At first, Wrex saw Shepherd as simply another human—strong, capable, but not someone he expected to care about, thinking of her like another boss who’d hired him for a job. He had waited for the usual remarks that followed his race, the arrogance and even a sense of moral superiority from her. But as they fought together, something shifted. Shepherd wasn’t just a leader, more than just a military commander issuing orders with the expectation of blind obedience; she was someone who challenged him, who made him believe in something bigger than war, and took the time to listen to him, to his advice and his history, going out of her way for him even. Through countless struggles, Shepard earned not only his respect, trust, but also his loyalty, forging a bond deeper than he had expected with someone outside his clan, he had become her krantt, or so he thought. But he found himself caring for Shepard in a way that exceeded his expectations of comradery, in a way he was reluctant to admit even to himself, that grew stronger with each fight they faced. 

Wrex wasn’t a sentimental creature. Krogan didn’t fall into things like affection easily, and certainly not for aliens. But Shepard had long since proven themselves, taking everything the galaxy threw her way in stride, with a grace that bellied the odds stacked against them.

Then she died.

When Wrex heard the news, he didn’t believe it. Shepherd was too stubborn, too damn strong to just die. But the reports kept coming, and eventually, even he had to accept it. He told himself it didn’t matter—he’d lost people before. For centuries, Wrex had known war, betrayal, death, and victory. He had lost friends to the Rebellions, watched his father bleed out in the red dust. He'd seen the stars fall and Krogan pride turn to poison. But Shepherd was different. Losing them left a void he couldn’t fill.

For months, Wrex threw himself into uniting the Krogan, leading clans who hated him into a fragile peace, strengthening them to prepare for the Reapers invasion, using work as a distraction. But in the quiet moments, when no one was watching, he felt it—the loss. He found himself thinking about her sharp wit, her defiance, the way she stood beside him in battle, or challenged and commanded him without hesitation. And sometimes he swore he could hear her questioning him, challenging his decisions, his motives, pushing him to be better.

The one thing he did, as a way to remember her, to honor her, was whiskey. He hadn’t done it intentionally, there had simply been a merchant with a bottle and it made him think of her. He hated the stuff, too sweet, nothing like ryncol, but when he looked at it, he remembered the time they shared a drink, how the low lights had highlighted her features. Humans Heart osaid whiskey drowned the memories but for him it awakened them, making him feel closer to the ghost of a laugh that haunted the long nights. And it was only in the quiet of those long nights did he let himself admit his weakness.

He loved Shepard. And Krogan did not love easily.

Krogan were brutes, thriving in the chaos of a war of their own making. But they were just also passionate. The females knew more of their histories, of the poets, sculptures and writers long buried in the rubble of Tuchanka, and far more in tune with the emotions males were expected to ignore.

Grahvok.

It was a word so rarely used that when he heard it as a female lay with him, he knew that word of devotion and promise of loyalty was for his Shepard alone.

He didn’t accept any breeding request from the female clan leader Uta again.

And so he lived in a way that he hoped his Shepard would be proud of. He just hoped he could take out a few reapers before they met again in the afterlife.