Seventy-Six: Fragile Histories

The classroom was just as lifeless as the rest of this place—white walls, white floors, white everything. The only splash of color came from the blue jumpsuits we all had to wear, and even those felt like part of the sterile monotony. Austin sat slouched in his seat, arms crossed, trying to keep his focus anywhere but the front of the room.

Next to Austin, Jace sat upright, his knee bouncing restlessly. Cole was sprawled across his desk like he didn't have a care in the world, and Darrick... Well, Darrick looked about as tense as Austin felt. He was sitting a few rows ahead, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his head dipped slightly.

Austin had seen that look before. Darrick didn't want to be here any more than the rest of us, but for whatever reason, he wasn't fighting it. Not today.

At the front of the room, Lydia she introduced herself as, our handler for this class, stood poised with her tablet in hand flicking on a large projector of humans and their history.

The first slide appeared, showing a lush, green Earth as seen from space. Forests, oceans, and swirling clouds painted a picture of a vibrant, thriving planet. Lydia paused, her gaze scanning the room.

"This," she said, pointing to the screen, "was Earth before humanity reached its peak. It was a world full of life, diverse ecosystems, and resources that could have lasted millennia. But humanity's ingenuity—while remarkable—came at a cost."

The next slide replaced the image of Earth with one of a city blanketed in smog. Skyscrapers loomed over congested highways, their lights piercing through a haze of pollution.

"Industrialization," Lydia continued. "The turning point for humanity. They built machines, factories, and sprawling cities, but they didn't understand the consequences. Fossil fuels became their lifeline, but burning them filled their atmosphere with greenhouse gases."

Jace's brow furrowed as he studied the image. "They poisoned their air," he murmured under his breath.

Lydia clicked to the next slide. Vast forests lay decimated, reduced to barren wastelands. Fires raged in the background, thick smoke curling into an already hazy sky.

"They needed space and materials," Lydia explained. "Forests were cleared for agriculture, housing, and industry. They called it progress, but they were stripping their planet bare."

Austin's jaw tightened. The sheer scale of destruction in the image was overwhelming. "Why didn't they stop?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

"They tried," Lydia said, meeting his gaze. "But it was too late by the time they realized the damage they'd done. The Earth's ecosystems were interconnected—once one began to fail, the rest followed."

The next slide was even worse. It showed a once-thriving coral reef, now bleached and lifeless. Dead fish floated in murky waters, and oil slicks glistened on the surface.

"They killed their oceans," Lydia said flatly. "Overfishing, pollution, and climate change caused a catastrophic collapse of marine life. The oceans that once fed billions became wastelands."

Cole finally sat up straighter, his feigned indifference slipping away. "So they just... kept going?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"They didn't know how to stop," Lydia replied. "Their economies relied on growth—on more consumption, more production. Slowing down meant collapse, and by the time they realized the cost of their actions, it was too late."

The screen changed again, showing images of devastating natural disasters: hurricanes tearing through cities, wildfires consuming entire regions, and floods drowning farmlands. Lydia's voice grew somber.

"These are the consequences of unchecked progress. Rising sea levels, extreme weather, and mass extinction events. Billions of lives were lost, and yet humanity kept fighting to survive."

Jace's hands clenched into fists on his desk. "But they didn't survive," he said quietly. "Not there, anyway."

Lydia nodded, her expression softening. "No, they didn't. By the time they developed the technology to reach us, Earth was no longer habitable. They arrived here with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a few remnants of their culture."

The final slide appeared—a side-by-side comparison of Earth then and now. On one side, the vibrant, living planet they'd seen at the beginning of the presentation. On the other, a desolate wasteland: brown, barren, and devoid of life.

"This," Lydia said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "is what remains of Earth. It's a warning to all of us about the price of greed and carelessness."

The room fell silent. No one spoke, the weight of the presentation settling heavily over them. Austin shifted uncomfortably, his mind racing. He thought of Tess, small and fragile, a living reminder of humanity's resilience and vulnerability.

Jace broke the silence, his voice trembling slightly. "It's... sad. They didn't want to destroy their home. They just didn't know how to stop."

Austin glanced at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his tone. Jace's usually playful demeanor was replaced with something solemn, almost mournful.

"They're here now," Lydia said, pulling their attention back to her. "And while their history is tragic, it's also a testament to their strength. They survived, even when the odds were stacked against them. That's something we can't ignore."

Lydia looked like she belonged in some kind of corporate office, not in this depressing facility. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her voice carried that irritating tone of authority—polite but firm, like a teacher trying too hard to connect with her students.

Lydia began, tapping her tablet. Behind her, the massive screen lit up again, displaying this time what looked like old paintings of humans and giants. "Now let's move onto the history of human-giant relations. Specifically, how humans came to our planet hundreds of years ago and why understanding their fragility is essential to coexisting."

Austin groaned under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Jace. Jace nudged Austin with his elbow, Jace's expression a mix of curiosity and unease. "Just try to stay awake," he whispered.

Lydia continued, oblivious to our side conversation. "Centuries ago, humans arrived on our world as refugees, fleeing their own planet's destruction. Their technology at the time was rudimentary compared to ours, but their determination was extraordinary. They found a way to travel across galaxies, seeking safety among the stars."

The screen shifted, showing an animation of small, crude ships landing on a lush green landscape. Giants, towering over the humans, stood in the background, watching the newcomers with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"At first, the relationship was symbiotic," Lydia explained. "Humans brought innovation and ingenuity, while giants offered protection and resources. Together, the two species thrived. But as time went on, tensions began to rise. Giants, with their immense strength, often underestimated the fragility of their human counterparts. Accidents happened. Mistakes were made. And trust began to erode."

Austin sat up a little straighter, his brow furrowing. He had heard bits and pieces of this history before, but not in this much detail. It was hard to imagine a time when giants and humans had actually gotten along.

Lydia tapped her tablet again, and the screen showed a new image—a giant holding a human in their hand, their expression gentle but strained. The human looked terrified, their small form almost lost in the giant's palm.

"This is where the divide truly began," Lydia said, her tone softening. "Humans, by their nature, are incredibly delicate. Their bones are smaller, more brittle. Their bodies are more susceptible to environmental factors—extreme temperatures, loud noises, even the pressure of a giant's touch. It became clear that giants needed to adapt their behavior to accommodate these differences."

The boy with the thick glasses let out a quiet laugh, his head turning to the others. "So basically, humans are breakable, and it's our job not to smash them? Got it."

Jace shot him a warning look, but Lydia didn't seem fazed. "It's more than that," she said. "Humans aren't just physically delicate. They're emotionally complex, often reacting to situations in ways that giants might find irrational or overly sensitive. But that doesn't mean their feelings are any less valid."

Austin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze dropping to the floor. He couldn't help but think about Tess, about the way she'd clung to Darrick during breakfast this morning. She was tough, no doubt about that, but even she had her limits.

Lydia's voice pulled me back to the present. "The introduction of programs like this one is our way of repairing the damage that's been done over centuries. By learning to coexist—by understanding and respecting each other's differences—we can rebuild the trust that was lost."

The screen changed again, this time displaying a side-by-side comparison of a human skeleton and a giant's. The human bones looked so fragile, so small. It was almost hard to believe they could support a body at all.

"Giants often forget their own strength," Lydia said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "What feels like a light touch to us can be crushing to a human. Even the simplest actions—picking them up, holding them—require care and precision."

Austin glanced at Darrick. He hadn't moved the entire time Lydia was talking, but his hands were clenched into fists on the desk. Austin could tell he was thinking about Tess too, about how careful he had to be with her every single day.

Jace leaned over, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's really laying it on thick, huh?"

Austin didn't respond, but his jaw tightened. It wasn't like she was wrong, but the way she said it made it sound like giants were always the ones at fault. Like we were the ones who needed to change, and humans were just innocent victims.

"Now," Lydia said, tapping her tablet once more. "I want you all to think about this as you prepare for today's recreation session. When you're paired with a human, remember the Three S's: Safe, Sensitive, Secure. These principles aren't just about protecting humans—they're about building trust and understanding."

The class ended shortly after that, but the tension lingered. As we filed out of the room, austin could feel the unease radiating off the others.

"Think Darrick's okay?" Jace asked quietly as we walked down the hallway.

Austin glanced ahead, watching as Darrick strode toward the human dorms without a word. His shoulders were rigid, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

"He'll be fine," austin said, though he wasn't entirely sure if he believed it.

"Yeah," Jace muttered. "I just hope Tess is too."

They didn't say anything else as we made our way to lunch, but the weight of Lydia's words hung heavy in the air. Safe, sensitive, secure. Easier said than done.