Chap­ter XII begins with an analy­sis of the Vril-ya’s lan­guage, which stands as a tes­ta­ment to their advanced cul­tur­al devel­op­ment and intel­lec­tu­al evo­lu­tion. Unlike sur­face lan­guages that often pre­serve archa­ic irreg­u­lar­i­ties, theirs has moved toward clar­i­ty and sim­plic­i­ty with­out los­ing depth. Root­ed in a foun­da­tion of mono­syl­lab­ic words, the lan­guage evolved through stages of agglu­ti­na­tion to sophis­ti­cat­ed inflec­tions, bal­anc­ing brevi­ty with lay­ered mean­ing. Each word car­ries exact pre­ci­sion, and even sin­gu­lar let­ters are imbued with sig­nif­i­cance. The trans­for­ma­tion reflects not just lin­guis­tic refine­ment but also a broad­er social shift from chaos to struc­ture. Gram­mar, too, mir­rors their col­lec­tive values—uniform, bal­anced, and entire­ly inte­grat­ed.

The struc­ture of their lan­guage pri­or­i­tizes effi­cien­cy and com­pre­hen­sion over orna­men­tal flour­ish. Words relat­ed to gov­er­nance and emo­tion are tight­ly packed with mean­ing, often requir­ing no addi­tion­al expla­na­tion. Even in com­mon dis­course, there is a philo­soph­i­cal weight to how things are said. The term for lead­er­ship, for instance, sug­gests both duty and lim­i­ta­tion, avoid­ing any con­no­ta­tion of dom­i­na­tion. Their polit­i­cal vocab­u­lary is bor­rowed from for­eign roots as a way of dis­card­ing old­er, less egal­i­tar­i­an mean­ings. Through this, their lan­guage active­ly reshapes per­cep­tions and rein­forces new ideals. Lan­guage, for the Vril-ya, is not passive—it molds their real­i­ty as much as it describes it.

Every term used by the Vril-ya con­nects direct­ly to expe­ri­ence, often bypass­ing abstrac­tion in favor of what can be observed or log­i­cal­ly rea­soned. Con­cepts of spir­i­tu­al­i­ty, sci­ence, and per­son­al ethics are lin­guis­ti­cal­ly fused, reflect­ing a world­view where dis­ci­plines are not seg­re­gat­ed. This has cre­at­ed a clar­i­ty of think­ing that per­me­ates both pri­vate and pub­lic life. Their verbs are action-cen­tered yet philo­soph­i­cal­ly dri­ven, with con­ju­ga­tions that reflect intent and con­se­quence. For exam­ple, a future-tense verb may vary slight­ly depend­ing on whether the intend­ed action aligns with com­mu­ni­ty wel­fare. Such gram­mat­i­cal struc­tures sup­port a moral frame­work embed­ded in every­day com­mu­ni­ca­tion. With this, mis­un­der­stand­ings are rare, and con­ver­sa­tions tend to resolve rather than esca­late dif­fer­ences.

The his­to­ry of their lin­guis­tic evo­lu­tion also offers insight into their social jour­ney. Traces of ear­li­er forms reveal con­tact with oth­er races, now extinct, show­ing how lan­guage adapt­ed and absorbed rather than erased. This inclu­sive lay­er­ing gave their vocab­u­lary rich­ness with­out sac­ri­fic­ing cohe­sion. Over time, as con­flicts fad­ed and soci­etal sys­tems sta­bi­lized, the need for metaphor and hyper­bole decreased. What remains is a lan­guage stripped of con­fu­sion, built on rea­son and col­lec­tive under­stand­ing. Lit­er­a­ture with­in their cul­ture has become sparse—not from dis­in­ter­est, but because lan­guage already cap­tures so much with so lit­tle. Writ­ten expres­sion is thus used spar­ing­ly and with great inten­tion.

Com­par­ing this to our own lin­guis­tic struc­tures, the dif­fer­ences are strik­ing. On the sur­face, human lan­guages may seem rich­er in lit­er­ary beau­ty, yet they often rely on ambi­gu­i­ty and emo­tion­al charge. The Vril-ya pre­fer com­mu­ni­ca­tion that uplifts through insight, not dra­ma. Their speech lacks aggres­sion and rarely uses imper­a­tives, reflect­ing a cul­ture that val­ues mutu­al agree­ment over com­mand. Even dis­agree­ment is framed through syn­tax that encour­ages shared explo­ration rather than oppo­si­tion. This gram­mat­i­cal gen­tle­ness reduces social fric­tion and rein­forces their cul­tur­al equi­lib­ri­um. Every ele­ment of their lan­guage has evolved to sus­tain bal­ance, not pro­voke unrest.

The nar­ra­tor, while immersed in their con­ver­sa­tions, often finds him­self dis­ori­ent­ed by the pre­ci­sion and trans­paren­cy with which they express ideas. To a vis­i­tor raised in a world where com­mu­ni­ca­tion can be lay­ered with mis­di­rec­tion or nuance, this blunt clar­i­ty feels almost oth­er­world­ly. But over time, it becomes evi­dent that this lin­guis­tic puri­ty aris­es not from sim­plic­i­ty but from pro­found intel­lec­tu­al dis­ci­pline. The Vril-ya con­sid­er the act of speak­ing a civic respon­si­bil­i­ty, where clar­i­ty pre­vents con­flict and nur­tures trust. This prac­tice ele­vates their spo­ken exchanges into a shared eth­i­cal space. Words are nev­er thrown away—they are built with care and deliv­ered with pur­pose.

This chap­ter offers a rare look into a civ­i­liza­tion where lan­guage is not mere­ly a reflec­tion of soci­ety, but a mech­a­nism that sus­tains its very har­mo­ny. Through its study, the read­er is invit­ed to reflect on how much of mod­ern human dis­cord stems from poor­ly struc­tured or mis­used words. If our lan­guages were more attuned to rea­son, com­pas­sion, and clar­i­ty, would our soci­eties shift as well? The Vril-ya remind us that lan­guage is nev­er neu­tral; it either nur­tures uni­ty or sows divi­sion. Their exam­ple, though fic­tion­al, prompts a rethink­ing of how lan­guage might evolve along­side moral and cul­tur­al progress.