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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ProfessorConcord on 2025-06-29 16:49:05+00:00.
Earth is a world layered in deep, ancient history.
Millions of years ago, a race of primates descended from the trees and rose to become the planet’s first sentient species. They shaped the world to their will—no longer mere animals, but architects of civilization.
Then, in a cataclysm lost to time, they vanished.
Only scattered remnants of their greatness remained—silent ruins, forgotten machines, fractured languages etched in stone. For ages, these fragments lay buried beneath the soil… until a second sentient species emerged to walk the Earth.
The Renai.
They uncovered the echoes of those who came before—and used them to build a future of their own.
But the first ones were not gone.
Not entirely.
This is the story of their return.
This is the story of the Wayfinder.
Memory Log – Subject: Moonoke Wokia
Occupation: Renai Archaeologist and Linguist
Date [Standardized Human Time]: August 18, 48,000,018
The car ride lasted nearly three hours. We passed sprawling farmlands, industrial corridors, and long stretches of forest broken only by the occasional checkpoint or telegraph line. By the time the horizon finally gave way to the towering skyline of the capital, my nerves had shifted from anxious to numb.
There was no mistaking the Spire. It rose like a blade of stone and steel above the rest of the city—a monument to ideals that, depending on who you asked, were either noble or naïve. To the patriotic, it was a beacon of freedom and liberation—built in defiance of the old West Cogin Empire, a shining symbol of the Republic’s break from tyranny. At least, that’s how the nationalist rhetoric went.
To me, it was just a very tall building with very powerful antennas. Second most powerful radio tower on this side of the continent, in fact, which was useful when communicating over long distances.
I’d visited many corners of the supercontinent over the years—crossed the Great Divide, studied ruins in foreign territories, spoken with scholars and farmers alike. And the more I traveled, the more clearly I saw it: my homeland wasn’t the utopia it claimed to be. Yes, we opposed slavery and the grotesque eugenics programs gaining popularity in the western states. That was something. But ideals like freedom and equality… they rang hollow when held up to the light.
In practice, they were conditional—loyalties bought and sold, opportunities hoarded by the powerful. Literacy remained a luxury. Education, a privilege. Fewer than half our population could read or write, and those that could often did so at the mercy of corrupt bureaucrats or local councils more interested in preserving control than cultivating minds.
But I digress.
I wasn’t here to debate political ideals or dissect the flaws of our institutions. I had been summoned for a far greater purpose—one that would have sounded like pure fantasy just hours ago. I was here to establish contact with an ancient, advanced species that had once ruled this planet. The Precursors. Humans. And if all went well… to help lay the foundation for peaceful relations between our kinds.
Though my expression remained composed, my nerves coiled tightly beneath the surface. To say I was nervous would be a laughable understatement. The situation was fragile—history balanced on the edge of a blade. One misstep, one poorly chosen word, could collapse everything.
This was no academic exercise. This was first contact. And the stakes could not have been higher.
That they were far more advanced than us was beyond dispute. Most of our own technological leaps—electric engines, composite alloys, even rudimentary computing—were made possible only because of what the Precursors left behind. We were living in the echo of their golden age. Compared to them, we were children playing with the bones of giants.
If it ever came to war… it would be a cataclysm. One we would not survive.
I could only hope it would never come to that.
The fact that they had reached out in peace, despite the reality that we now lived on the ruins of their old world—despite how primitive we must seem to them—was a hopeful sign. It suggested patience. Perhaps even empathy.
But I couldn’t afford to let my optimism blind me. Archaeological records were clear on one thing: the Precursors, for all their brilliance, could be extremely violent when provoked. Conflicts between their nations had left scars that still marked the earth to this day—entire cities turned to ash, chemical traces buried in soil layers, ruins melted by heat we still didn’t understand.
I would need to be careful. Very careful.
The vehicle came to a sudden stop, jolting me forward in my seat. Before I could collect my thoughts, the door swung open and I was ushered out by a pair of soldiers. They moved with purpose, flanking me on either side as we crossed the paved plaza and entered the towering structure of the Spire.
Inside, the air was thick with tension.
The Capitol was a flurry of movement—uniformed personnel moving in tight formations, weapons being checked and distributed, radios crackling with clipped orders. The corridors echoed with bootsteps and low, urgent voices. It looked less like a center for diplomacy and more like the staging ground for a military campaign.
So much for a peaceful reception, I thought grimly.
Commander Versis remained close at my side, walking in step as we moved deeper into the building. His presence was steadying, even if everything else wasn’t.
“Mind if I ask you something, Doctor?” he said, his tone more casual now—almost conversational.
“You’re free to,” I replied, a bit more flatly than I intended. The tension must’ve been bleeding into my voice. Still, if he took offense, he didn’t show it.
“If it came to war with these beings,” he asked quietly, “what would the likelihood of our species’ survival be?”
I glanced at him, catching a rare glimpse of vulnerability beneath his otherwise composed exterior. His posture remained rigid, his expression neutral—but there was something in his eyes. A tension. A question he already feared the answer to.
And he was right to fear it.
“I don’t think you’re going to like my answer, General,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But if I had to give an honest assessment… our chances would be very poor.”
He said nothing, but I could feel his silence deepen.
“We’re talking about a civilization that left us behind millions of years ago,” I continued. “All of our modern technology—our engines, our radios, even basic metallurgy—exists only because of what they left behind. We’ve been playing catch-up without even realizing it. And while we’ve been crawling toward the edge of our own orbit, they’ve had millennia to advance further into space.”
I hesitated, then added, “And that’s just their technology.”
He turned his head slightly, listening more closely now.
“Physically, they’re stronger, more durable, and significantly larger. Six feet tall on average—double our height. Thicker bones, stronger muscle mass, and from what remains we’ve studied… a far greater tolerance for environmental extremes. The only area where we might outrun them is, well—literally outrunning them. But even that’s hardly an advantage in a war.”
I didn’t need to say it aloud. The image spoke for itself: facing beings from the stars, armed with knowledge we didn’t understand, strength we couldn’t match, and a history we had only guessed at.
Versis gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Then I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
The rest of the walk passed in silence.
No one spoke—not Versis, not the soldiers flanking us. There was nothing more to say, and too much already weighing on our minds. Eventually, we reached a large steel-reinforced door guarded by another pair of soldiers. It slid open with a hiss, revealing a room buzzing with activity.
It was chaos.
The air was thick with the smell of ozone and ink. Machinery lined the walls—bulky radio banks, humming signal analyzers, and projection equipment that looked cobbled together from both modern and salvaged parts. Wires crisscrossed the floor like veins, and scattered papers covered every surface. Scientists, engineers, and politicians argued in clusters, voices clashing over jargon, strategy, and bureaucratic panic.
And then I saw him.
At the center of the room, seated at a cluttered table stacked with documents and half-drunk mugs of stim brew, was a figure I recognized instantly—Lord Minister Carvas Tinas. His face, known from endless posters and propaganda, had aged more than the images let on. What had once been a strong shade of brown fur was now dulled to a slate gray, and the trademark confident expression he wore in public broadcasts was nowhere to be found.
Here, he looked small. Tired. His hands were clasped together, knuckles pale, trembling ever so slightly.
As Versis and I entered, his eyes snapped to us. Relief washed over his features like a tide. “Oh, thank Lonai,” he breathed, standing quickly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He crossed the room in brisk, uneven strides and extended a hand to me.
“Doctor Wokia,” he said, gripping my paw with surprising urgency. “Thank you—truly—for coming. I trust Commander Versis has briefed you? We’re in desperate need of your expertise. This…
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