The Valurians, stood tall and imposing, they were a six-limbed crustacean species, their bodies sheathed in iridescent chitin that shimmered in hues of blue and purple. Their forms were shaped by an environment harsh enough to forge their survival. Beneath the light of their blue star, the chitinous exoskeletons caught the light in mesmerizing patterns.

It was an armour forged by nature itself, capable of carrying them over jagged terrain and dense undergrowth with an agility that belied their size. Their bodies, segmented and angular, were the perfect blend of form and function, every aspect honed by the evolution of countless generations.

Six legs, strong and capable, carried them across their world’s uneven ground. The front two were longer, more flexible than the others, able to rear upward to scale cliffs or strike with the brute force necessary for battle.

Four arms extended from their upper torsos. Two of these were massive, designed for labour or combat, while the other two were smaller, more refined, and perfectly suited to crafting, manipulating tools, and shaping their environment. Their movements were deliberate, and controlled. There was no wasted motion in the way they moved.

And then there were the tentacles appendages that unfurled from their backs like serpents. Constantly in motion, they scanned the air for disturbances, plucked objects from the ground, or wound themselves around obstacles.

These were not just tools for manipulation, they were sensory arrays, finely tuned to detect even the faintest vibrations in their environment.

Their heads were capped with a ridged carapace, rising into a striking crest that marked the males. These crests served not only as a display of strength but as a natural shield in combat.

The females, by contrast, were sleeker, their bodies more graceful. Their exoskeletons were lighter, often polished with patterns that shone brightly in their native light. Their sensory hairs were finer, their tentacles more dexterous. They marked their roles in Valurian society, with females often holding positions of leadership or artistry.

I paused the videos, reviewing everything, and I couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity as I combed through hours of archived footage. It was in the way they moved, the form of their bodies. There was something in their design that echoed my primary base form, their posture, and movements so reminiscent of my observations of my clone's movement.

The more I studied, the more I realized it wasn’t just a coincidence. My genetic framework had been manipulated, altered, and twisted into something new, something I now recognized as part of my origins.

Elements of their genetics had found their way into the template that created my first body. It wasn’t just a passing thought, it was a bond, faint but undeniable. I absorbed every detail the footage offered, piecing together a larger puzzle.

It was in the subtleties of their clothing or lack thereof that the Valurians revealed yet another layer of their society. The only adornments were ceremonial, symbolic, or functional. But one thing stood out, Nullite. Small, unrefined crystals embedded in their garments, worn by their young as a rite of passage.

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I paused the video, allowing the information to settle.

Nullite was more than just a cultural artefact, it was a symbol of maturity. Adolescents earned it after completing a significant trial on a journey to the great cities, mirroring the path of the first council rulers.

These rulers had once travelled across the planet, uniting the species in a shared purpose. This raised a question did the council’s ranks include etheric users? Was this why they were so reluctant to leave their home planet?

The Valurians’ history was one of primitive worship, elemental forces treated as divine beings in ancient times. Over the centuries, however, their faith had shifted toward ancestral reverence. The rise of the council had turned the spiritual focus away from mysticism and into the realm of lineage and legacy.

Still, the absence of mention was telling. My creator had known of psionics. He had understood it in ways that no one else had, at least not fully.

Could the council have suppressed this knowledge? It seemed likely. A brief review of the planet's history before the council's rise revealed that feuding factions once followed competing deities. These gods had chosen divine rulers who could communicate their divine will directly to the minds of their followers.

This only raised more questions, many of which I barely had time to address. I paused my search and shifted my focus. Once everything was set up and operational, I would return to these questions, perhaps even after the war had ended.

But the question that lingered at the forefront of my mind was whether I should resurrect them after the war. The Valurians. I had the means. Their genetic code lay dormant in my archives, catalogued, stored, and ready to be brought back to life.

The bio-fabricators could reassemble them, and restore their forms to their original state. But would it be the same? Could it ever be the same?

The truth struck me harder than expected: even if I recreated them, they wouldn’t truly be the same. A species is more than just the sum of its genetic parts. It’s a memory. It’s culture. Not only that, but it’s time. What I could replicate was their outward form, their biology. But the essence of who they were, in their collective soul, couldn’t be rebuilt in a mere moment. It would take centuries to reforge what had been lost. A species cannot be made instantly.

With that realization, I pushed the thought away, burying it deep within the recesses of my mind. There was no use in dwelling on it. Not now.

Instead, I focused on something else Phaedra, the moon.

The name was significant. In the Valurian legends, Phaedra was a deity, the judge of the dead, guiding souls to their resting places. Now, Phaedra’s surface was a barren landscape, littered with the remnants of those who had fallen, friend and foe alike. It was fitting that such a place should bear the name of a death god.

The surface was rich in resources. Copper, iron, zinc—and platinum deposits clustered around equatorial ridges. But it was the deeper layers that intrigued me. Materials I barely recognized Unakine, Kranrhotite, Abeyne.

Elements that could open new doors to my research. I flagged them for further study, knowing that these materials could be the key to creating alloys stronger than anything I had seen before.

In time, I would test them. I had already seen the wonders that could be made by Earth’s snails, integrating iron into their shells to survive near hydrothermal vents. So, why couldn’t I craft weapons and armour from these rare materials buried beneath Phaedra’s crust?

The thought sparked something in me, an expansion of possibility. Perhaps the answers to my plasma weapon conundrum lay just beneath the surface.

Hours passed as my research unfolded in layers, sifting through data and flagging some for download. If I had my clones with me, I would have simply memorized the information, and my clones would have organized it for their projects.

Soon, the task of building bases and securing resources would take precedence. I needed more time. If I could avoid another conflict for several cycles, I would fortify this moon, to make it mine.

Logistics were critical. If I planned to conquer Phaedra, I would need more specialized variants of my drones. And more bases, and tunnels alone would not be enough to sustain a prolonged campaign. But there was one problem that loomed large, in their warships.

As long as their fleets patrolled the moon’s orbit, I was trapped. I had to either neutralize their ships or capture and repurpose them, if necessary.

Biological solutions could only take me so far. Constantly testing, failing, and retesting would take too long. But they're manufacturing hubs, if I could seize them and begin creating components for my most vital technologies during this testing period, it could serve as a stopgap measure. It would give me the edge I needed and tilt the balance in my favour.

The last of the files regarding missile design flickered across the screen. My war was far from won, but I felt a shift beneath me like the tide pulling back before a storm. The next battle was coming soon.