For five hundred years, the Daya Civilization had talked to Humanity about Dark Stars. Or rather, they had done nothing but talk about them, over and over again, as if possessed—saying they would surely find a Dark Star and master technologies related to Dark Matter. Yet they had not found a single trace of one.
Five hundred years of wind and rain described a planet's environment. The Daya Civilization's inhabitants had returned to living on planets, so they had endured five hundred years of wind and rain. Humanity had long grown accustomed to living aboard spacecraft. At most, they simulated the waxing and waning of sun and moon, fair and cloudy weather, aboard Star-Class ships, but they had never experienced rain.
But no matter what, five hundred years had passed in a hurry.
Nothing unexpected had happened. Both civilizations had completed their Shipbuilding Plans according to schedule, returning to their former peak states. Humanity had surpassed its former self, for it had never possessed so many warships before.
Only with sufficient fleets did the two civilizations feel somewhat safer in their existence, and only then did they extend their probes into the depths of the universe.
This was a universe with no advanced civilization setting rules or upholding justice. Relations between civilizations were filled with uncertainty. Even a civilization with lofty ideals had to survive first.
All civilizations would be stuck at the Level Six Civilization stage. Most Level Six Civilizations appeared advanced, but they were not necessarily noble. Perhaps they still possessed noble aspirations, but before fulfilling them, they had to survive first.
The Precursor had once said that they had spent hundreds of millions of years exploring the possibility of advancing to a Level Seven Civilization within their own galaxy, only to fail. Yet Level Seven Civilizations had