Tales of Yibixus: Dasha

So - for those of you who are keeping up with this story and Grimalkin lore - this should be an interesting entry.
The story needed another entry to 1. explore who Dasha is 2. Hint at repercussions of breaking the orb into shards. 3. Highlighting others who have gender swapped like Fritz wants to.
There's also a lot of deep world building here. I hope you enjoy this one (let me know if you do)

Dasha

Dasha sits alone on a small brick wall beneath the cascading petals of a blooming baum, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of fresh blossoms lingers in the air, mixing with the distant hum of the city. It's her first time outside the lab in weeks, and for a moment, she simply lets herself exist—eyes closed, ears attuned to the quiet rhythm of the world beyond sterile walls.

But the past is never far behind.

Her mind can’t help but think about when she was a kitten visiting the park nearby to where she’s sitting. She remembers so clearly wanting to play with the girls but never being allowed to. Always reserved to doing the things boys were supposed to.

That sense of injustice and wanting to belong has haunted her for so many years. Even now, after getting access to a Formador, she still feels like that lost boy, desperate to break free of the shackles placed upon him just for being born a certain way.

Dasha opens her eyes and, for a fleeting moment, has to remind herself of who she is now. She glances down at her paws and then at the crisp lines of her uniform. It fits perfectly—a testament to the body Dasha fought so hard to claim. She should feel triumphant. After all, she’s not just herself now; she’s the head researcher at the School of Vastin.

And yet, the victory feels hollow.

Just as she shifts to stand, a prickle of instinct stops her. Her ears twitch. The fur along her spine stiffens. Something isn’t right.

With a flick of her tail, she turns her gaze toward the towering baum tree nearby. Someone is watching her. Half-hidden behind the thick trunk, a figure in the unmistakable uniform of the Royal Guard stands, silent and waiting.

“C-can I help you?” Dasha asks, holding the rim of her glasses steady so she can try and make out a face.

The Royal Guard member steps out of cover. Instantly, Dasha’s instincts flare a warning. Whoever this Grimalkin is, they are bad news.

“Yes,” the woman says, approaching with her sword clearly on show as a subtle hint of her social status and power.

Dasha stands, knowing her instincts are usually right. She’s very suspicious, having never seen a vanguard operative outside of their jurisdiction. They must have a really good reason to be so deep into central Vastin.

“Your vanguard,” Dasha comments, pointing at the woman’s heavy-set combat gear. “There are no Interstella’s here. So, why are you in Vastin Royal Park?”

The woman steps forward, a smile playing on her lips. "Am I not allowed to enjoy this green space like everyone else?" Her voice carries a trace of sarcasm, light but deliberate.

She gestures toward the brick wall where Dasha had been sitting just moments ago. "Sit, my friend. I only wish to have a simple conversation."

“Discuss what?” Dasha sharply replies, showing her distrust in anything to do with the Royal Family.

“Please,” the woman gestures for her to sit. “It won’t take long.”

Dasha meets the woman’s gaze, unflinching. There’s that familiar, hollow stare—the look of a killer, one she’s only ever seen in members of the Royal Guard. Their eyes are lifeless, stripped of warmth as if the spark of life had been drained long ago.

She knows this look too well. Knows what it means. She’d seen it the day her sister fell in one of the Queen’s endless wars, another life lost in the pursuit of conquest.

“What’s your name?” Dasha asks, wondering if she may have served with her sister in the past.

“Lina,” the woman replies. “Now, please, Doctor Dasha,” she puts empathizes on her name as a powerplay of information. “Sit.”

“Fine,” Dasha concedes, settling back onto the brick wall. As Lina takes a seat beside her, Dasha meets her gaze and adds pointedly, “Just remember—this is a public place.”

“Such distrust,” Lina replies, wrinkling her nose and whiskers. “The Royal Guard, which I’m proudly part of, is for everyone’s protection, Doctor. Surely you know that.”

Dasha locks eyes with the woman, every instinct screaming at her. The smug, knowing expression on Lina’s face only deepens her unease. A cold weight settles in her chest—an unshakable feeling that her outspoken beliefs are finally coming back to haunt her.

“What is it you want?” Dasha asks, flicking her tail in frustration. “I’ve got a lecture to attend shortly.”

Lina takes a breath in and stares across the green pasture at the kittens playing in the park. Slowly, she leans forward and looks down at the floor.

“I’ve read your research papers,” Lina speaks softly and slowly turns her head to see Dasha’s reaction. “On the Origin of Formadors.”

“And what?” Dasha snaps, her tone sharp with defiance. Instinctively, she curls her fingers, tucking her claws out of sight. “Have you come to silence me now?”

Lina leans back against the wall, her laughter light and mocking as she gazes up at the midday sky. “No, not at all. I’m actually quite intrigued by what you have to say.” She turns her gaze back to Dasha, her eyes unwavering and devoid of any emotion. “Tell me, what do you think of the theory that Formadors are a naturally occurring genetic response to some threat to our species' survival?”

Furrowing her brow, Dasha is confused and concerned by such a question. She asks it so openly and in such a public place when such ideas are so heavily regulated.

“Who are you?” Dasha asks, her voice steady but edged with suspicion. It’s the safest question to ask, a way to regain control of the conversation. “That kind of talk goes against the Royal Mandate,” she continues, her eyes narrowing. “You should know it’s considered impolite to suggest anything else, especially when everyone agrees that Formadors are just a natural byproduct of our people embracing Seele energy.”

“Ah, well said,” Lina smirks, her gaze briefly flickering to the sky. “Exactly, Doctor. I couldn’t have phrased it more perfectly myself.”

There’s a moment of silence. Dasha wonders if she should just get up and walk away, but just the mention of her work, published under a pseudonym, has her spooked. Clearly, this Lina woman knows more about her than she’s letting on.

“You’ve been researching the effects of Selee energy on our people, haven’t you, Doctor?”

“That is correct,” Dasha replies. “Under the watchful supervision of Royalty, yes. So, if you’re trying to arrest me, don’t bother, as I’m protected as long as I report my findings, as I have been.”

“Good, good,” Lina replies cheerfully. “Well, then, there’s no need to be so suspicious of me, is there?”

Dasha studies the woman sitting beside her, her gaze drawn to the subtle way Lina's paw hovers near the hilt of her sword as though the weapon offers some semblance of control. But something has shifted in Lina’s demeanor—beneath the rigid coldness, Dasha senses the flicker of something raw, something tortured.

There’s more to the sharing of controversial ideas going on here.

“I should go.” Dasha is about to stand when Lina rests her paw on her leg. Immediately, Dasha can feel Lina’s intent through the strength of her paw, holding her still. She looks at Lina’s matted paws. It doesn’t look like she’s washed herself in weeks.

“Sit,” Lina hisses but remains still as she looks off into the distance. “I’m not finished.”

“Take your paw off me,” Dasha snaps, irritation lacing her voice.

“Doctor…” Lina sighs, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s no way for a male to speak to a member of the Royal Guard.” She turns to face Dasha fully, locking eyes with her. The smug, almost predatory glint in her gaze sends an icy shiver down Dasha’s spine all the way to the tip of her tail.

“M-male?” Dasha’s voice falters, though she forces herself to sound firm. “Are you trying to insult me?”

Dasha breaks eye contact, her heart racing as nerves twist in her stomach. The pressure in the air grows heavy, and she can feel Lina’s gaze like a physical weight, scrutinizing her every movement.

“Alright, stop,” Dasha says, taking control of the conversation. “I don’t know what it is that you think you know about me, Lina. But clearly, you’re targeting me for some reason, and I want to know why?”

Lina slowly takes her paw from Dasha’s leg. “Good. Very good.”

Lina takes a more relaxed posture and crosses her legs as she leans back on her paws. “Doctor,” she says softly, once again watching the kittens play in the park across the green. “Tell me what you know about the Remnant.”

Dasha shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m not about to incriminate myself. Who are you working for, and why are you asking such questions of a stranger in public!?”

“Come, come, Dustin,” Lina smiles brightly, mentioning Dasha’s dead name with the utmost poignancy.”

Dasha’s expression falters, her breath catching in her throat. A surge of panic rises within her, and every instinct screams at her to flee. She can feel a cold tremor creeping through her body, a reaction she can’t suppress at the mere mention of the name she once held.

“It’s a crime, isn’t it?” Lina’s words cut through Dasha’s faltering composure like a sharpened knife. “Changing one’s gender through illegal use of a Formador. I’d hate for anyone to have done such a thing to be anywhere near me. It’s such abhorrent, cowardly behavior.”

Dasha clenches her jaw, holding back the urge to bear her fangs in response to Lina's calculated attempts to intimidate her. The tension coils in her chest, but she forces herself to stay composed. If Lina knows so much about her past, why hasn't she reported her for the illegal use of a Formador?

The question gnaws at her, but something in the woman's demeanor tells Dasha there’s more to this encounter than mere threats.

“The Remnant?” Dasha says, swallowing down her fear to give Lina what she wants.

“Please….,” Lina smiles politely. “If you wouldn’t be so kind.”

“I think it’ll be quicker for you to tell me what you want to know.”

“True.” Lina nods. “What do you know of its origins?”

Dasha takes in a deep breath. What she’s about to share is classified information. She shouldn’t know any of this, but her research demands it.

“Recovered from H01D,” Dasha replies, her voice barely above a whisper as she nervously rubs her paws together. She glances over at Lina, but the woman’s unblinking gaze holds her in place. “Hybrid 001 was used in its recovery. Only two known survivors from a scouting party of twenty.”

“Its origin,” Lina repeats, not interested in the information already found on the classified reporting. “You’ve been researching it in secret, Dustin. Tell me what you know of that thing’s origins.”

Dasha blinks several times in thought. Her voice cracks as she wonders exact information Lina requires.

“I... erm...” Dasha stumbles over her words for a moment, her gaze flickering as she tries to gather her thoughts. “It— it has no mass, and it seems impervious to external influences. Scans can’t penetrate its core, and it doesn’t emit any known radiation signature. Based on what we’ve observed, I’d say its technology is hundreds of years beyond anything we’ve developed.”

Lina listens, her nods slow and deliberate, but something about her shifts. Dasha’s gut churns as she watches the subtle change in Lina’s demeanor. Just moments ago, the woman had exuded control—calm, cool, unbothered. Now, her posture is tense, her movements stilted, and there's an undeniable flicker of unease beneath her stoic exterior.

“P-please, go on,” Lina mutters, her voice suddenly trembling as if the words themselves weigh heavier than before. There's a strange, almost frantic edge to it that sends a cold shiver down Dasha’s spine.

“Erm…” Dasha’s ears flick back as her thoughts spiral. “Research suggests it’s maybe hundreds of millions of years old.” She touches her whisker nervously. “Those who've come into direct contact with it… they report hearing voices in their heads and a strange, almost comforting warmth when they’re close.”

Lina’s expression tightens, her gaze sharpening with unsettling intensity. “Yes, reports,” she murmurs, nodding repeatedly. “What do they say? Tell me about the voices... and the nightmares.”

Dasha’s eyes widen, her heart skipping a beat. She watches as Lina’s composure cracks, her earlier coldness slipping away to reveal a flicker of something raw—childlike fear, barely contained. For a moment, Dasha wonders if the woman is actually afraid for her life. If she didn’t know better, she might think Lina is having some kind of breakdown.

“Nightmares?” Dasha repeats, her voice thick with confusion. She hadn’t mentioned nightmares, not once. Her eyes narrow slightly, studying the other woman with caution. “What’s happening, Lina? Why are you asking me these things?”

Lina brings her paws to her face to hide away. Dasha can’t believe what she’s seeing. So quickly has Lina’s persona changed.

But why?

“T-tell me what you know?”

“About nightmares?”

“Yes.”

Dasha furrows her brow, replaying the reports in her mind. Not a single one mentions nightmares—only the voices and the unnerving warmth that draws people closer to the Remnant. Her curiosity intensifies. Lina must have come into contact with the Remnant in some way that’s different from what the reports describe.

Or maybe... she’s losing her mind.

“Lina…” Dasha says softly, her voice tinged with concern as she watches the once confident woman begin to unravel. “I haven’t seen any reports about nightmares.” She steadies herself, though worry creeps into her tone. “Can you tell me what you're experiencing—and when it all started?”

Lina shakes her head slowly, her body trembling with each movement. The pain in her eyes is unmistakable as she buries her face in her paws.

“Every night,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Every single night. The same thing. Over and over again.”

“Past trauma?” Dasha suggests as a reason, knowing Lina has likely seen some horrific things as part of the Royal Guard and especially the Vanguard

Lina's hands tremble as she pulls them away from her face, her eyes wild with panic.

"N-no..." she stammers, her voice cracking. "They started a few days ago. The images it shows me... They haunt me. I... I want them to stop."

Dasha’s brow furrows, her concern deepening. “What do you mean ‘It shows me’?” she asks, her voice tense with apprehension.

Lina hesitates, her breath shallow, before whispering, “T-T... The Remnant.” Her eyes flicker with a mixture of fear and guilt. “I-It’s angry at me. It blames me for what the Doctor has done to it!”

Dasha doesn’t know what to ask at first, but she’s well-informed of Doctor Elm’s research. “What has Elm done to it?”

“H-H…He’s used Fritz’s power to tear shards from it.” Lina hides her head with her paws. She tries covering her ears. “It speaks to me. It wants me. It must have me.”

“Lina…” Dasha’s voice is soft, but her gaze is sharp as she watches the woman struggle with her emotions. She considers reaching out, placing a paw on her shoulder to offer comfort, but something in her instincts pulls her back. Is Lina corrupted? she wonders.

“Have you told Elm about this?” Dasha asks, her tone professional, though the worry seeps through.

Lina flinches, her ears pressed tightly against her head, and she shakes her head violently. “N-No...” Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper.

“Help me understand, Lina.” Dasha leans forward and down to try to get her attention. “Why are you telling me this? Do you think I’ll be able to help?”

Lina quickly drops her paws from her head, and for the first time, Dasha sees a raw vulnerability in her eyes. The cold, lifeless expression that usually defines her is gone, replaced by something much more unsettling — the haunted, tearful eyes of a scared child.

“My goodness,” Dasha gasps. “Whatever is happening to you, Lina. You need to report it to someone. As much as I’ve researched that thing as much as I possibly can from the reports, I can tell you that no one on this planet has any idea of what thing is truly capable of.”

Lina’s eyes grow wider and that look of desperation in her eyes makes Dasha sick to her stomach.

“Without access to it, Lina,” Dasha says honestly. “I won’t be any help.” She lowers a comforting paw onto Lina’s shoulder between the cracks in her armor. “Maybe go home and get some sleep.”

“S-S…SLEEP!?” Lina growls, baring her fangs in frustration. “I can’t sleep! Don’t be so stupid! I thought you were supposed to be smart!?”

Dasha backs off. She knows a threat when she sees one, and Lina is becoming unhinged.

“Look,” she says politely. “I know a friend who deals with the mental trauma of battle. Would you like me to set up a meeting?”

“No,” Lina hisses, her voice laced with fury. “I NEED YOU TO MAKE IT STOP!”

Dasha recoils slightly, her heart pounding in her chest. She stammers, a cold sweat creeping down her neck. “I-I…I can’t,” she admits, the words feeling like a weight she can’t lift. Her instincts scream at her to prepare for the worst, fearing that Lina’s rage might spill over into violence.

However, Lina’s face drops and her hands instinctively fly to her ears again. “N-No…” she mutters, her voice breaking as if the very sound of her thoughts is unbearable. “I can’t. I can’t.” Her eyes dart wildly, and she begins repeating the same word, over and over, a mantra of desperation. “Free me. Free me…”

Each repetition grows more frantic, like an incantation to ward off an unseen terror. She’s unraveling before Dasha’s eyes, the fear consuming her, the lines between reality and nightmare blurring.

A chill runs down Dasha’s spine and it’s at this moment, she stands. Brushing down her coat, she clears her throat. “Sorry, I’m not much help.”

As Dasha turns to walk down the path, Lina screams out.

“WAIT!”

Dasha turns to see her pleading for help. Her eyes are almost blood-red with tears, and her expression is tormented beyond belief.

“Please!” Lina screams again, drawing unwanted attention. “You’re my only hope! I can’t tell Elm; he won’t trust me anymore, and I’ll be nothing again. NOTHING.”

Dasha stops and stares. Against her better judgment, she asks. “How can I help though?”

Lina looks around desperately, like she’s trying her best to keep the conversation going. Eventually, she stands and holds Dasha tightly by her shoulders. “Come to the lab,” Lina demands. “Come to the lab and study the shard yourself. Y-Y…you might be able to understand what it wants from me and how to make it stop!”

Dasha studies the look of fear on Lina’s face. She’s desperate. She’s beyond desperate.

“You’ll get me access?” Dasha is very tempted by the idea. Direct access to the Remnant, or pieces of it, would likely speed her research tenfold.

“Yes!” Lina nods, and a twisted smile forms on her face. “I’d make sure no one disturbs you. Not even Doctor Elm.”

“You can really do that?”

“Yes!” Lina nods vigorously, her expression shifting into something almost manic, a desperate smile forming on her lips. “You’re going to help. Yes. Help me.”

Dasha gently takes Lina’s trembling paws from her shoulders, lowering them back to her sides. As she gazes at the woman, the fear she once felt begins to ebb away, replaced by deep, unsettling sorrow. The woman before her is no longer a fierce soldier but a broken, terrified soul. And despite the fragile empathy that stirs within Dasha, a darker, more curious part of her cannot help but recognize the opportunity that lies in front of her.

“Tomorrow,” Dasha says confidently. “I’ll visit Elm’s lab tomorrow evening. Be there, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Yes. Thank you. Yes.”

With a troubled glance, Dasha turns and walks away, her mind haunted by how swiftly Lina's composure shattered at the mention of the Remnant. She shakes her head, trying to focus, but her thoughts spiral into wild theories of alien mind control, far removed from any logical scientific explanation.

“That’s not scientific, Dasha,” she says under her breath to tell herself off.

As Dasha walks away, her mind shifts back to her own research. Formadors, an ancient genetic response to an unknown threat—could it all be mere coincidence, or has she stumbled upon the very key she's been searching for to prove her theory?

Only time and the mysteries yet to unfold will reveal the truth.