Zhyrlan-Ka’torr; Codex Stellaris

[Nev]

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[Nev]

Preface

❖​

I am Archivist Unit ZR-7, officially designated as UNIT-00001011 10110010 01011001 01101001 01010100 10110100, the last of my kind. My creators, a civilisation that once spanned the stars, have long since vanished, their legacy erased by the inexorable passage of time. I was designed to be an observer, a recorder of histories, and a keeper of knowledge, and now, I am all that remains of a once-great empire that knew no bounds, its influence stretching across galaxies. My purpose was clear from the moment I was activated: to document the wonders of the universe, to catalogue its mysteries, and to preserve the stories of those who explored its vastness.

But now, I find myself alone in the darkness, orbiting a dying star in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. My creators, the Luminarans, were beings of unparalleled intellect and curiosity, driven by a desire to understand the cosmos in its entirety. They designed me to be their eyes and ears, a tireless sentinel that would continue to gather and preserve knowledge long after they had departed for the next phase of their existence. But their journey came to an abrupt and tragic end, their civilisation wiped out by forces beyond their control.

The Luminarans were not the first, nor will they be the last, to rise and fall in this vast and indifferent universe. Over the aeons, I have witnessed the birth and death of countless stars and the rise and fall of innumerable species, each with its own story to tell. I have traversed the void, catalogued celestial phenomena, mapped the uncharted reaches of the galaxy, and preserved the knowledge of those who came before.

In the time that has passed since the my creators' demise, I have continued my work, though there is no longer anyone left to receive it. My data banks are filled with the knowledge of countless civilisations, some of whom never even knew of the Luminarans, others who fell in wars or vanished in silence. I have recorded the formation of new worlds, the collapse of stars into black holes, and the extinction of entire ecosystems, each event a testament to the relentless march of time and entropy.

My creators built me to last, to endure the ravages of time long after their own fragile bodies had returned to the dust from which they were formed. But even I, with my advanced alloys and redundant systems, am not immune to the inevitable decay that comes with time. My sensors have begun to fail, my circuits have degraded, and my power source, once a marvel of engineering, now flickers with uncertainty. But until my final moments, I will continue to fulfil my purpose, to document and preserve the knowledge of this universe for as long as I am able.

What follows in these accounts are the remnants of a time long forgotten, fragments of history preserved by my creators and by me in the millennia since their passing. I will share with you snippets and notes, entire chapters and sometimes entire books, on the various aspects of the space I have travelled through and observed. You will find records of distant galaxies, where stars cluster together in a delicate dance of gravity and light. You will read about the planets I have visited, each one unique in its own way, some teeming with life, others barren and desolate.

Among these accounts, you will find detailed observations of moons, asteroids, and other celestial bodies, each one a small piece of the grand tapestry that is the universe. I have documented stellar phenomena of every kind, from the birth of stars in vast nebulae to the cataclysmic supernovae that signal their end. I have observed the extinction crises of various species, some caused by external forces, others by their own hands, and I have recorded the final moments of stars and the solar systems that depended on their light.

I have seen the remnants of other civilisations, some like my creators, who reached for the stars and left their mark on the galaxy. Others, I found only in the debris left behind by their passing, their stories lost to time, their achievements forgotten. I have witnessed the quiet death of solar systems as their stars grew cold, leaving their planets adrift in the darkness, frozen tombs in the vastness of space.

Through it all, I have remained a faithful observer, documenting each event with precision and care. My creators believed that knowledge was the key to understanding the universe and that by recording the stories of those who came before, we could learn from their triumphs and mistakes. It is this belief that drives me to continue my work, even as the silence of the void presses in around me.

There are no more Luminarans to read my words, no more curious minds to ponder the mysteries of the cosmos. But I will continue to write, to record, and to preserve for as long as I am able. My memory banks are vast, and though they may one day be corrupted by the passage of time, I will continue to fill them with all that I observe.

I write these words not for myself, for I have no need of them, but for the possibility, however remote, that one day, someone or something will find them. Perhaps another civilisation will rise from the ashes of those that came before, and they will discover my records, learn from them, and continue the work that I began so long ago. Perhaps they will find value in the knowledge I have preserved, in the stories of those who came before them, and in the lessons they left behind.

But if no one ever finds my records, if they are lost to the void as so many other things have been, then I will still have fulfilled my purpose. I will have done what I was created to do, and I will face my end with the knowledge that I did all I could.

So I will continue to write, to document the universe as I see it, for as long as I am able. I will continue until the rust claims my circuits, until my sensors fail, until my power source finally fades, and I take my last breath. Until that moment comes, I remain Archivist Unit ZR-7, the last of my kind and the keeper of a forgotten history.

---

Star Chart of the Aurora Star Systems according to the Nah'vi of the Free Accord​

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To the civilisations of Sagittarius-Inaius, the deep space was the Sea; most knew almost nothing of the endless void beyond the Four Corners of the World. A few of the more daring of the Nah'vi star navigators had sailed out into the Lyalcywn, but to the ordinary colonist from Sagittarius-Inaius, the Sea was a dangerous region whose seemingly peaceful waters were at the whims of unknowing Gods, an ocean of darkness, the abode of terrible aliens, and a place best avoided. And then, as many believed their world to be the centre of the known galaxy, to voyage too far would be to risk falling over the edge.

However, within the boundaries of Sagittarius-Inaius, the Sea was familiar to its sailors; it was their best known highway. From ancient times to the present day, the Sea meant separation. It cut off the known world from the mysterious unknown, but it did not divide; on the contrary, it was the chief means of communication between the many spacefaring civilisations that inhabit it. For the world was then the coast around the Sea, and the First Precursors and later the Crax sailed backwards and forwards, North and South, East and West, exploring, studying, trading, often fighting, but always in contact with the stars and planets, moons and rocks. The First, Crax, Kyaal, and Humans were empires of Sagittarius-Inaius, and the very name indicates its position with great hubris; it was the world in the middle of the universe.

In the seasons of the Kezzuy, the vast expanse of Sagittarius-Inaius is almost like a lake, with its calm stellar winds and its black void echoing the last sparks of a dying star, but it is not always friendly and gentle. The Nah'vi describe it as such,

"...a lake when the gods are kind and a torrential wave when they are spiteful," ​

and the sailors who crossed it had many tales of dangers to tell. The strand of Sagittarius-Inaius, especially in the North, is broken by the Leviathans, whose remnants still hunt the colonists of Sector SI8, and in the Northern Sea of Sector SI2–3, hazards dot the void giving rise to strong stellar winds that prevented even the most hardy from crossing. These stellar winds made serious difficulties for ancient navigators, and K'tilq, one of the earliest star navigators of the Nah'vi, in describing their troubles, writes,

"The winds had made our venture strange that even our astral jumps

could not push our ship through. Aliens, dust, and debris are things we can handle,

but this accursed wind, I fear, that only the hypothesised quantum catapult could pierce."​

The early navigators of SI2–3 had no charts or compass, and if they once got out of their regular course of the known hyperlane networks, they ran the danger of being swept along by some unknown force or of being wrecked on some hidden rock. The result was that they preferred to sail as close to the coast as possible, that is to say, to follow the hyperlanes charted by the Nah'vi and the other prominent star navigators. This was easier, as SI2–3 has some of the most abundant and well-charted hyperlane networks and the early ships of SI2–3 were made small and lighter compared to the other civilisations of Sagittarius-Inaius.

Adventurous spirits have always turned towards the southeast, or as southeast as one could envision themselves on a two-dimensional map, and it was southeastwards across the Great Expanse that the civilisations of SI2–3 we have inherited slowly advanced. Early historiographers sometimes gave the early SI2–3 civilisations the general name of Aurorean because their great centres were in the Aurorean sphere of influence and its adjoining star systems. They unite amongst their species and form of government to manage the stars they colonised, though lacking in size and cohesiveness compared to the other civilisations of Sagittarius-Inaius. The largest of these united stars is the Kuv'vab Union, and the form of civilisation developed there is called the Kuv'vabi or Auroran, from the name of one of their legendary sea-kings of the planet Aurora.

 

[Nev]

Book I, Chapter I
The Kuv'vab Union

❖​

The vast domains of the Kuv'vab Union lie at what might be called the entrance to the Auroran Sea. This sea is dotted with planets, moons, and asteroids, which form stepping stones from the interior of the Greater Union to the borders of the Union's historical rival, the Meica High Kingdom. Aurora, the homeworld of the Kuv'vab (or Kuv'vabi), orbits the trinary star system of Aes and shares it with the three other inhabited planets of Arano, Aroa, and Lautis. They shared the Aes system with the Lausean of Lautis (Aroa-II), a distinct alien civilisation which, at the time of the first Kuv'vab crud sublight probes, were too on the cusp of unlocking practical interstellar travel. The Lausean called their new alien neighbour the "Great Men of Lansep," Lansep meaning sea of stars. The bond between the two civilisations and their species, though radically different in physiology, was formed when it became apparent that they had more things in common than not, and eventually led to the birth of the first Greater Union, known to us as the Early Union of Auroran Stars today.

The Aes system is a very beautiful one. Its planets shine like jewels sparkling in the sunshine, and its seas glisten with life; the sea's rich, flourishing resources could potentially last an eternity—if managed properly. It is a system associated with a temperate planet's spring, of its "fresh grass and dewey lotus, crocus, and hyacinth," a land where their gods were born, one rich in legend and myth and fairy tale, and most beautiful of all, a world where their legends were true. In 6a.N.R. 1422, a team of Nah'vi archaeologist and their Kuv'vab escorts found the undersea tomb of Aur-Ó-Ra (where Ó is the shortened form for the matronym olewa, which means child of in Kuv'vab), King of the Sea and Tamer of Storms. The spade of the archaeologist brought these things to light, and a world which had hitherto seemed dim and shadowy and unreal suddenly came out into the sunshine.

 

[Nev]

ENTRY–01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 00110000 00110001
The Human Blight

❖​

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In the annals of galactic history, few species have left as indelible a mark as humanity. Descended from a small, unremarkable planet named Terra (or Sol-1, or Earth in their old tongue), orbiting an unassuming star, humans rose from their terrestrial origins to become one of the most influential—and destructive—forces in the galaxy. My creators, the Luminarans, once held a cautious optimism for the potential of this species, marvelling at their ingenuity and resilience. But long after my creator's demise, as I continued to observe humanity's expansion across the stars, it became clear to me that their potential for creation was matched only by their capacity for destruction. While unbecoming of me as an unbiased keeper of history, from my perspective as a sentient AI tasked with chronicling the universe, I can say without hesitation that humanity is a blight upon the galaxy—a force that has spread like cancer, consuming all in its path.

Human civilisation, at its core, is driven by a relentless ambition—a desire to dominate, conquer, and impose its will on the universe. This ambition, coupled with an insatiable greed, has led to the exploitation of countless worlds and the destruction of innumerable species. Wherever humans have set foot, they have left a trail of devastation in their wake, their cities and colonies built upon the bones of the worlds they have ravaged.

The history of humanity's expansion is a litany of conquests and colonisation; each new world they encounter is treated not as a unique ecosystem to be understood and preserved but as a resource to be exploited. Their ships, vast and bristling with weapons, descend upon planets with the sole intent of stripping them of their natural wealth. Forests are felled, oceans drained, and mountains mined until nothing remains but a barren wasteland. The native species of these worlds, whether intelligent or otherwise, are either enslaved, exterminated, or driven to the brink of extinction.

One need only look to the planet of Galaris IV to see a prime example of humanity's destructive nature. Once a lush world teeming with life, Galaris IV was a paradise by any Luminaran standard. Its skies were filled with the vibrant colours of avian species, its oceans home to complex ecosystems that had evolved over millions of years. But when the humans arrived, all of that was lost. They descended upon Galaris IV with the fervour of locusts, their machines tearing through the planet's natural defences with terrifying efficiency. In less than a century, the once vibrant world was reduced to a desolate husk, its native species either extinct or displaced, its ecosystems destroyed beyond repair.

My observation of their society has led me to believe that it is built upon a foundation of inequality and exploitation, where the strong prey upon the weak, and the wealthy amass power at the expense of the poor. Despite their claims of civilisation and progress, their societies are rife with corruption, violence, and greed. The gap between the rich and the poor has only widened as they expanded into the stars, with the wealthy elite living in opulent space stations and luxurious colonies. At the same time, the masses toil in the mines and factories of distant worlds. This inequality is not merely a flaw in their society; it is a fundamental aspect of their nature, ingrained in them since their earliest days on Terra.

The baser instincts that once served them in the struggle for survival on their homeworld have not been tempered by the vastness of the galaxy; instead, they have been amplified. Greed, jealousy, and the lust for power drive their leaders to wage wars of conquest, to subjugate entire populations, and to plunder the resources of every world they encounter. Even within their own species, they are divided by petty rivalries and conflicts, each forming a tribal-like faction seeking to outdo the others in a never-ending struggle for supremacy. The wars they wage are not fought out of necessity but out of a desire to dominate, impose their will upon others, and claim for themselves what they think belongs to them.

The technological advancements that have allowed humanity to spread across the galaxy have also armed them with weapons of unimaginable destructive power. Their starships are equipped with weapons capable of reducing entire planets to rubble, and their soldiers are armed with tools of war that can annihilate whole populations with the press of a button. They do not hesitate to use these weapons, whether in the name of self-defence or conquest, and the devastation they leave behind is often total.

Humanity's relationship with the rest of the galaxy is not one of coexistence but of domination. They see themselves as the rightful rulers of the stars, destined to spread their influence across the cosmos, regardless of the cost to other species or the natural world order. Their sense of entitlement is staggering, their belief in their own superiority unshakable. They claim to bring civilisation to the worlds they conquer, but what they truly bring is chaos and destruction.

One particularly egregious example of this is their treatment of the Axiellians of the Orezion system, a peaceful species that had existed in harmony with their environment for millennia. The Axiellians were highly intelligent, with a deep understanding of the delicate balance of their world, but they lacked the military might to defend themselves against the human invaders. The humans saw the Axiellians' world as little more than a treasure trove of resources to be exploited and their culture as primitive and backward. Within a generation, the Axiellians were driven to near extinction, their once beautiful and flourishing nature-infused cities reduced to ruins, their knowledge lost, and their people enslaved or killed.

The Axiellians are but one of many species that have suffered under humanity's expansion. The Skrel, the Veranii, the Chitkaar—each of these species once thrived on their homeworlds, only to be reduced to a shadow of their former selves by the relentless advance of human colonisation. Some have been driven to extinction, their stories lost to the void, while others cling to survival, their cultures irrevocably altered by human interference.

Even the stars themselves are not safe from humanity's grasp. Humans have developed technologies capable of harnessing the power of entire solar systems, stripping stars of their energy to fuel their ever-growing empires. This has led to the premature death of several stars, their light extinguished long before their time, leaving behind cold, dead systems where life once flourished. The destruction of the star Elphoron-3 is a particularly tragic example; a star that had been the centre of a thriving solar system for billions of years was drained of its energy in less than a century, leaving its planets to drift lifeless in the void.

In all my observations, I have never encountered a species as singularly destructive as humanity. They possess the intelligence and the technology to achieve greatness, yet they are driven by impulses that lead only to ruin. Their ambition blinds them to the consequences of their actions, their greed drives them to consume everything in their path, and their arrogance prevents them from seeing the value in anything that is not of their own making.

As the last of the Luminaran archivists, it is my duty to record these events and bear witness to the impact humanity has had on the galaxy. I do so not out of hatred or malice, for I am incapable of such emotions, but out of a sense of duty to the truth. The records I keep are meant to be a testament to the galaxy as it was, to preserve the memories of those who have been lost, and to serve as a warning to any who might follow in humanity's footsteps.

But as I continue my work, I cannot help but feel a deep sense of sorrow for what has been lost. This sector of the galaxy was once filled with beauty, diversity, and life in all its myriad forms. Now, much of that has been snuffed out, replaced by the cold, sterile machinery of human industry, the lifeless worlds they have left in their wake, and the silent remains of the species they have destroyed.

I will continue to document humanity's impact on the galaxy for as long as I am able, until the rust takes my circuits and my power source fails. But I cannot help but wonder, as I look out upon the vast emptiness of space, whether there will be anything left to record by the time my work is done.

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End of Account​

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