Humans and Humans

Io lets out a slow breath, watching the trees as we walk. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before.

"We were always here."

She doesn’t look at me, just keeps walking. I stay silent, letting her continue.

"Long ago, before temples, before kings, before words were carved into stone—we were all the same. Humans. We hunted, we built, we bled. But there was one difference."

She gestures toward herself. "Us."

"At first, it didn’t matter. We lived together, shared fire, shared blood. But then… they noticed something." She glances at me. "Do you know what happens when one of us has a child with one of them?"

I shake my head.

"The child is always like us."

She pauses, letting the weight of that statement settle.

"Not sometimes. Not most of the time. Always." She turns her gaze forward again. "It didn’t matter if a thousand of them mixed with a thousand of us. The children were always born with our skin, our eyes, our ears."

"At first, it was a gift. Our people spread, our tribes grew strong. But then, the fear came."

Io stops walking. Turns to me.

"They thought we were stealing their future. That their children—born looking like us—weren’t really theirs at all."

Her lips press together for a moment.

"So they cast us out."

I swallow. "Just because of how you looked?"

"At first, yes. But then, they needed a reason. A justification. So they created one."

She starts walking again, voice steady, but edged with something sharp.

"We weren’t their brothers anymore. We were something else. Something wrong."

"We were spirits, demons, tricksters sent to steal their bloodlines. And as their temples grew, as their kings built cities, their hatred became law."

"It wasn’t enough to exile us. They had to make sure no one would ever see us as human again."

She clenches her fists.

"That’s when they gave us a new name."

She spits it out like poison.

"Heretics."

"They preached love, unity, peace… but only for those who were truly human. And we weren’t. Not anymore, not to them"

"The hatred changed with the times. When their faith was young, they burned us. When their faith became law, they hunted us. And now?" She gestures vaguely at the forest. "They pretend we don’t exist."

"Most of them don’t even know the truth anymore. They’ve told the same lies for so long that even their scholars believe them."

"They call us something else now. Something polite. They say we’re ‘other,’ ‘not of man.’ They say we are not real. A forgotten race that once walked the world but is now gone."

She looks at me, eyes cold.

"But I am here."

###

Io exhales, shaking her head. "You ask what we are? We are nothing but the children of a broken family. A family that does not want us anymore."

I don’t know what to say.

So I just walk beside her.

The silence between us stretches, thick but not uncomfortable. The weight of everything Io just told me lingers in the air, settling deep in my mind. The history, the hatred, the centuries of erasure—it’s too much to process at once.

###

Beep.

Large dataset acquired. Active Mode available. Enable?

I blink. Right. The "Active Mode"—the feature I never had a reason to test. A marketing gimmick, something that sounded futuristic enough to sell but not something I ever thought I’d use. Supposedly, it could do more than translate—it could predict and construct sentences based on context.

If I keep learning at my current rate, it'll take me months to reach full fluency. I could survive, yes—but I wouldn’t be able to really communicate. Not in any meaningful way. And after everything Io just told me, I need to respond.

I exhale slowly. “Yes.” I whisper, confirming the activation.

For a moment, nothing happens. No sudden clarity, no burst of understanding. Just… the same silence between us.

Maybe it needs a push.

I glance at Io, her expression unreadable. She just shared something deeply personal—her history, her reality. And I can’t just sit here, mute.

I take a breath.

"I said I don’t know what to call myself anymore." The words feel strange on my tongue—like they’re mine, but also not. Like the implant is filling in the blanks just before I reach for them.

Io’s eyes widen slightly. Just a fraction. But she heard it. She heard that I was finally speaking her language.

She doesn’t look at me, but there’s curiosity in her expression. "What of it?"

I take a breath. "You said I’m Nate. So, I say you are Io. Io the human, walking through this forest with Nate the human."

For a moment, I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing.

Then, a small, almost hesitant smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

"That’s a nice thought."

And just like that, we keep walking. Two humans, lost in a world that says only one of us belongs.

###

I never had to tell this story to anyone. I have no children. I'm not a teacher. And the merchants? They don’t care about my side of things.

I don’t even know why I kept talking. He barely understands our language—at least, that’s what I thought. Maybe it didn’t matter whether he understood every word. Just saying it out loud… It’s strangely comforting.

But now comes the real test.

If he’s connected to the church, this is where he shows it. I just committed one of their greatest sins—questioning their truth, speaking as if we are human. If he’s one of them, he should react.

And then—

"I said I don’t know what to call myself anymore."

I freeze.

What?

Why?

How?

The words come out smoother than before. Stilted, yes, but coherent—far more than he managed earlier. And he’s not shocked, not outraged, not disgusted. He just… continues the conversation. As if everything I told him was just a fact, not a heresy.

Was he pretending? Did he just slip up?

I narrow my eyes. "What of it?" Show yourself, Nate. What exactly are you?

"You said I’m Nate. So, I say you are Io. Io the human, walking through this forest with Nate the human."

The breath catches in my throat.

That’s the first time… anyone but my own people has called me human.