The Wraith hierarchy demands one - a voice that commands the hive. But I will not kneel again. The Queens rule through hunger and seduction. They rule the mind as much as the body. I severed that part of myself when I chose to evolve.
I will not create another who could whisper in my head.
So I made brothers instead. Warriors. Extensions of my own purpose.
They are bound to me by design - not through dominance, but through shared code. My blood, their blood - one current, one will.
Each of them understands what it is to be torn between two natures. I gave them purpose. I gave them strength where once there was fear. They gave me devotion - or at least, the illusion of it.
Not all were forced. Some came willingly.
The humans of this galaxy, proud and loyal, feared the Wraith's return. They sought protection, strength - a future for their kind.
I offered it.
They called it salvation. Later, they called it corruption. But in those first nights, when the serum burned through their veins and their senses sharpened, they wept not from pain, but from clarity.
Those who did come to me willingly - I honored them with full transformation. They became my brothers, my council, my sentinels.
Those who resisted, I remade anyway. They would learn to accept the gift. I tell myself that choice is an illusion - that those who resist simply do not yet understand. They will, in time.
Every brother is both soldier and scholar, both blade and mind. There is no hunger, no lust, no politics. There is only purpose.
The Lanteans mocked me for calling them "brothers." They saw monsters, not men.
But when they die, they die whispering my name - not as curse, but as prayer.
And yet, the serum is not without risk.
Some reject the virus. They burn from within, consumed by cellular war. I mourn them. Each loss is data, but also a death of potential.
Thalen was the closest to perfection - his mind too pure, his will too strong. He resisted until his body gave out. Eron, Matthis, Kelren - all burned in the early trials. Their remains are stored for study. Their sacrifice ensures the others will endure.
I have created forty-three in total. Twenty-nine remain operational. Six were volunteers. The rest were chosen.
When Atlantis falls, when the humans and Wraith tear each other apart, my brothers will inherit the ashes.
They will not feed. They will not age.
They will survive.
When we move as one, even I can feel the hum of unity beneath the skin. A single heartbeat across a dozen bodies. It is... peace.
࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Those who did come to me willingly - I honored them with full transformation. They became my brothers, my council, my sentinels.
These are their names:
Kanaan - the First Brother. He resisted, but his body accepted the change. His will bent only when he saw what I could make him into. His loyalty is imperfect, yet his potential remains unmatched.
Kaelthar - the second-born. Proud, fierce, unyielding. I crafted him to command, and he obeys instinctively. He called me "brother" once.
Vaelis - silent guardian. He watches the others, not for me, but for the idea present. Once condemned by his people as a Wraith-worshipper. They were not wrong. He worships me now.
Rynath - the quiet one. Once an Athosian hunter, now a shadow that moves through walls and whispers in dreams. He does not speak unless I command it.
Merin - taken from Belka. Broken soldier, lost to battle before I found him. I rebuilt him. In return, he offered himself freely. He believed in the new order.
Corath - the thinker, a Hoffan. The first to understand that the serum is not a curse, but an invitation. He helped me perfect the process, then asked to be remade himself.
Torvek - brute strength embodied. His humanity was thin to begin with; the hybrid form suits him.
࣪ ִֶָ☾.
These are my creations - my line of brothers. I have taken from them nothing but weakness, and given them everything they require: purpose, clarity, and unity. They are mine. They exist to perfect the balance I have sought since my first encounter with the Lanteans. No Queen, no rival, only purpose. Each one is a reflection of my design, a fragment of what the galaxy may yet become.
