gaia's immense hand.

"So, what will our next move be, Cleo? And please, do not tell me you will simply follow whatever I choose. You know as well as I do that my decisions already cost us dearly… troops, ships, and resources, all scattered to dust because of me and that cursed world."

Rex's words fell heavy; his voice sounded thick with weariness. He let out a long, bitter sigh, the kind that seemed to carry not only exhaustion but regret.

After all, deep down, he knew the truth... his rage, his stubborn emotions, had turned what could have been a clean extraction into a catastrophe. If he had simply taken Lyra and left, everything would have been different. Instead, he had dragged them into a full-scale conflict that nearly wiped out everything they had built.

What cut him the deepest, though, was not the losses themselves, but the silence of those around him. Not once had Cleo or anyone else reproached him. No one blamed him. That silence was heavier than any accusation.

"I recommend we remain quiet for a few years," Cleo replied at last, her voice calm and precise. "We must rebuild what we lost and strengthen what we already hold. Our captured worlds need fortification. The foundations of your empire must not remain fragile."

As she spoke, several luminous holo-screens blossomed into the air around her. Each screen displayed a different world, glowing spheres suspended in the void, their names and statistics scrolling in neat lines of light. Together, they formed a map of Rex's fledgling domain.

Cleo continued, her tone being as steady as always. "I also require time to craft a body strong enough to endure your planetary aura without collapsing. The process will take years, perhaps more. Our fleet, too, demands renewal. It must be restructured and expanded by no less than fourfold its current size if we are to stand against what awaits us."

Her words lingered, and then she fell into silence. It was her way of presenting the path, then waiting for Rex's approval, never pushing, never imposing.

Rex leaned back against the seat, his gaze lingering on the projection of her form. He searched her face for a reaction, though he knew there was no real flesh or warmth there, only light shaped by her will.

Still, he looked as if he hoped to glimpse even the faintest flicker of reaction. "That sounds reasonable," he admitted at last. "It is true we suffered a grievous blow because of me. For that, Cleo, I ask your forgiveness."

Before Cleo could respond, another voice cut in, playful yet sharp. "Forgiveness? What nonsense." Yssera's words curled like smoke around him as she rested lazily against the arm of the chair.

"Darling, what you lost were machines. Cold shells. They have no soul. Just like my own swarms, they are made to serve, to fight, and to die. Nothing more. They are expendable."

If it were before, Rex would have nodded. Once, he would have agreed. But not anymore. He remembered the Kaelzar soldiers fighting beside him, bleeding in ways both metal and spirit, standing firm even when the void itself clawed at their existence.

He had spoken to them, heard their voices, and felt their courage. To him, they were no less than human, no less worthy of dignity and remembrance.

Before he could voice this thought, Cleo interrupted gently. "Yssera is not wrong, Rex. They were soldiers, and soldiers give their lives for the cause. That is the purpose they accepted. Yet…"

Her form shimmered, and something materialized in her hand. It was a small sphere, glowing faintly with a soft blue light, no larger than a child's toy. She held it delicately, as though it were a jewel.

"They are never truly gone," Cleo continued, her voice low but steady. "The Kaelzar army is immortal. Their bodies may fall, their metal shells may shatter, but their essence does not perish."

"As long as the central storage banks remain intact, their minds, their memories, and their very personalities lie in dormancy, waiting in silence for the call to awaken once more."

The glow of the sphere pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, and Rex found himself staring at it with quiet wonder.

"Is that true?" Rex asked quietly, almost as if afraid of the answer.

Cleo only nodded in silence. That small, calm gesture was enough to make Rex let out a bitter smile, the kind that held no joy, only the weight of sorrow pressed deep into his chest.

"Help me stand up. Ys, I think I'll be able to walk once I'm on my feet."

With Yssera's help, Rex pushed himself up. His legs trembled beneath him, but he managed to take one step, then another, each movement heavy yet determined. Together, they left the command chamber.

The moment the doors closed behind them, the young AI manifested beside Cleo, her voice ringing clear in the empty room.

[My creator, I would never dare to correct you, but the truth must be spoken. The only way to recover the full data from the soldiers, to preserve them exactly as they were before destruction...]

[...is through their physical memory cores. According to my calculations, the black mist annihilated everything. Nothing remains.]

For a moment, Cleo said nothing. Her eyes, though only projections of light, shimmered faintly as she turned back to the flickering holo-screens. Then, slowly, she shook her head.

"There is no need for correction, young AI," Cleo answered softly. With a motion of her hand, she summoned a glowing keyboard and began to type, lines of data dancing across the air like fireflies.

"Humans are creatures who place immense value on sentimental bonds. Rex is no different. He carries too much weight upon his soul already. If this small piece of misinformation can ease his mind, then it becomes my duty to make it real."

The young AI's voice resonated again, calm and respectful. [Understood, Creator. I will adjust my records to reflect your words. Do you require further assistance?]

"Negative," Cleo replied without looking back. "Resume your tasks. Continue administering the fortress."

And with that, the younger AI disappeared, leaving Cleo alone in the vast, silent chamber.

Meanwhile, Rex had finally reached the medical bay. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, releasing the faint scent of disinfectants mixed with the sterile coolness of machines. He paused at the threshold, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself before stepping inside.

There, he saw them. Lyra and Nyra lay side by side on adjacent beds, their breathing calm and rhythmic, their bodies rested under the watchful care of technology.

At the corners of the room, imperial maid units stood silently, awaiting any order, while medical bots glided around the twins, scanning them every few minutes with soft pulses of green light.

Rex walked in quietly; his steps were cautious, almost reverent. He pulled a chair from against the wall and placed it carefully between the two beds. Sitting down, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his golden eyes fixed on their resting faces.

Yssera, sensing the heaviness of the moment, quietly excused herself. Without a word, she slipped out, leaving Rex alone with the two.

Time passed. Minutes stretched into hours. Rex did not move and did not speak. He simply sat there in silence, listening to their steady breaths, watching their peaceful slumber.

Four hours slipped away as though they were nothing, and still, he remained unmoving, weighed down by emotions he could not voice.

At last, his trembling hand rose, reaching out slowly, hesitantly. His palm hovered just above Lyra's swollen belly, the life inside her calling to him like a faint, distant flame.

Yet, at the final moment, he froze. His hand stopped a few millimeters away. Fear and guilt twisted across his face. He clenched his jaw, and with visible pain in his eyes, he began to pull his hand back.

But just then, two smaller, delicate hands reached out and caught his. Warmth met his skin, a warmth that was both soft and trembling. A voice followed, sweet and gentle, though weak with exhaustion.

"Are you not going to check on our child?"

The sound of Lyra's tired but charming voice pierced his soul. Rex's body trembled as if struck, his breath catching in his throat.

"Do I still have the right to call it my child?"

Rex's voice was low, broken... the words dragged out of him like chains. They hung in the air, heavier than the silence of the medical bay, heavier than the machines humming softly in the background.

His golden eyes trembled as he finally spoke what had been gnawing at him since that cursed day.

The guilt was unbearable. He had sent them into danger... his family, the people he should have protected above all else. He had stood by helplessly as the Blood Clan took them, and when fate brought them back together… he could do nothing but distance himself, as if his very presence was poison.