Reshad nods at the mention of conquest, and makes a sympathetic sound. Then - because now she can, and that’s a whole new thing, best explored in relative safety: “My world was conquered in my lifetime, too.” And she watches him, with both sympathy and a certain measured calm.

“I’m very new, I’m afraid.” Tumbled through a rift and hit her head, her tone suggests, and an airy wave of the hand backs it up.

Moths used after his time - sentient aliens - well, it explains something about the mothlings, if they are truly children and not clever, musical pets, miniaturized by some Nirai with a fascination for their heraldic emblem. Reshad’s eyes widen briefly, and after the split-second assessment of her own reaction automatic to almost any situation, she lets the shocked expression stand. Lets the admixture of anger that follows show, too.

“They’re controlled and used for starflight, yes. And I have never heard of them referred to as sentient, nor known them to ...well, sing.” She shifts her stance and her eyes narrow in thought, an expression not unlike that of something pointed and toothed spotting prey. “This malfunction,” she muses.

“I don’t suppose it’s...replicable.”