Four years later
The season had turned colder again, though Jinyue no longer minded. Frost clung to the ground like a thin breath of glass, coating the metal shells and scattered debris around their camp. Smoke curled from a compact heating unit Cody had set near the fire pit, a pale column twisting toward the dull white sky.
Jinyue crouched near the flames, turning a piece of salvaged plating in his hands. The edge had been worn smooth by time; the surface etched with Dominion markings that no longer meant anything. He studied it out of habit more than curiosity.
Cody was nearby, sorting their haul from the day's expedition; old cables, alloy shards, sealed containers they had yet to open. His movements were efficient, one hand scanning, the other storing, his mechanical joints clicking softly in the cold.
Jinyue's hair, long and silver-white, moved with the lightest gust of air. Years ago, he had considered cutting it. Now, he couldn't imagine himself without it. It fell past his shoulders, soft and weightless, always escaping its loose tie when he worked. His tail swayed lazily behind him, a steady rhythm that matched his thoughts. He could control it perfectly well, but he never did. It was easier to let it move as it wished, and in truth, he enjoyed the quiet motion.
His body had changed, even grown taller, much to his delight. The years of work, of hauling metal and climbing through wreckage, had made him stronger, more sure in his movements. His reflexes had sharpened until he moved without thinking.
Cody had once commented that his physical strength now matched a strong subfemale... an observation that had both pleased and unsettled Jinyue. Among Zergs, strength defined rank and attraction. The realisation that his body could draw interest for something so primitive made him uneasy enough for his tail to bristle.
Cody, naturally, had been delighted to share everything he knew about Zerg courtship. He spoke at length about the female tendency toward physical dominance, recounting with clinical enthusiasm how "whipping, restraining, and controlled aggression" were standard gestures of affection.
Jinyue had nearly dropped his tools the first time he heard it. "That's not love," he'd muttered, and Cody had replied, "It is cultural."
Now, seated near the fire, Jinyue smirked faintly at the memory. The conversation had become an ongoing argument between them—Cody defending "cultural norms," and Jinyue insisting he'd rather be alone than entertain madness his entire species had formed.
The cold wind shifted, scattering a few flakes of snow over his sketches. He reached out and caught the papers before they slipped away, his fingers moving with unconscious precision. He didn't even look as the sheets hovered back into place, guided by a faint flicker of his power. Metal scraps trembled in the air for a heartbeat before falling still. Cody glanced up from his sorting, lenses narrowing in quiet disapproval.
"You said you would not use your power when you're tired," Cody said.
"I'm not tired," Jinyue replied, still focused on aligning his notes.
"You were tired some minutes ago."
"I'm not now."
Cody made a small mechanical sound that passed for a sigh. "You develop selective hearing when I am correct."
Jinyue's eyes flicked up. "Selective patience," he said evenly.
That ended the exchange. They often argued like this, lightly, without any heat. The rhythm of it had settled into familiarity. Cody's concern was constant, woven through every word. Jinyue's deflections were practised, half amusement, half stubbornness and one hundred per cent pettiness. Let it be known that Jinyue was an inherently petty person for all his self-proclaimed patience.
Behind them, the vehicle rested in silence. Sleek and polished, its silver hull reflected the campfire glow. The UV unit had been their greatest repair, a scavenged rover turned all-terrain machine. Its once-clunky form was now streamlined through Jinyue's improvements. It carried them across the frozen plains, through ruined valleys, even up the hills where older ships lay buried.
They had spent the last few weeks scavenging one such wreck, a Dominion cruiser split open by years of impact. Jinyue had found enough power cells and material to last a year. He had also discovered a mineral deposit that, when processed, could sustain small reactors—a breakthrough that had saved the ship back home from its gradual decline.
He leaned back against a rock, watching the fading sky. It was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that carried a weight of habit rather than comfort. Cody's sensors hummed softly beside him, and Jinyue found himself tracing constellations with his eyes, though none of them meant anything in this sector.
Four years. Enough time to turn survival into routine. Enough time to forget what waiting for rescue used to feel like.
The next day
The old encampment hummed with the sound of Cody's systems waking from standby, the faint glow of his blue optics flickering through the haze.
Jinyue crouched beside the fire pit, stirring the dying embers. The flames burned low, feeding on scraps of compressed wood that he had made from the trash piles near the old ravine. His breath came out in pale clouds, and his long white hair was tied back in a loose tail that brushed over his collar. The cold did not bite him as it once did. His body, once so fragile and human in its reactions, now adjusted easily.
He lifted his head when Cody rolled closer, his treads leaving straight lines in the thin frost. The robot's mechanical limbs extended and began to pack the cooking gear into a metal case.
"Temperature drop registered. The cold season has officially begun," Cody announced, his voice bright despite the static. "We should reach the ship before sunset if we start moving now."
Jinyue nodded and rose, stretching his arms. His tail flicked once, smooth and instinctive. and though Cody claimed it made him look "too expressive," Jinyue had grown fond of its restless movements.
The vehicle they used stood a few meters away, a sleek, patched-together thing made of scavenged panels and hybrid systems. It was more practical than elegant, though the faint hum of its new energy cell was satisfying. Jinyue had fitted it himself from the remains of three crashed shuttles.
He began loading the crates they had collected. Metal scraps, mineral samples, a few usable circuit boards—all neatly stacked and labeled. Cody watched him for a while, then spoke again, softer this time.
"Your readings were irregular last night," he said. "You didn't sleep much."
"I was working," Jinyue replied, tightening a strap on the side compartment.
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
The conversation ended there, and they continued to work in silence.
Frost dusted the metal ridges of the wasteland as their vehicle rumbled over uneven ground. The cold morning had not yet broken into light. Jinyue kept one hand steady on the control lever while the other rested on his knee. The low hum of the engine filled the silence. Cody sat in the passenger compartment, sensors clicking quietly as he reviewed the morning's readings.
For a while, neither spoke. The air carried that kind of stillness that meant a storm in thought rather than in weather.
Then Cody said it.
"We should consider returning to the Dominion."
Jinyue's gaze stayed fixed on the path ahead. "No."
Cody replied. "Your susceptible period begins soon. Every year it leaves you weaker. You said you'd rest this time, but you said that last year too."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." Cody's voice came quickly, precise. "Your vitals have been unstable for three nights. Your sleep cycle is shortened, your energy readings are fluctuating, and your telekinetic output spikes without control. That's not fine."
Jinyue turned a dial and adjusted the vehicle's steering alignment. "The Dominion is not an option."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not suicidal," he said.
Cody's sensors flickered. "That's irrational. You're a male Zerg. They would treat you well."
"They'd dissect me." Jinyue's tone was even, but each word carried weight. "You've seen what they do with unknown mutations. You've told me about it yourself that day."
"That was centuries ago."
"They haven't changed." He glanced at Cody briefly. "You've been in their systems. You know how they classify anomalies. I'd be a test subject by the end of the week."
Cody paused, mechanical joints whirring as he processed that. "You can't manage alone forever."
"I have so far."
"At a cost."
Jinyue's lips curved into something between irritation and humour. "You sound like you've calculated it."
"I have."
He didn't respond. The wind outside howled across the metal plains. Shattered pieces of ships stretched into the fog like the skeletons of old beasts.
Cody continued. "You blacked out once—the first year. You didn't even know what was happening to you then. Since that time, you've managed it better, but your vitals still drop every cycle. Two weeks of weakness isn't normal, not for a male Zerg. With a companion, it would pass in a day or two."
Jinyue adjusted the control dial. "Then I'll manage without one."
"That's not the point." Cody's voice had a tight edge. "You push through the fatigue until you can't stand straight. Every year it gets harder for me to watch."
"It gets easier for me to endure," Jinyue said quietly.
"That isn't comfort."
"It's progress."
It really was, not that Cody would believe it, but he had been getting better and better at handling himself the last few times.
That silenced him for a moment. The vehicle hit a ridge and jolted. Jinyue steadied the control lever with calm precision.
Cody leaned forward, his tone clipped. "If you collapse again, I'll send a distress signal to the Dominion."
The words came out cold and sharp in the air.
Jinyue turned his head slowly, his expression unreadable. "You wouldn't dare."
"I would," Cody said. "I'm programmed to protect your life."
Jinyue's gaze hardened. "You're programmed to obey me."
"I'm programmed to use judgment when your choices endanger you."
"Then consider this judgment," Jinyue said quietly. "You send that signal, and you destroy everything we've built here. They'll come for me, and when they realise what I can do, they'll come for you too."
Cody's optics dimmed slightly. "You think I care about that?"
"Yes." Jinyue's voice softened but lost none of its edge. "Because for all your data and logic, you're afraid."
"Afraid?" Cody repeated.
"Of losing me."
The silence after that stretched. The vehicle's hum seemed to deepen. Cody's mechanical joints creaked as if the body didn't know how to hold emotion properly.
Finally, Cody said, quieter, "You think too highly of yourself."
"No," Jinyue said. "You do."
Cody's optics glowed faint blue again, the tone in his voice shifting from anger to exasperation. "You think this is pride, but it's stubbornness. You act detached because it's easier than admitting you're fragile."
"I'm not fragile."
"Then prove it by letting me help."
Jinyue's tail flicked again, betraying irritation. "You can't help with what isn't broken."
Cody leaned back, hands gripping the seat edge. "You're impossible."
"So are you."
They fell quiet again, the vehicle bumping over uneven terrain. The sky ahead began to brighten, pale silver stretching over the horizon. The cold reflected against Jinyue's skin, giving his features a faint glow. His long white hair caught the light like glass threads.
Cody broke the silence once more, voice quieter now. "Every time it happens, I see your readings drop. Your heart rate slows, your energy field spikes, and for a moment I think it's the last time you'll wake up. Do you expect me to ignore that?"
Jinyue sighed through his nose, though a warm feeling bubbled up within him. "You worry like an overbearing parent."
"I'm your caretaker."
"You're my survival partner," Jinyue corrected. "Not my warden."
Cody's tone faltered. "You're too young to talk like someone who's given up."
It then quickly shrivelled up.
"I'm not giving up." Jinyue's gaze stayed on the road. "I'm realistic."
"You're resigned."
"That too," Jinyue said with a faint smile.
Cody watched him for a long time, then said quietly, "When I first found you, I thought you'd die in a week."
Jinyue didn't respond; he thought the same thing, too, back then.
"You didn't," Cody continued. "You built a home here, fixed me, created power sources no one thought possible. You keep proving everyone wrong, except yourself. That's the only person left you refuse to believe in."
Jinyue slowed the vehicle slightly, turning toward the familiar route that led back to their base. His voice came soft and deliberate. "Belief isn't what keeps me alive, Cody. Work does."
"And what happens when work isn't enough?"
"Then I make it enough."
The words were simple, but they ended the discussion. Cody recognised that tone. It meant the line had been drawn, and pushing further would achieve nothing.
The hum of the engine filled the silence again. Outside, the frost glittered under the rising light, and the landscape stretched endlessly around them.
Cody stared ahead, sensors blinking in slow rhythm. Beneath the precision of his voice, something fragile lingered when he finally spoke again.
"One day, you'll push yourself too far, and I won't be able to stop it."
Jinyue didn't look at him. "Then you'll rebuild me. You're good at that."
It wasn't a joke, but Cody made a sound that almost resembled laughter. The kind that comes from something breaking and holding together at once.
They drove on in silence, through the wasteland of metal and frost, the argument unresolved but suspended...like every year before.