Shadows in the Sand (Warhammer 40k)

[Talon88.1]

Been a while since I wrote last, wanted to put something up to shake off the rust.

Let me know what you think!

-

Chapter One

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the desert sands turned to molten gold in the dying light. Elissa pushed the creaking stove door closed, a faint hiss escaping as the heat met the cool evening air. Inside, slices of roasted dustjackal meat sizzled—a rare treat for the night's meal. The aroma mixed with the dry, earthy scent of the small home carved into the rock.

From the adjoining room came the sound of water splashing and the occasional burst of laughter, the chaotic noise of her daughters still holding a comforting familiarity. They were no longer children, but there was something undeniably innocent about the moments when they let their guard down, even at their age. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her sun-kissed skin streaked with a layer of fine dust that seemed to cling no matter how much she scrubbed. A strand of deep crimson hair slipped loose from the braid trailing to her hip, and she tucked it back with a practiced motion.

Elissa reached for the roots and berries she'd set aside to complete the meal when the sharp chirp of the vox headset broke the quiet. She sighed, rubbing her hands clean on a threadbare cloth before settling the battered device over her ear. "This is Elissa. What now?" Her voice carried a tone of weary authority, already braced for whatever nonsense Riggs and his crew had stirred up this time.

"Jacob here." The young man's voice came through, tight with a tension that made her pause. "Sorry to bother you, Mayor, but there's... a situation at the gate."

"What kind of situation?" she asked, her brow furrowing. Jacob was new to gate duty, but he wasn't prone to overreacting—not in Dusthaven, where survival depended on keeping a level head.

"There's a traveler out here," he said, his voice dropping slightly, as though the man might overhear. "Hasn't said a word. Just standing there. And, ma'am... he's..." Jacob hesitated, the silence stretching thick and heavy over the vox line.

"Spit it out, boy," Elissa snapped, her pulse quickening. "What's the problem?"

"He's wearing armor I've never seen before. And he's got a... uh... a bike. It's hovering. No wheels or anything. Real fancy."

Her hand froze mid-motion, a knife hovering over the roots. For a moment, she was back on the lumpy old couch with her family, watching ancient holovids of sleek machines and soldiers in impossible armor. Memories of laughter and warmth tugged at her before she pushed them aside.

"Alright," she said, her tone sharp now. "I'll be right down. Don't do anything stupid. If he tries something, shoot. Don't stop until he's either down or you're out of ammo."

"Yes, ma'am."

Elissa tossed the knife aside and snatched up her revolver. The weapon was heavy in her hand, its grip worn smooth after years of use, the intricate carvings nearly faded. It wasn't elegant, but it could punch a hole clean through a man—and that was all that mattered. Shrugging into her thick leather duster, she locked the door behind her and called up to the girls.

"Girls! Situation at the gate. Close the curtains and stay inside until I say otherwise!"

"Got it, Mom," called Tara, her tone slightly strained as though she had just been in the middle of something.

"Stay inside," Elissa repeated, her voice firm but not unkind. "And for the love of the Emperor, don't get the guns until you hear gunshots."

There was a long pause before the second voice spoke. "Alright, alright," Kala answered, her usual rebellious edge still present, though tempered by adulthood. "We're not kids anymore, Mom. We'll be fine."

Elissa gave a small nod to herself, then turned to leave but hesitated at the door. "And if I'm not back in twenty minutes, take the roast out of the oven. Don't burn it like last time," she added dryly.

The voice of Kala replied from upstairs, more amused than anything. "We won't. Promise."

Shaking her head, Elissa closed the door with a soft click. The revolver's weight in her hand felt reassuring as she strode toward the gate, the desert winds stirring her coat as the shadows lengthened around her.

-

Worn leather boots crunched over the sand as Elissa hurried down the town's main road toward the gate. Above, the solid stone of the mountain under which Dusthaven was carved loomed, blocking out the stars. Only to the far south, where the town's sole gate stood as a bulwark against the horrors of the desert, did the night sky peek through. There, the harsh beams of floodlights illuminated the rugged, sand-blasted walls.

The buildings around her were low and stout, sunken into the rock to weather the relentless sandstorms. Their design served dual purposes: conserving heat during the punishing flood season and offering some relief when Little Red-the angry dwarf star of the planet's twin sun's-was brought close by the planet's orbit to bake its surface.

Here and there, townsfolk lingered. Some loitered near the watering hole, others relaxed in the cooling air as the heat of the day began to dissipate. Yet, as Elissa strode with determination, she felt their gazes following her. As mayor, she was always under scrutiny, but the purposeful set of her shoulders and the sharp glint of her emerald eyes heightened their interest tonight.

Whispers rose in her wake. Small groups began to trail after her, curiosity driving them to see what trouble was brewing. A few, sobered by the urgency in her stride, slipped home to retrieve rifles and cobbled-together armor, shepherding their children indoors.

Dusthaven's residents were no strangers to danger.

The wooden stairs leading to the top of the wall creaked under her boots as she ascended two at a time. At the summit, she found the night's watchmen: Jacob and Milo.

Jacob stood near the parapet; his tanned face drawn tight with nervous tension. His brown eyes darted constantly toward the figure beyond the gate, his unease almost palpable. Milo, in stark contrast, leaned against the wall with a cigarette perched between his lips. His lasgun rested casually across his lap as he nodded toward Elissa.

"Evenin' El," he greeted, his voice gravelly with age. "Hate to trouble you, but Jacob here's worried sick."

Elissa flicked a glance at the younger man, who opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a curt wave of her hand. "Doesn't matter. Let me see."

Stepping forward, she peered through the slats of the watchtower's armored window. Her breath caught slightly at the sight below.

Standing bathed in the harsh beams of the gate's lights was a lone figure. Tall and lean, his body was encased in sleek black armor that gleamed faintly under the artificial glow. His stance was rigid, unnaturally still. Her sharp eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him further, realizing his arms were longer than normal. Cybernetics, she concluded, noting the mechanical hands that extended down to his knees.

But what truly caught her attention was the vehicle beside him. Smaller than she had expected, the bike hovered effortlessly a foot above the ground. The quiet hum of anti-grav plates filled the stillness, and its design was mesmerizing. The chassis tapered to a smooth, aerodynamic point, while the rear carried short stabilizer wings, flanked by a pair of compact thrusters.

A small dome, positioned just ahead of the driver's seat, was the only feature disrupting its seamless lines.

Damn. That is a nice ride, she thought wryly, her lips quirking into a brief, humorless smile. Wonder who he stole it from?

Turning from the slats, she waved to the gathering crowd below, signaling them to take defensive positions. At once, they scattered to the prebuilt cover along the road, lasguns raised and trained on the gate.

Satisfied with the precaution, Elissa turned back toward the figure outside the gates. Raising her voice to carry over the distance, she called out, "You're a long way from home, stranger. What brings you to Dusthaven tonight?"

The figure's head tilted up toward her, the glossy black faceplate of his helmet catching and reflecting the harsh light. For a moment, he simply stood there, unmoving, and the silence stretched uncomfortably long.

Then, he responded—not with words, but with action.

Raising his right hand, palm upward, a shimmering projection flickered to life above it. The display made Elissa's breath catch. The casual use of such technology was startling. Sure, Dusthaven's town hall had a holo-emitter, but it was part of an ancient cogitator bank, a hulking machine the size of her daughters' shared bedroom.

To see a projection emanating from something smaller than her hand? It was unsettling. If he has that kind of tech, she thought grimly, what else might he be hiding?

"Looks like he's askin' for shelter," Milo's gruff voice broke through her train of thought, pulling her back to the present.

Her eyes snapped to the display, now hovering in the air above the stranger's palm. The image was simple but clear: stick-figure representations of the man, the town, and the people within it. In the scene, the stick figure of the gate opened, allowing the stranger to enter. The final frame showed him stepping into a small, rectangular home.

Elissa frowned, her mind racing as she processed the message. The crude clarity of the hologram was oddly disarming, but she kept her face impassive. She couldn't afford to show hesitation, not with the entire town watching and this stranger's intentions still unclear.

"Can't speak, or just not in the mood?" Elissa called down, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and irritation. The man remained silent; his reflective visor turned towards her like an unblinking eye. She crossed her arms. "We're not a charity. You got something to pay for a room, at least?"

In response, the hologram shifted. The stick figure disappeared, replaced by a glowing blue-white "X." Before she could interpret it, the display transformed again, this time into an icon of a wrench crossed with a screwdriver. The stick figure returned, moving through a wireframe model of the town, stopping at various structures where the same symbol hovered overhead.

"You're saying you're a tech-priest?" Elissa asked, suspicion curling through her tone. "Trade repairs for room and board?" The man didn't respond, not even a gesture of acknowledgment.

Her patience waning, she raised a finger sharply. "Hold on a second."

Turning to Milo and Jacob, she found Milo speaking first, his gravelly voice steady despite the situation. "El, I've seen my fair share of those cogboys. That fella out there don't look like no priest I've ever seen."

Elissa shifted her weight, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly. "And what would a cogboy be doing out here alone, anyway?"

Jacob chimed in hesitantly, his youthful nervousness apparent. "And where's his robes? I ain't never seen a cog without those red robes. It's like…their whole thing."

Elissa raised an eyebrow at the younger guard. "Fair point. He could just be some merc with fancy gear. Wouldn't be the strangest thing to show up on our doorstep."

Milo shrugged, his hands resting on the stock of his lasgun as he kept his gaze locked on the stranger. "Could be. But, El, here's the thing: if he's offering to fix stuff in exchange for a bed, we might as well let him take a shot at the reactor. She's on her last legs. Worst case, he fails, and we kick him out. Best case? We get a few more months outta her before she bites the dust for good."

Elissa considered the thought, her braid swaying as she nodded slowly. "And if he decides to fight instead?"

Milo's lined face hardened, his wrinkled eyes narrowing into slits. "Wouldn't be the first time this town's handled trouble."

Satisfied, Elissa turned back to the edge of the wall and called down to the gathered townsfolk below. "Open the gate! Keep an eye on him. Says he's a cogboy and willing to try fixing the reactor. If he pulls it off, he gets to stay the night. If he doesn't, he's gone by morning. And if he so much as twitches wrong, you know what to do."

The crowd murmured their assent, some taking positions behind cover, others raising their lasguns to keep watch.

With a groan of ancient gears, the gate began to creak open. Dust spilled from its edges, carried by a faint breeze that whispered through the town. The harsh scrape of metal on stone echoed through the quiet night as the opening yawned wide.

The stranger moved at the sound, stepping back to mount his bike. Its thrusters emitting a soft hum as he eased it forward with deliberate slowness. The idling engine barely made a sound, but every eye in the town remained locked on him.

Elissa's hand hovered near the revolver at her hip as she watched him approach, the dim gate lights glinting off the polished surface of his armor.

-

The crowd followed closely behind the stranger, with Elissa leading the way as she escorted him toward the mountain's more secure areas—the northern side, deep in the bedrock that shielded the town from the dangers of the desert. Up close, she couldn't help but notice once more just how tall he was. At her own five-foot-five hourglass frame, most people seemed tall to her, but this man… he was likely a full foot taller than she was.

A chill breeze washed over the town, suddenly reminding her that she had rushed out of the house wearing nothing but a thin shirt. The wide neckline was the kind she preferred when relaxing at home, always leaving plenty of room to let her big girls breathe, but out here, it was a poor choice.

She huffed, pulling the jacket tighter around herself as she cursed her mother under her breath. Glancing over at the stranger, Elissa realized with a sinking feeling that she'd likely been giving him an unintended show.

Her face flushed with irritation, and she silently cursed the situation, wishing for once she could just turn invisible. Her steps quickened, eager to get this done, one way or another.

Reaching the heavy metal door, she entered the code passed down from the prior mayor and spun the wheel, swinging it open with a low groan. The passageways echoed with their footsteps as the group—now only a dozen rough-looking men, herself, and the stranger—continued forward.

The control room opened before them, and Elissa felt that familiar, uneasy disconnection as she gazed at the strange machinery. No matter how many times she had been here, trying to help the local engineers keep it running, it still felt alien to her.

The reactor, stuck on a low power setting for stability, had been so for longer than Elissa had lived there, barely producing enough power to run the primary lights and recharge electronics.

"Well, here it is." She gestured broadly with one arm, the other resting casually on her revolver's grip. "Do what you can." Realizing the coldness in her tone, she swallowed her pride. His work might make or break the town's chances. "Please," she added, more quietly.

The armored man stood still for a moment, scanning the room with quiet intensity. Then, without a word, he moved. His mechanical hand rested lightly on the central console, producing a slight grind of metal against metal as he traced the ancient machinery's contours.

A few seconds later, he nodded, and to her astonishment, his armor plates shifted, his fingers and forearms unfolding into a series of intricate tools. He moved with surprising speed and ease, working rapidly, his movements fluid as he accessed the internal components of the reactor's controls. Console to console, his hands were a blur of motion—replacing parts, rewiring, tightening, loosening. He seemed entirely at home in the ancient, disordered space, a stark contrast to her own unease.

Roughly ten minutes passed as she and her men watched him work, her eyes slowly widening as each console began to light up, cogitator screens flickering back to life, the screens spitting out letters and numbers she had no meaning for beyond knowing they were the language of the machine spirits.

Finally, he closes the panel of the last console, wiping his hands on his armor, adding to the layer of dust that covered several chunks of it. He points towards the door leading downstairs, towards the reactor core itself.

Quirking an eyebrow, she followed his hand before the realization dawned. "You need to get to the core itself?"

Suddenly, the man spoke for the first time, his voice carrying a mechanical precision, the words clipped, short, as though being read by a servitor. For Elissa, it was unnerving as hell.

"Core…dormant. Needs…jump." The words, slowly spoken, were at least clear. Nodding, she gestures for him to proceed. The group followed as the man descended several flights before coming to a stop outside the reactor airlock.

The keypad, which should have required her passcode to open, had already opened when she reached it, the man already inside as the airlock cycled.

The chill that ran down her spine at the realization that the stranger had somehow gotten her authorization code did not sit well with her. But, with the reactor primed and the airlock cycled, she couldn't exactly follow him into the reactor chamber.

It hit her then.

He was inside the reactor core.

Without a suit.

Her eyes widened as she suddenly began jabbing her code into the lock, her other hand pressing the voxline. "Hey! Hey you, you're not wearing a suit! Don't start up the core! You'll fry in there!" Her voice rose, panic flooding her veins as she screamed all the louder into the line.

However, the man seemed to ignore her, his focus entirely on the components within the reactor core. The faint hum that had filled the air as they descended began to die down, and with it, the light from the reactor faded, leaving them in an oppressive darkness.

One by one, the men flicked on their lamp-packs, their harsh, white light cutting through the gloom. A low murmur spread through the group, beams of light from their weapons trained on the stranger as he worked, their tension palpable.

"Do you think he broke it?" one of the men whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Might've needed to power it down to fix it," another suggested, but the uncertainty in his tone was clear.

Elissa stood frozen, her hand tightly gripping the handle of her pistol, her eyes never leaving the man. A quiet prayer whispered in the back of her mind: Emperor, please. Let this work. Let your light shine on us, driving away the dark.

The stranger was still, a lattice of some strange crystal now in his hands. He carefully inserted it into the reactor's inner workings, his movements swift and precise. His arms moved with a fluidity that seemed almost mechanical as he replaced several components, his focus absolute.

Then, as the final panel slid into place, he reached for a length of wire. With practiced ease, he stripped the insulation away, and suddenly, Elissa felt it—something in the air, a tension that prickled her skin. Goosebumps erupted along her arms, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. What is that? she thought, but she couldn't quite grasp what was happening.

There was a dull, muffled pop, and in an instant, the reactor sprang to life. The lights, which had been dim and flickering, surged back to life—brighter than they had ever been in all of Elissa's years in the town. The whole room seemed to hum with renewed energy, the dark receding as the harsh glow of the lights bathed the space in an almost blinding brightness.

The stranger rewrapped the wire with deliberate care and tucked it away before stepping back into the airlock's cycle.

When he reemerged, he looked down at Elissa. Her astonished expression was reflected in the opaque surface of his faceplate, a mirror to the disbelief that filled her heart.

"Fusion… stable. Reactor…online," he stated flatly, his voice still as mechanical as before, though a hint of finality underscored his words.

---

The room they gave the stranger was cramped, little more than a broom closet hastily tidied by Yannek, who had apologized profusely for the lack of proper accommodations before rushing off to tend to the bustling tavern. The entire town, save for a few, had poured out to celebrate the return of light, of life, now flooding the town with warmth and illumination.

Where once the darkness had swallowed the streets, now they blazed with light. Some had rushed home, eager to indulge in the first hot bath they'd had in years, while others relished the first hot bath ever in their lives. But most had gathered in the tavern, clamoring to catch a glimpse of the stranger who had restored their power.

Elissa watched from a distance, her own tankard of N'kasha in hand. The local drink, brewed from the unique flora of Morrak, was rare, and she had taken an immediate liking to it. But her attention was divided, constantly returning to the man at the center of the room.

The stranger appeared incredibly uncomfortable with all the attention. His shoulders were tense, his helmet constantly flicking between the crowd and his tankard. The townsfolk, who had been raucously celebrating their newfound light, clapped him on the back, pushing a drink into his hands. The thick purple liquid inside glowed faintly, casting strange, shimmering lights across his faceplate.

So, Elissa thought, her gaze drifting over him. There is a person behind that helmet.

He removed it slowly, as though unwilling to reveal himself. The sound of the helmet's heavy metal landing on the table caught her attention, and she couldn't help but stare.

He was… striking. His height alone—easily a foot taller than her—was enough to command attention, but it was his features that truly stood out. His blonde hair fell in short, shaggy waves around a face that was youthful but well-shaped. His lightly tanned skin gave him an almost ethereal glow, and the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones caught the light in a way that seemed to make him almost… otherworldly.

But it was his eyes. His piercing, blue eyes.

They were startlingly intense, locking onto hers for a moment, and a wave of something unfamiliar surged through her—a quick, sharp pang she couldn't quite place. There was something about his gaze that felt so… familiar. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Her stomach twisted as a sudden jolt of realization hit her.

His eyes.

They reminded her of someone—someone long gone. Her late husband.

A wave of sorrow gripped her chest, suffocating the air in her lungs. She had learned to push those memories down, to bury them as deep as she could. But those eyes, that familiar intensity, the same blue… It hit her all at once, and she recoiled inwardly, unwilling to acknowledge the emotions rising within her.

Quickly, Elissa looked away as she brought the mug up to hide, feeling exposed, vulnerable, her chest tightening with the memory of her husband's face. But as she turned, she couldn't help but notice something else. The other women in the room had also noticed him. Several were staring at the stranger, their glances lingering on his tall frame, their eyes wide with something resembling awe.

Her gaze flicked to the corner of the room, where a few of the younger women stood whispering to one another, their faces flushed, from drink or something else, she didnt want to know. She could however, hear snatches of their conversation, voices hushed but filled with excitement.

"Have you seen him?" one woman whispered; her eyes wide. "He's tall, isn't he? I can't believe how young he looks."

Another woman, a bit older, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Young, sure. But those eyes, they're the kind you don't forget. And that build—he could break me in half."

Elissa couldn't help but roll her eyes, though a part of her felt a strange sting at the comment. She glanced toward the group of women, who were still fawning over the stranger from a distance, clearly mesmerized by his presence.

They're not wrong, Elissa thought wryly, though she couldn't deny the knot that flared within her. There is something odd about him.

But her mind kept drifting back to those eyes. The uncanny way they mirrored the warmth of her late husband's gaze, and the ache it brought to her chest. She quickly swirled her tankard of N'kasha, trying to drown the lingering thoughts that threatened to unearth too many painful memories.

As the stranger took a careful sip from his drink, he seemed to relax slightly, his shoulders slumping as he let the weight of the crowd fall away. He was still, however, the subject of every eye in the room, the center of attention. He took another sip, his hands closing around the tankard with natural ease, though it was hard to ignore how large those hands were, the metal fingers flexing.

He wasn't like the others. No, there was something… more to him. Something that kept her staring long after she meant to look away. Something she couldn't put into words but would find herself trying to understand all the same.

-

The man excused himself after finishing his drink, his voice still halting as he spoke in the broken Gothic tongue, as though he were testing the words for the first time. Standing, Elissa cleared her throat and called out, her voice carrying over the low murmurs of the tavern, "Alright, that's it! It's late, and you all have work in the morning! Finish up, pay Yannek, and get the hell home."

Good-natured groans echoed through the room, but there was no real fire in them. Most of the crowd had already drained their tankards, their spirits lifted by the unexpected surge of power in the town.

Elissa caught the stranger's arm as he began to rise. To her surprise, his metal prosthetic felt warm to the touch, not the cold she had expected from the heavy, mechanical appendage. "Hold on a second," she said, her grip firm but not aggressive. "I want to talk to you."

A shadow flickered across his features, his expression unreadable, before he nodded and retook his seat without a word.

As the last of the townsfolk filtered out, offering one last round of grateful thanks to the man who had brought their lights back, Elissa waited until the bar was nearly empty. Yannek, always sharp, took the hint and disappeared into the back, leaving them alone in the quiet space.

Elissa leaned on the counter, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge as she focused on the stranger's nose, determined not to meet his eyes. The silence stretched between them for a moment before she finally spoke. "So…" Her voice softened, but there was a thread of sincerity behind it. "Thank you. What you did here tonight... it means a lot to me."

A long moment passed, and he gave a subtle nod. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his eyes, almost imperceptible, but there. "Thank… you. For… room. Sand… everywhere." His words were still halting, but there was a warmth to his voice, as if he were trying to connect.

Elissa's lips twitched, and despite herself, a soft burst of laughter slipped out. She quickly stifled it, though, her eyes softening as she shook her head. "So, you have jokes now, too?"

A soft whirring sound came from his arm as he shrugged lightly, the motion smooth despite the heavy metal joints. "Some."

"Well…" Elissa nibbled at her bottom lip, her fingers tracing the edge of the counter as she leaned slightly across the table to offer her hand. Her short reach meant she had to stretch just a little, but the gesture itself was what mattered. "Elissa Brandt. Mayor of Dusthaven. If you're willing to stick around, we sure could use the help."

For a long heartbeat, a dozen emotions flickered across his face—uncertainty, hesitation, maybe even a touch of something softer—but before she could second-guess herself, he reached out. His metal hand engulfed hers, its weight and strength obvious, but there was a surprising gentleness in the way he shook it.

"Koron," he replied, his voice carrying a subtle edge—something that Elissa couldn't quite place but felt, nonetheless.

"Welcome to Dusthaven, Koron."

After a moment, she stood, nodding with a smile that felt like both a greeting and a farewell. "Good night, then."

Koron gave a slight nod, his figure retreating toward the stairs to his small room. As Elissa turned to leave, a sense of quiet relief washed over her, the weight of the evening finally beginning to lift. The tavern was empty now, its warm glow reflecting off the wood and stone.

She stepped into the cool night air, the first breeze of the evening tugging at her hair, and sighed, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. As she made her way home, her steps slow and deliberate, a sense of peace began to settle over her.

Then, with a sudden, horror-stricken gasp, she froze in her tracks.

"Oh shit— the roast!"

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Two

Morning broke gently over Dusthaven, sunlight filtering through threadbare curtains to pool in uneven patches across the worn wooden floor. Elissa stirred, the faint hum of power coursing through the settlement coaxing her from sleep. The sound was steady and rhythmic, a far cry from the erratic groans and sputters that had plagued their old systems for years.

Stretching, Elissa swung her legs over the side of the bed, tugging her thin tunic down to cover more of her sun-bronzed skin. The dawn's chill prickled her arms and legs, and she muttered about needing to mend her worn sweatpants as she padded across the floor.

Faint voices drifted from the main room. Kala was perched against the counter, her long, deep red braid swaying as she gestured animatedly, every movement exuding far too much for the early hours. By contrast, Tara sat cross-legged at the small table, her crimson hair spilling down her back in soft waves. She was hunched in concentration, delicate hands steady as she soldered wires inside a disassembled vox unit.

"Morning," Elissa greeted, her voice still husky with sleep.

"Morning, Mom," Tara replied softly, her focus unwavering as the soldering iron hissed against the circuitry.

Kala turned, her freckled face lighting up in a wide grin. "Morning! Guess who didn't trip over the stairs today?"

Elissa raised a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. "A miracle worth noting. However, caffeine first."

Kala snorted and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that accentuated her already maturing figure, a mirror of Elissa's own. "You know, Tara's been going on about the power coming back all morning. She's acting like it's the Emperors arrival."

Tara glanced up briefly, her green eyes cool and steady. "It's not just the power, Kala. It's the reactor. It hasn't worked in decades, and now it's running. That's a big deal."

Setting her tools aside with careful precision, Tara added, "I'd like to know how it was even possible."

Kala rolled her eyes, but a flicker of interest betrayed her curiosity. "Yeah, yeah, reactors and wires. I just want to know when we're getting proper lights in the tavern—or a fridge that doesn't smell like rotted gritroot."

Elissa chuckled, pulling a mug from the cabinet and pouring the bitter sunfrond leaf tea that passed for coffee in Dusthaven. "Well, if you must know, it's thanks to the new guy, Koron."

Both girls froze mid-motion.

"Who?" they asked in unison.

Elissa leaned against the counter, savoring the moment before replying. "Koron. He's a cogboy—showed up last night. Remember when I said there was a situation at the gate?"

At their nods, she continued, "He's got a bike like something out of an old holo-drama, and armor to match. Said he needed a place for the night and offered to fix it for room and board."

"And he fixed the reactor?" Tara asked, her eyes narrowing as her mind raced through the implications.

Elissa nodded. "The man's got skills, I'll give him that. Didn't even blink when I told him the thing hadn't worked since before you two were born. Took him about twenty minutes to figure out what the rest of us couldn't in twenty years." She gestured toward the faintly glowing overhead lights. "So yeah, be sure to say thank you if you see him."

Kala's grin widened, her emerald eyes practically glowing with excitement. "So, where is he now? Does he have one of those helmets with the glowing eyes? And is the bike as cool as you say?"

Elissa gave her a pointed look. "He's staying at the tavern, Yannek cleaned up the storeroom for him. And don't you go pestering him about his bike, Kala."

Tara, however, had set her tools aside entirely, her expression thoughtful. "Do you think he'd let me watch him work? If he can fix a reactor, he probably knows things I've only read about. I could learn from him."

Kala snickered, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "You mean I could get a ride on that bike while you nerd out over his tools."

"Kala," Elissa said, her tone sharp but not without humor. "Leave the man alone. He's done more for this town in a day than most manage in years, but I don't want you hanging around him until I know more about him."

Kala shrugged, entirely unrepentant. "Fine, fine. I'll keep it casual. But if he's got stories, I want to hear them."

Elissa sighed, setting the kettle to boil. "Look, you can meet him later—together—but keep your heads on straight. He's not here for our entertainment, and I doubt he's staying long."

Tara nodded, already deep in thought about what questions she could ask. Kala, however, was practically vibrating with anticipation.

"So," Kala said, leaning closer with a mischievous grin, "do you think he's single?"

Elissa choked on her tea, coughing as she glared at her daughter. "Out. Now. Both of you."

Kala laughed, grabbing her gear as she darted for the door. "Alright, alright, I'm going! But seriously, Mom, if he needs a guide, you know where to find me!"

Tara rose more deliberately, pausing at the doorway to glance back. "I'll head to Mr. Gibbon's place after breakfast. I want to pick through his scrap for anything that might help stabilize the grid."

"Good thinking," Elissa said, her tone softening. "But don't forget to eat first. You'll need the energy."

Tara nodded and disappeared out the door, leaving Elissa alone in the quiet house. She shook her head, muttering, "Teenagers."

As the kettle began to steam, she allowed herself a small smile. For all their differences—Kala's bold, impulsive charm and Tara's quiet, meticulous determination—they were good kids.

Still, the thought of them meeting Koron made her stomach twist. He'd brought power back to Dusthaven, but his presence carried an air of danger, something deeper and more complicated than the twins could possibly understand.

But that was a worry for another time. For now, there were pumps to repair, meals to prepare, and a town to keep running. Small victories would have to do.

-

Doc's clinic stood near the heart of town, one of the largest structures aside from the town hall and the emergency shelter carved deeper into the mountain. Like the other buildings in Dusthaven, it was squat and utilitarian, its entrance a set of double-wide doors marked by an aquila symbol that swayed faintly in the desert wind.

Pushing inside, Elissa called out, "Doc?" Her voice carried over the faint hum of machines as she stepped into the cool, sterile air. A muffled reply came from deeper within, prompting her to glance around while she waited.

The walls, once a soft beige, now bore the scars of decades weathering Dusthaven's unforgiving desert climate. Scuffs, dents, and stains created a patchwork of wear, with faded posters clinging stubbornly to the walls, their edges curling from age. One depicted a smiling family, with bold letters encouraging regular health check-ups, though its colors had dulled to near monochrome. Another bore a grim warning about local water contamination, reminding residents to boil their water—a stark reflection of the settlement's daily struggles.

In the center of the room, a polished metal examination table gleamed under flickering fluorescent lights, its cold, clinical appearance standing out against the worn, rustic surroundings. Beside it, a stainless steel tray held a neatly arranged array of instruments: sterilized scalpels, stacked bandages, and glass vials that caught and refracted the artificial light. A compact holo-terminal rested on the table's edge, it's modern design clashing with the clinic's antiquated charm.

Hovering silently above the table, a servitor floated with eerie precision. Its single mechanical eye rotated in lazy arcs, surveying the room with detached efficiency. Tool-laden limbs hung at its sides, softly humming as though waiting for orders to stir them into action. Around the room, servo-skulls drifted like spectral guardians, their faintly glowing blue optics flaring intermittently. Some bore holographic recorders, while others carried diagnostic sensors that pulsed with quiet purpose, projecting ghostly vitals or treatment notes into the dusty air.

The scent of antiseptic dominated, sharp and sterile, mingling faintly with the omnipresent aroma of sunbaked sand—a reminder that the desert was never far away. Against one wall, a sagging shelf overflowed with patient records, a chaotic blend of yellowed paper files and fragile data-slates, each a testament to the myriad injuries and illnesses suffered by Dusthaven's hardy inhabitants. Nearby, a faded curtain hung limply, separating the exam area from the cramped waiting room. There, battered plastic chairs lined the wall in a row, their once-bright hues faded to a uniform gray. A rusty water cooler gurgled in the corner, its tank clouded with sediment, a dubious promise of refreshment.

The sharp clatter of boots on tile announced Dr. Lucia Malinov's arrival. She emerged from the back, a striking figure of contrasts. Her left arm and leg were augmetics, sleek and functional replacements for limbs she had lost battling an Ork Nob—a tale she often recounted with a wry grin and the phrase, "You should've seen the other guy." Her remaining arm, muscular and deft, moved with practiced confidence.

Despite the weight of her past, her smile was warm as she saw Elissa. The dull thunk of her augmetic leg accompanied her approach, its sound a subtle testament to her history. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, her pixie-cut hair still styled in the manner of her former life as a Hospitaller of the Sisters of Battle. Yet her eyes, heavy with experience, seemed far older.

"Mornin'. What brings you here so early?" she asked, her voice a smooth blend of humor and concern.

Elissa returned the smile. "Morning, Doc. Notice anything… different today?" She gestured toward the clinic lights.

Doc's lips quirked in mild amusement. "Different? No, not at all. Just some old machinery suddenly springing back to life after years of sitting idle. Can't imagine why. Heard through the grapevine we've got a visitor. Some cogboy, right?"

Taking a seat in the waiting room, Elissa spun the chair around to sit backward, her arms draped over the backrest. She adjusted slightly, stifling a grimace as her figure proved less cooperative with the old chair's design. "That's what it seems like. But he's not like any cogboy I've ever seen—no red robes, no tech-priest 'look.' His face actually looked… human. Only cyberware I saw was his arms, and they're… different. Streamlined, smooth. If he wore long sleeves and gloves, I might not have noticed."

Doc frowned, her organic hand rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "That's… more worrying than I expected. Augments like that aren't just rare; they're incredibly expensive, even for the Admech. And I heard something about a flying bike? Hovering tech, right?"

Elissa nodded; her expression intrigued. "Yeah. It didn't just hover; it floated. Smooth as silk. Never seen anything like it."

Doc's brow furrowed further. "That kind of machine… it's not just rare—it's practically unheard of outside the Mechanicus or the Astarte's. Last time I saw anything like it, an Astarte's squad was passing near my camp."

Elissa's eyes widened, emerald bright with fascination. "You saw Angels of Death?"

Doc chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Saw, yes. From a distance. Didn't exactly sit down for a chat, though."

Leaning back in her chair, Doc shakes away the memories. "Anyway, no sugar coating, I would be very leery of having him around. Someone with that kind of money, the kind of connections to get that level of gear? Makes me wonder why he's out here on his own."

"Agreed. That said, if he's willing to fix our reactor and our water supply in exchange for staying here, assuming he plans to, then I'm willing to use him. If he turns out to be a problem with whatever's in his past, we toss him out to the wolves." Snapping her fingers, Elissa pointed towards Doc. "Also, something else was weird. He didn't speak for a while, but after a bit he started speaking really broken gothic. You have any ideas about that?"

Shrugging, Doc only gave a slight shake of her head. "No idea. Might be a noble, never actually used the common tongue? Maybe a busted bit of cyber in his throat? I got no way of tellin honey."

A weary smile tugged at her lips. "Fair enough. Just figured I should ask; you and Milo are the only two who I know of that have been off-world before. Was kinda hoping one of you might have some recollection."

"Tell ya what, have him come by to fix some of my equipment, I'll run some discreet scans, see what we're dealing with and get a feel for the boy."

"Sounds good. Thanks Doc."

"Anytime."

----

As she emerged from Docs office, she stopped, several dozen of the townspeople rushing by. Grabbing one, Dalton, his salt and pepper mustache standing out against his leathered, tanned skin, she asked "Whats wrong?"

"Word is that cogboys down in the aquifer, doing something with the pump. People are right nervous about anybody messing with the water, and I heard whispers some boys got him at gunpoint."

Cursing, Elissa grabbed the older man shoulder, pushing him towards Docs. "Tell doc to prep, we might have some injuries coming in!"

Her short legs still covered the ground well, duster coattails flapping behind her as she approached, shouting ahead for the people to clear a path.

Making her way through, she flew down the steps, deeper than the reactor, down into the depths of the mountain. If the reactor was the heart of the settlement, then the mountains' depths held its lifeblood.

Dusthaven's aquifer lay hidden deep within the mountain's rugged embrace, a guarded lifeline for the settlement. Enclosed within a natural cavern, it's still waters shimmered faintly in the dim light of hanging lamps, their glow casting rippling reflections across the stone walls. The air here was cool and heavy with moisture, a stark contrast to the arid desert above. Stalactites dripped steadily, their rhythmic plinks echoing softly, blending with the low hum of pumps and filtration systems installed to draw the precious resource to the surface.

Massive stone pillars, remnants of ancient tectonic forces, framed the aquifer's edge, their bases partially submerged. Signs of human intervention were evident—reinforced walkways crisscrossed the chamber, allowing workers to inspect equipment or access testing stations. Pipes snaked along the walls and ceiling, gleaming with maintenance despite their patched and mismatched appearance, evidence of the settlement's resourceful spirit. The filtration hub stood at the far end of the cavern, a squat, boxy machine with blinking indicators and softly churning mechanisms, tirelessly purifying the water.

The aquifer's surface was deceptively calm, its depth hinting at unseen complexity. Occasional bubbles broke the mirror-like stillness, rising from fissures far below, a reminder of the geological forces at work. A faint, mineral-rich scent hung in the air, mingling with the sterile tang of maintenance fluids used to keep the machinery operational.

As for the water pump and purification systems? They were a patchwork of ancient design and desperate ingenuity, a mechanical testament to the settlement's will to survive. The original system, installed long before the current generation, bore the marks of age and neglect. Faded manufacturer sigils and worn Mechanicus engravings hinted at it's once-pristine origins, but now, its glory days were long past.

The pump itself was a hulking monstrosity of corroded metal, its bulk riddled with rust, dents, and makeshift repairs. Layers of mismatched plating bolted over fractures and missing panels gave it the appearance of a lopsided beast. Hoses and pipes jutted out at awkward angles, some thick and reinforced, others thin and brittle, their surfaces coated in grime and mineral deposits. Blackened patches showed where welds had sealed critical leaks, and a tangle of wires dangled precariously, their insulation frayed or missing entirely.

The purification unit, adjacent to the pump, was in an even worse shape. Its boxy frame was pockmarked with holes and cracks, with duct tape and resin plugs barely keeping the system intact. A cluttered control panel sat on its side, its buttons and levers sticky and worn, while a jumble of glowing indicator lights flickered erratically. On one edge of the unit, a makeshift cooling system—little more than an ancient fan jury-rigged with scavenged parts—whirred weakly, its uneven rotations accompanied by the occasional sharp clank.

Water trickled through a labyrinth of filters cobbled together from salvaged materials. Layers of wire mesh, cloth, and other improvised media had been inserted where proper components were missing. Maintenance tools and supplies, ranging from proper Mechanicus-crafted spanners to crude wrenches hammered into shape, littered the surrounding area, ready for constant adjustments. The faint odor of chemical disinfectants clung to the system, barely masking the tang of metal and machine oil.

The entire assembly groaned and hissed like a dying beast, coughing and sputtering as it forced water through its failing mechanisms. Despite its precarious state, the system somehow persevered, delivering a trickle of life-sustaining water to the people of Dusthaven. It was a fragile lifeline, held together more by hope and determination than sound engineering, a constant reminder of just how close the settlement was to calamity.

Now, standing in a tense circle around the stranger, the local engineers gripped their tools tightly, holding them up like makeshift weapons to defend their temperamental lifeline from the outsider who dared approach.

Behind them, the settlement's guards aimed their battered lasguns squarely at Koron, whose hands were raised in what seemed like a gesture of surrender.

No… not quite.

A sudden sense of unease pricked at the back of Elissa's mind. Years of hostile negotiations had trained her to sense danger when it loomed, sending alarm bells clanging through her thoughts. Her steps faltered as a chill ran down her spine. Pieces of her earlier conversation with Doc slammed together in her mind like teeth snapping shut in a trap.

Cybernetics like that are expensive. He must have connections high up.
Might be a noble, never had to speak the language before.
Nobles have enemies. Lots of them.

Her gaze dropped to Koron's hands. They weren't raised in surrender after all. No, they were out, facing the engineers and guards who threatened him.

This wasn't submission.

He's not unarmed.

Her pulse quickened. She scanned the room: the engineers, unarmored and exposed, clung to their tools like life rafts. Behind them, the guards held their lasguns, their mismatched armor more patchwork than protection. And then there was Koron, standing apart, encased in seamless armor that radiated a quiet, deadly lethality. She had already seen the cybernetics at work—tools unfurling from his limbs with unnerving speed and precision.

What else is in there?

The thought unsettled her, tugging at her instincts with a low, insistent pull.

"Stand down, everybody!" Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding, its echo amplified in the water-soaked space, making it feel like she was standing above them, towering.

If it had been just her, she might have shouted a few more times just for the sheer rush of it.

But before she could process, the sharp crack of a lasgun shot shattered the fragile quiet. The poor guard, startled by the reverberating sound of her voice, fired, and the crimson bolt surged forward, streaking through the air with sizzling heat.

Time stretched.

Then—

A blinding burst of blue-white light exploded around Koron. The air pulsed with the sudden activation of a barrier, a shield of energy materializing in an instant. The lasbolt struck the barrier's surface with a crackling burst, its energy scattering into shimmering, electric tendrils. Ripples of cyan light spread outward, arcing like threads of lightning, coursing through the lattice with an eerie, almost sentient precision.

The crowd gasped, a collective sound of horror that quickly gave way to stunned silence. The hum of the barrier resonated through the space, low and thrumming, casting long, eerie shadows over the onlookers. Someone stumbled backward, wide-eyed, muttering, "The Emperor's mercy…"

Elissa's breath hitched in her chest. Her eyes widened as she stared at Koron, who remained still, his hands still raised, unmoved by the blast. He didn't flinch. He didn't look at the barrier—he just stood there, as though the shield's activation was second nature to him.

The guards faltered, lasguns shaking in their hands. One muttered, "What the hell was that?" while another recoiled, the weapon clutched tightly to his chest as if it might protect him from whatever had just transpired.

But Elissa's attention was fixed elsewhere. As the barrier rippled and hummed, Koron's right arm suddenly moved with a terrifying speed. His hand extended outward, and arcs of electricity crackled between his fingers, surging with violent intensity, the lightning-like tendrils dancing over his hand, snapping and sparking as if alive.

Elissa's pulse raced as her instincts screamed at her.

Her eyes darted to the young guard who had fired, panic wide on his face, his lasgun still raised, unsure of what to do next. Koron's arm was aimed, crackling with deadly energy, ready to unleash some unknown force.

Without thinking, Elissa's body reacted before her mind could fully process the situation. She moved with a speed born of instinct and experience, cutting across the space between the guard and Koron. She slid into position, placing herself squarely between the two, her body blocking the crackling energy that now surged from Koron's raised arm.

"Elissa!" The young guard's voice wavered, his gun trembling in his hands.

She didn't look at him. Instead, her eyes stayed fixed on Koron, her voice low but fierce as she spoke to the armored figure. "Don't." She commanded, her voice low, calm, but focused.

Koron's arm hovered, crackling with unspent energy. There was no immediate movement, but the tension in the air was palpable, the sheer heat generated by whatever she was staring down the barrel of making her sweat.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. But she kept her stance firm. This wasn't the time for rash moves, for rash decisions.

"Stop," she repeated more firmly, her voice unwavering.

After a moment that stretched out like an eternity, the lightning slowly dissipated, fading from Koron's hand, though the energy still hummed beneath the surface. His arm lowered, but his posture remained stiff, unwavering.

She stepped aside, turning to face the young guard. "Put the damn gun down," she growled. Her hand shot out, slapping the rifle away from the guard's trembling grasp as she moved past him to face Daniel, the lead engineer. His eyes were wide with disbelief, still locked on Koron and the smoldering aftereffects of the barrier.

"Daniel, why are we turning him into roasted dustjackel?"

Daniel sputtered, his hands still tight around his wrench, but his voice faltered. "He just came down here and started undoing the panels! Ripping seals, messing with wires! He was going to destroy the filters!"

Elissa nodded, turning fully to face Koron, her arms crossed tightly under her chest as she forced her tone to be casual. "Okay, and your side of the story?" Keep it cool girl. Be the rock they need right now.

Koron did not reply immediately. The faint hum of his weapon finally died down, and for a moment, the tension hung heavy in the air. Then, Koron removed his helmet with a fluid motion, the black armor hissing faintly as it disengaged.

Elissa watched him closely, her eyes narrowing slightly. The gesture was unexpected, yet somehow it struck her as an attempt to make himself clearer, to bridge the chasm of distrust that still hung thick between them. She appreciated that, even if her mind couldn't quite ignore the faint distortion rippling around the edges of the barrier, little more than a faint heat haze now.

"Last night I found the water to be brackish. Full of silica, carbon, and a dozen other elements, including oxidized iron and plasteel. Such elements are extremely harmful to ingest, especially for children. I came to fix the pump. Pieces must be removed to complete the repairs, medication distributed to the populace." Her surprise at his much more eloquent speech was quickly pushed aside, for the moment as she considered his words.

Such words cut through the murmurs of the engineers like a knife. The group fell into shameful silence, the weight of his statement sinking in. The water… brackish. Damaging. Everyone had known the water was going bad, that the filters were breaking down. But to hear it put so clearly by someone not of their town…it cut.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Elissa fought to keep her irritation in check. She had to maintain control of the situation. Deep breaths.

"Koron, next time you have something you want to fix, come talk to me first," she said, doing her best to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "We don't know you, and while you fixed the reactor, that was you getting something out of it. Why would you just come down here and start fixing things on your own?"

For a moment, she thought he might hesitate, maybe offer some form of explanation that would sound reasonable, human even. But then his answer came, blunt, simple, and honest—a slap to the face.

"Because I can help. What other reason do I require?"

Elissa's gaze dropped briefly, trying to steady herself. Her instincts screamed at her to dig deeper, to find the hidden motive, the secret angle she knew had to be there. But as Koron stood before her—his clear, unyielding azure gaze never wavering, his body bristling with the power to destroy if necessary—she realized with a sickening clarity that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

And that truth wasn't something she was ready for.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth, but for a moment, Elissa simply stared back at him, weighing the sincerity in his eyes against the deep-rooted skepticism that had always kept her grounded.

Finally, she exhaled, feeling the weight of the realization pressing down on her.

"Fine," she muttered, rubbing her temple. With a sharp exhale, Elissa stepped back and gestured to the engineers. "Alright. Everybody just… calm down. We'll talk about the water pump. Just—don't touch anything else unless I say so."

She turned to Koron, her eyes narrowing. "And you—no more surprises, understand?"

Koron didn't respond. But the flicker in his eyes, something between curiosity and impatience, suggested that he would abide by the rules, for now. He had already made it clear he didn't see the need for permission.

A lingering sense of unease gripped her as she watched him, but she forced herself to push it aside for now. One problem at a time.

And, as always, it was her job to make sure things didn't spiral out of control.

-

The tavern's worn walls were a welcome sight as Elissa pushed through the heavy metal door. The smell of stale ale mixed with the sharper scent of grease and something faintly floral. Yannek looked up in surprise when he saw her so early. "El," he said, his voice tinged with surprise, as he slid a glass of sunfrond tea across the bar. The rich, bitter brew—a dark, caffeine-packed concoction—would help settle her rattled nerves. "Busy day?"

"You could say that," Elissa replied, picking up the glass and taking a long sip. She let the warmth spread through her, steeling herself before meeting his gaze. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

Yannek raised an eyebrow, his hands resting on the polished surface of the bar. Before he could answer, Milo barged through the door, rifle slung over his chest, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I'm always partial to good news first myself," he cut in, eyes flicking between the two of them. "Makes it easier to deal with the bad. Like wrapping meds in sugar."

Yannek grumbled, grabbing the teapot and pouring another mug for Milo. "Please. An ass like you couldn't stand the taste of sugar. It'd melt your bitter black heart."

Milo shrugged, taking the seat next to Elissa with practiced ease, resting his rifle beside him. "True, true. How about it's more like getting drunk before the servitor staples your leg shut?"

"That's more like it."

The lighthearted banter faltered, though, as Milo noticed Elissa's demeanor. She wasn't joining in. Her gaze remained locked on the steaming tea before her, distant and troubled.

"Hey," Milo asked, his voice softening as he leaned forward. "What's got you down in the dumps?"

"You didn't hear yet? About what happened at the pump?" Elissa replied, her tone flat.

Milo's posture stiffened at once, that old edge in his voice creeping in. "No. What happened?"

"The new guy, Koron," Elissa began, her fingers tracing absent circles along the rim of her mug. "Damn near—actually, shit, we did have a gunfight, technically."

Milo's brows furrowed, concern flashing in his eyes as she waved a hand to cut him off before he could ask too many questions. "Sit down, let me explain. The cogboy—Koron—he went down to the pump on his own after seeing the state of the water in his room last night. Started messing with the filter system without saying a word to anyone. So, naturally, everyone freaked the hell out. Daniel's whole team, and the security detail, pulled weapons on him."

"Shit... is everyone okay?" Milo's voice was tight with concern.

"Yeah, that's the scary part," Elissa replied with a sigh. "The new kid, I forget his name, shot him." She mimed pulling a trigger, her finger pointing at her temple. "Pow. Right in the face. And Koron didn't even flinch. No damage. Some kind of... field ate the shot like it was nothing." She paused, her expression still taut with disbelief. "Oh! And, to top it off, the guy's armed with some kind of energy weapon. Looked like it was about to spit a lightning bolt or sear my face off."

Milo sat back, his face hardening as he processed the information. His mind raced, trying to reconcile this with anything he'd seen before. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now, as though trying to make sense of the absurdity. "I've seen some of the cogboys back in the service, out in the field a few times, helping recover armor and the like. They had some wild stuff, sure. But what you're talking about?" He shook his head slowly, disbelief etched on his face. "Never. Not once in forty years did I see anything even remotely like what you're describing."

Yannek leaned casually on the counter, his arms crossed, listening intently. He nodded as Elissa finished her account. "So… is that the good news or the bad news?"

Elissa took another gulp of tea, the warmth steadying her, before wiping her lips on the frayed sleeve of her duster. "Neither, really. That's just what happened." Setting the mug down with a muted clink, she clapped her hands together and turned slightly to face both men. "Now, for the good news."

Both men perked up, leaning closer as she spoke.

"A massive chunk of the filters are replaced, most of the cogitators are back online, and nearly all the leaks—along with several busted pipes—have been completely restored." She gestured broadly, her tone lightening with the relief of progress. "Our water should be a lot cleaner now. Doc still says we should boil it, but based on what I saw on those slides? A massive amount of pollutants have been removed."

Yannek's face broke into a wide grin, the lines around his eyes crinkling with joy. "That's great! Clean water! That's amazing news!"

Milo's expression, however, shifted into something more thoughtful, his brow furrowing as he processed her words. "Hold on," he said, his tone more measured. "How the hell did he pull that off? We don't have the parts—spare or otherwise—for an overhaul like that. Even with all the add-on filters we rigged up, we barely made a dent."

Elissa shrugged, her lips curling into a faint, exasperated smile. "He made the parts."

Milo blinked, incredulous. "What, like—?"

"A little panel on his arm slid open," she interrupted, holding up her hands to mime the scene. "This little blue circle lit up, and these dozens of tiny arms started going wild, crafting… something. About ten seconds later, he had a brand-new filter in his hand. And it fit perfectly. Like it was meant to be there."

She paused to let the impact of her words sink in, watching their stunned expressions.

"Then he starts doing the same thing with all the filters," she continued, her voice rising slightly as the memory stirred her own lingering disbelief. "And not just the filters—he's building entire sections of pipe from scratch. Right there. Out of his arm. He just keeps replacing the busted sections like it's nothing. And I mean seamless replacements. No gaps, no weak points. It's like…" She trailed off, slumping forward to rest her forehead against the cool steel of the bar.

Yannek and Milo exchanged a glance, but neither interrupted.

Finally, Elissa broke the silence, her voice quieter now. "He called it a nanoweave fabricator," she said, almost to herself. "Apologized that it was the only one he had, so he couldn't replace the larger parts, like the big pipes farther down the shaft."

Her emerald eyes stared into the distance, unfocused. The memory of Koron's expression lingered in her mind, sharper than the details of his work.

"He… was ashamed that he couldn't fix everything," she murmured. "Ashamed. After everything he did—fixing the filters like it was nothing, replacing sections of the pump—he was sorry he couldn't do more."

The bar fell silent for a moment, save for the faint hum of machinery somewhere deeper in the settlement. Milo shifted uncomfortably, his hand running across his rifle as if grounding himself.

"Damn," he muttered, breaking the quiet. "That's not normal."

Elissa lifted her head, her face still etched with disbelief. "Nothing about him is."

"So," Milo asked, his gaze shifting uneasily as he spoke. "What's the bad news?"

Elissa sighed, leaning back in her seat. "He can't make the larger parts we need. The pump and the filter system still need completely new components. And that means either the Sea or Anaxis."

Yannek muttered a curse under his breath, rubbing at his temple. "Fuck. Anaxis is a sure bet for the parts. The cogboys out there build Titans. A water pump and some piping shouldn't even make them break a sweat."

"Yeah," Milo shot back, his voice edged with frustration, "but what the fuck are we gonna pay them with? We're barely scraping by with the trade caravans as it is. And it's not like we have anything they'd want—N'kasha aside. And even that's in short supply. Besides," he added darkly, "we sure as hell don't want to end up in debt to the Mechanicus. Those bastards don't forget a single throne."

Elissa rubbed her chin thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing. "We could try the Sea. It's a long shot, but we might be able to salvage something from one of the ships out there. Their water systems must have pumps we—or Koron—could rig into place."

Milo grimaced, shaking his head. "Yeah, but orks."

"Agreed." She exhaled sharply, leaning her elbows on the counter. "But which is worse: shooting orks, or trying to cut a deal with the cogboys?"

Milo snorted, a bitter half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Eh, about the same, I'd argue."

Yannek groaned, dropping his head onto the counter with a dull thud. "Perfect. Our options are frying pans and fires."

Elissa shrugged. "Welcome to the wasteland."

"My votes for the city first." Yannek said, wiping down the already clean countertop as he looked for something to busy his hands. "They ask for too much, the Sea is always an option."

Chewing the idea over in her mind, Elissa slowly nodded. "Yeah. We can always say no. Alright, city it is. We'll need to get the caravan ready—this trip won't be easy."

"A week through the desert never is," Milo grumbled, his voice tinged with frustration. He stopped as the door swung open, sand swirling in with the heavy thud of Koron's armored boots.

"Excuse me, Miss Brandt," Koron began, pausing when he saw the others present. He gave them each a curt nod before continuing, his helmet tucked on his belt. "I was approached by a Mr. Emric. He asked if I could take a look at his arm—apparently, it's been having actuator issues for some time."

Elissa pushed herself upright, silently cursing her mother again as the familiar weight settled back onto her shoulders. She winced, the burden of leadership never feeling lighter. "And… you're here because…?"

"…You asked me to get your permission before fixing things," came his flat reply.

She could almost swear there was a subtle 'are you stupid?' in his tone, but she quickly brushed the thought aside, realizing the mistake was her own. "Okay, fair enough. Ask permission if you're doing something that could affect the whole town or our survival, alright?"

Koron nodded, his expression unreadable. Elissa held up her hand to stop him from turning away just yet. "And by the way," she added, her tone shifting to something a little more casual, "it's just Miss Brandt, Elissa, Mayor, or if I like you—'hey, you'. No need for all the formalities out here in the wastes. Oh, and, I was curious; what's with your speech all of a sudden not being a broken mess?"

Koron's nodded slowly as he tapped his temple. "My translation matrix required additional time to process. The several hours of rest allowed it to mostly complete its calibration."

Elissa regarded him coolly, her instincts still wary but her expression unreadable. The stranger, it seemed, wasn't just a rogue in the desert. He was far more than they could have anticipated.

With a nod, Koron turned back toward the door, the gleam of his armor cutting through the dim light like a torch. Elissa suddenly stood, calling after him. "Wait a second, Koron, can I ask you something?"

"Of course. What can I help you with?" His voice was calm as he spun on his heel to face her.

"That bike of yours—how fast is it? How long would it take to get to the forge city to the west?"

He paused, then raised a metal finger. "Give me a moment. I need to see what you're talking about."

With that, he left, and the others exchanged a glance as the armored figure made his way toward the gate.

Yannek broke the silence. "What do you think he's doing?"

"How should I know? Just let him handle it. If the bike's fast enough, we could save on fuel," Elissa replied.

"What, have someone take his bike into the city?" Milo's voice was incredulous. "El, the bike's appearance got our attention. A city of cogboys will soil their robes just from seeing it. Plus, I don't think he'd let anyone else ride it."

"…Well, thanks for that mental image," Elissa muttered.

"It's true," Milo said, unbothered.

"Doesn't make it any less gross," Yannek piped up, with a smirk.

A few minutes later, Koron returned, promptly delivering his answer.

"Estimates on the city's size and distance are complete. I would estimate at a moderate cruising speed, it would take about eleven hours to reach the city. If I were to put all haste into it, about six and a half hours."

Three pairs of eyes widened as they tried to process the speed his bike could reach.

"That's…" Elissa stammered, counting on her fingers. "What, two thousand miles an hour?"

"One thousand and change, yes," Koron replied.

"You'll have to tell us one day where you stole that bike from," Milo grunted, lighting up a cigarette.

Koron bristled, his shoulders stiffening. "Excuse me, but I built that bike with my own two hands, thank you very much."

The sudden spike of anger that laced Korons tone caught everyone's attention.

For a long moment Milo stared back at Koron, clearly considering something.

Koron for his part, remained still, and all Elissa could see was that crackling lightning that had been inches from her face, the faint distortion around his body from the field that had taken a lasbolt to the head and not even flinched.

She could feel the tension mounting in her neck as she started to stand, only to stop as Milo gave a slow nod.

"Apologies. Didn't mean to insult yer skills."

Koron, at his admission, seemed to deflate slightly, his shoulders loosening as if a weight had lifted, if only a fraction. His voice softened. "Thank you. And... Sorry for getting defensive. She means a lot to me, is all. One of the few things from home I have left."

Elissa felt a flicker of curiosity flare at his words. Home? What does that mean? Where's home for you? Do you have a family waiting for you—a wife? Kids?

She pushed the questions aside, keeping her expression neutral. Koron was the guarded type, and prying wouldn't get her anywhere. Instead, she latched onto a more immediate topic.

"So, six hours, huh?" she said, keeping her tone light. "That's... insane, honestly. But if that's true, how do you feel about giving me a ride to the city? I've got some business there, and you'd save me about a week's worth of travel."

Koron nodded, though his gaze briefly flickered past her, as if weighing her request against something unseen. "I could do that," he said finally.

Before she could respond, Koron's pale blue eyes dropped, appraising her attire with a brief, sweeping glance. His gaze was quick, almost clinical, but lingered just long enough for her to notice. Heat crept into her cheeks, and she straightened instinctively, suddenly aware of how she might look to him.

"What are you—" she began, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment coloring her tone.

"You'll need more coverage," he interrupted, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. He gestured faintly to her sand-colored blouse and fitted trousers. "Wind resistance at that speed would tear through what you're wearing, and it won't provide enough protection against abrasion or exposure to the elements. Do you have voidsuits or anything similar?"

Elissa blinked, the flush in her cheeks deepening. For a moment, she wasn't sure whether to feel embarrassed or annoyed. He was looking at me for... practical reasons? Not even a flicker of anything else?

Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Don't jump to conclusions, Elissa. He's practical, that's all. But another part of her, the part she wasn't proud of, grumbled inwardly. What, he doesn't even find me attractive?

Drawing herself up, she folded her arms and gave a slow nod. "I think I might be able to scrounge something up. We've got a few old voidsuits from salvage runs. You know how it is—no shortage of those in starship wrecks. They're not exactly the latest model, but they hold up well enough in sandstorms. That should work, right?"

Koron shrugged, the plates of his cybernetic arms shifting fluidly with a faint hum of servos. "They might. I can make it work for you." His lips quirked into a small, playful smile as he added, "Don't worry, you're not the first lady I've taken for a ride."

The line hit her out of nowhere, and she stared at him, her composure cracking just enough to leave her momentarily speechless.

"Well," she managed after a beat, recovering quickly, "your, uh, translation matrix seems to be updating. What's next, a sonnet?"

Koron chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I have been told my singing is considered cruel and unusual punishment. Just trying to put you at ease. You seemed nervous, that's all."

Elissa's emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him, tilting her head just enough to let her fiery hair catch the dim sunlight. She couldn't tell whether he was teasing her, being sincere, or just oblivious.

"Well," she said at last, walking past him with a faint smirk, "let's see if I can dig up that suit. Don't go anywhere, hotshot."

As she walked away, Koron made his way to a nearby table, his expression settling into quiet focus. He muttered something under his breath—soft, barely audible.

Elissa stopped briefly, glancing over her shoulder. "Did you say something?"

Koron didn't look up. "Nothing important," he said, brushing off her question.

But her brow furrowed as she turned back toward the storehouse. His tone had carried an odd, distracted weight, as if he'd been speaking to someone. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Too much sun, Elissa. Focus.

-

Elissa watched Koron work on the patched-up voidsuit in her home, her and Tara's expressions mirroring one another in quiet awe. The way his fingers unfurled into tools was mesmerizing, a seamless display of precision and skill. Each movement stitched the repair patches—fabricated on the spot—into the voidsuit's sandblasted surface with mechanical grace. Seals were reinforced, and the hoselines that carried oxygen were carefully threaded back into place. Sparks danced as his metallic fingertips ground down broken threads, reforming them into smooth, functional spirals.

"Does it hurt when your arms change like that?" Tara asked, her voice steady but filled with fascination. Her green eyes followed the intricate movements of his hands with the intensity of someone eager to understand every detail.

Koron glanced at her, a faint smile softening his otherwise stoic expression. "No, not even a little. You don't need to worry about that."

Tara tilted her head, the gears of her mind visibly turning. "So how does it all work? The fabricator on your arm—how does it produce the patches? And how are you able to sew them on so precisely? I mean, Mom's mending usually takes hours, and she always grumbles about it." She pointed towards the patch on her shirt's side, the darker brown threads contrasting sharply against the faded pink.

Elissa, who had been observing silently, raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Koron held up a single metallic finger in a mock gesture of patience. His tone carried a playful edge. "In order: a quantum-flux reactor powers me, the fabricator uses nanoweave technology, I've had a lot of practice with these hands, and the shirt is still lovely. Brings out your eyes."

Tara blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, and a faint blush crept across her cheeks. "Oh, uh... thanks," she murmured, quickly composing herself. "But seriously, nanoweave? What even is that? And—"

Elissa placed a hand gently on her daughter's shoulder, cutting off the next flurry of questions. "Tara, let the man work. He's fixing this for me, so don't distract him too much, okay?"

Koron looked up briefly, his smile was more pronounced this time. "She's not distracting me. I enjoy answering her questions."

Elissa gave him a measured look but nodded. "Alright, if you say so. I'll leave you two to it for now. I've got things to get ready."

As she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, she could hear Tara's continued stream of questions, each one met with Koron's calm, patient responses. The sound of their conversation carried a strange warmth, one Elissa couldn't quite place.

Though she trusted her daughter's judgment, a faint worry lingered. Koron was a stranger, a traveler with skills and technology far beyond Dusthaven's modest means. His arrival had already changed their lives in more ways than one, but Elissa couldn't shake the feeling that his presence also carried an unspoken weight—a past or purpose that might soon collide with their quiet, fragile existence.

For now, though, she let the sound of Tara's inquisitive voice ease her thoughts as she began to prepare for the tasks ahead.

It was a simple space, the double bed pushed into the far corner with the room's only window, the light from the single overhead bulb stretching across the room. Her dresser, almost as tall as she was, loomed against the far wall, while her tiny closet held the few dresses she bothered to keep.

Her backpack, always ready to go at a moment's notice, lay by the door. Beside it, her lasgun sat, the powerpacks charged and ready, the refurbished flak armor hanging from the hook. Her life required that weapons always be within easy reach, never knowing when she would need to use them. It wouldn't be the first time that raiders, orks or the like had shown up.

Flopping onto the bed, she stared at the cracked ceiling, her mind already running through potential strategies for negotiating with the cogboys. She let the thoughts settle in, but they churned, relentless.

Koron was still working downstairs, his cybernetic limbs a blur as he methodically repaired the voidsuit. Tara's incessant questions drifted in the background, but they were nothing more than background noise to her as her thoughts spiraled around the looming negotiation with the Mechanicus.

She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the worst-case scenarios—those cold, calculating tech-priests dismissing her outright, tossing aside any request like they had done before with countless other scavengers. They would demand more than she could provide, or worse, they would see her as just another cog in the machine. But she needed those parts for the pump, full stop.

She sat up slowly, the thoughts still swirling. The Mechanicus were not ones for charity. They traded in value, not sentiment, and they respected power, knowledge, and relics of the past. If she wanted their help, she'd have to give them something that mattered.

But what could I offer them?

Her gaze swept across the room, landing on the gear packed neatly by the door. A few weapons, rations, her lasgun. It was a thought that had been rattling in the back of her mind, one she hadn't fully formed until now. A lie. A lie so well-crafted that even the Adeptus Mechanicus might buy it. The thought made her pause. She had no love for deception—after all, she had two daughters to look after, and she'd always prided herself on being honest with them. But desperate times…

What if I told them I'd found something… a wreck, a long-abandoned relic site, with strange energy readings?

She grimaced at the thought, considering the details. The idea of making something up—a "wreck" with strange energy readings—was plausible enough. She'd heard rumors about uncharted wrecks scattered across the surrounding wastelands, ships and stations from the old days, all but forgotten by the galaxy. The Mechanicus would bite on that—no question. They were obsessed with ancient technology, anything that even remotely hinted at forbidden knowledge. If she said she'd discovered such a site, with odd energy signatures, they'd be drawn in. They'd have to be.

But could she go that far?

It's not like I'm offering them a working piece of tech, she thought, just a potential lead. A scrap of something.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. It would be a gamble—one that could backfire spectacularly if the Mechanicus caught on. They were not stupid. They could see through a lie like that in seconds if they dug deep enough. But desperation gnawed at her. Without that lie, they'd never give her the time of day, let alone the parts she needed.

The decision hung heavily in her mind. She needed something that would catch their attention, something that would make them willing to trade their precious technology. A lie might be the only way.

She grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulder, walking over to the small window. The light from the single bulb flickered above her, casting long shadows. Her thoughts kept circling back to the wrecks, those rumors she'd heard from wanderers and traders—strange energy readings… yes, they would fall for that. If she sold it right, they'd want to investigate, and if they thought there was a chance at an ancient relic—an object of value to them—they wouldn't hesitate to provide the parts she needed.

She turned and walked downstairs, the sound of Koron's quiet work filling the air. Tara's voice was a muffled hum in the background, still peppering him with questions. Elissa took a deep breath before entering the room, her eyes flicking briefly to Koron as he adjusted the suit.

"Koron," Elissa said, her voice calm but carrying an edge of determination. "I need to talk to you."

Koron paused, his mechanical hands still mid-motion as they held the voidsuit in place. He set down his tools with deliberate care, the faint whir of servos following his movements. Turning to her, he met her gaze with a calm intensity. "What is it?"

She squared her shoulders, steeling herself as the decision solidified in her mind. The lie would work. It had to work. "I'm going to need your help with something." She set her pack on the scarred wooden table, the worn strap of her rifle sliding off her shoulder as she slung it over the back of her chair. Meeting his eyes, she took a deep breath. "The town doesn't have the resources—or anything of value, really—to pay the tech-priests for the parts."

Koron raised an eyebrow, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "What the hell are tech-priests?" he asked, incredulity lacing his tone.

Elissa blinked, her momentum faltering. "W-what? You're not one of them?"

His eyes narrowed slightly as he tapped the gleaming metal of his chestplate. "I'm an engineer, not a priest by any means. Who or what is this organization you're talking about?"

The world seemed to lurch beneath her as the realization hit. Her hands instinctively went to her head, fingers gripping her temples as she leaned forward onto the table. He's not AdMech. He doesn't even know who they are. The thought was almost incomprehensible. How? How could someone with augmetics like his not have crossed paths with the Adeptus Mechanicus? Surely, they had been involved—whether in training him or supplying his replacements. But if that wasn't the case…

What the fuck is going on?

"Elissa?" Koron's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. His hands had gone still, the faint hum of his augmentations the only sound accompanying the tension in the room. "Could you tell me who they are? And why you need my help with them?"

The question snapped her out of her daze, the pressing reality of the situation pushing her internal chaos aside. Focus. The pump. The water supply. Secure that first—everything else can wait.

She straightened, brushing back a stray lock of crimson hair that had fallen into her face. With a slow nod, she exhaled and forced a wry smile. "Right. Okay. Short version? They're a group that worships what they call the Machine God. They believe in venerating technology by… well, by replacing their fleshy bits with cybernetics. They adore old tech—ancient stuff, relics—and they're always hunting for anything they think is valuable. Problem is, they're utter assholes. They have no real regard for human life; everything's secondary to their devotion to machines."

Koron's expression grew pensive as he absorbed her explanation.

She gestured toward him, her hand encompassing his arms and chestplate. "I just assumed—well, with your augmentations—that you'd dealt with them before. I mean, those arms had to come from somewhere."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "My augmentations aren't from this… Mechanicus. They're something else entirely. But go on."

Elissa's lips tightened for a moment, but she pressed forward. "Anyway, I need their help. Or, more accurately, I need their parts. There's no other way to fix the pump and secure our water supply. I was thinking..." She hesitated, her voice lowering. "Maybe we could trick them. Fake a lead—say there's a wreck with strange energy readings nearby. That'd get their attention. I thought you might be able to whip up something convincing."

Koron stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The room felt heavier under the weight of his silence, the dim light casting sharp shadows over his angular features and polished augmetics. Finally, he nodded.

"I have an idea," he said slowly. "But I won't make something for them. They sound insane." His gaze sharpened, his voice firm with resolve. "A false reading, though? That, I can do."

A faint wave of relief washed over Elissa, though her mind still buzzed with doubts and contingencies. She gave him a small, tight smile. "Good. That's all I need. If we can pull this off, they'll give us what we need without a second thought."

Koron inclined his head slightly, his mechanical fingers flexing as if testing their range. "It'll take some work, but I'll make it believable. Just make sure you're ready to sell it when the time comes."

Elissa's smile widened, though the tension in her shoulders didn't ease. "Oh, I'll sell it," she said. "I just need you to give me something worth selling."

-

Elissa caught her reflection in the cracked mirror, shaking her head as she carefully tucked her hip-length braid down the back of the suit. The fabric clung to her curves like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. She grit her teeth and forced the zipper up, muttering under her breath.

For fuck's sake, Mom, she thought bitterly. Why'd you have to give me watermelons for a chest?

The suit wasn't made for someone like her—not for wide hips or a bust that the tight, unyielding material only seemed to accentuate. No, it was designed for wiry men or flat-chested women, not someone who looked like she'd been sculpted as a rebellion against practicality. The duster was non-negotiable. She didn't care what Koron said about its durability; she'd rather ruin it than deal with the inevitable gawking. It wasn't just the men, either. The dykes weren't any better, their whispers just as perverse. Every step through the streets felt like walking onto a stage, and her patience for it was running dangerously thin.

Finally wrangling the suit into submission, she exhaled sharply, adjusting it over her shoulders. This trade needs to happen. Screw how I feel about the suit. The town needs that pump.

She shrugged on the duster before stepping outside. The wind nipped at her face as she approached the group waiting by Koron's bike. The machine hummed softly, its aerodynamic design gleaming in the sunlight. All smooth angles and functionality, it looked like it had been built for speed and style, a strange juxtaposition to the rugged world around them.

Tara crouched near the bike, her face lit with fascination as she ran a hand near the faint, shimmering energy field beneath. "Mom, this thing's insane! Anti-grav plating should be twice the size for a bike like this!"

"Shes smooth as silk just from sitting here too." Kala said matter-of-factly from the seat. She gripped the handlebars, twisting them with a smirk as though she were already speeding across the plains. "Bet this baby can outpace anything in town. I mean, look at it—she's built for speed."

Koron stood nearby, his posture calm, though the faint glow of his eyes tracked the twins' antics with mild amusement. Milo stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression pinched with worry.

"Good luck, El," Milo said, his voice steady but tinged with unease. "Don't let them push you around."

A tight smile tugged at her lips. "Damn right I won't."

Just as she turned to Koron to speak, Kala hopped off the bike and grabbed Elissa by the arm.

"Mom," Kala whispered in a conspiratorial tone, pulling her a few paces away from the group. "Seriously?"

Elissa blinked, confused. "What?"

Kala folded her arms, her gaze flicking briefly to where Koron stood near the bike, adjusting something on his arm. Her voice dropped to a near-hiss. "How have you not mentioned how hot he is?"

Elissa stared at her daughter, utterly blindsided. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Kala gestured emphatically in Koron's direction. "Tall, broad shoulders, glowing eyes that scream mysterious cyborg vibes—oh, and don't even get me started on the voice. It's like butter, Mom. Butter with a side of smolder."

Elissa groaned, rubbing her temples. "Kala, I don't have time for this. Koron is here to help us, not… not—" She flailed for the right word.

"Not set hearts aflutter?" Kala interjected, a sly grin spreading across her face.

Elissa fixed her with a sharp look. "He's not interested. Trust me. He's all business right now."

Kala raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Koron before smirking. "Oh, really? Well, then excuse me while I go introduce myself again." She tugged at her shirt, adjusting it to show just a bit more cleavage.

Elissa grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back before she could take a step. "Kala, I swear to all that's holy, if you embarrass me right now—"

Kala laughed, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Relax, Mom. I'm just teasing. Mostly. But seriously, you might want to lighten up. He's cute, he's smart, and he clearly doesn't mind dealing with us. Just saying, a little gratitude might go a long way."

Elissa sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "I'll thank him when we're done."

Kala leaned in closer, her grin mischievous. "Oh, so you are planning on thanking him after this? Good to know."

Her daughter's teasing was cut off by the sharp gesture of Elissa holding up a hand, her voice firm. "Not like that, Kala. Emperors' mercy, you're worse than your father sometimes."

Kala raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "So, no 'gratitude' until the job's done, huh? Fine, fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Elissa glared at her as she lightly punched Kala's shoulder. "Stop trying to start something, and let's get this show on the road."

Kala gave her a cheeky wink before stepping back, her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll behave. For now."

Elissa exhaled in frustration but couldn't help the small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips as she prepared to climb onto the bike. Her mind was focused on the task at hand, but Kala's antics always had a way of cutting through the stress.

As Elissa approached, she gestured to Koron. "Mind if I ride in the front? I want to make sure we're going the right direction." Better to keep an eye on things—and if it avoids complications, all the better.

Koron's gaze shifted to the bike as he considered her request, his voice thoughtful, almost as if he were reasoning aloud. "Your suit isn't as durable as mine. You'll feel more of the impacts riding up front. My body would shield you from a lot of the strain back there. But…" He glanced at her, then the bike, weighing the options. "If you're in front, my arms will act as guardrails, and the safety straps should keep you from falling off. You'd be secure either way."

Elissa crossed her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line. "So…pros and cons to both, huh? I'll take my chances up front." No way I'm dealing with being pressed up against him the whole ride. This is already awkward enough.

He nodded slowly. "Fair enough. Let's get moving."

As Koron began adjusting the safety straps, Tara piped up from beneath the bike. "Hey, Mom! If you ride in front, does that mean you're the pilot?"

Elissa laughed dryly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she pulled the helmet on, the seals locking into place as a hiss of air rushed in from the tank on her hip. "No, honey. I'm just the navigator." She climbed onto the bike, settling into place with a slight grimace. The seat wasn't exactly made for two, but it would do.

Koron slid in behind her, his larger frame looming as the bike purred to life, his own helmet now in place. The twins scrambled back, Kala shouting, "Don't crash, Mom!" as the machine glided forward, leaving the quiet hum of the bike to blend with the howl of the wind.

Elissa gripped the leather safety straps, her eyes narrowing on the horizon. The town's survival depended on this, and she wasn't about to let anything—or anyone—stand in her way.

-

The bike purred beneath them, its deep, resonant hum cutting through the dusty air. Its energy field shimmered faintly; a halo of faint light that rippled as Koron eased the throttle. It glided forward with an almost ethereal smoothness, more like a whisper of movement than a roar. The gathered townsfolk stood in silent watch, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and suspicion. The smooth lines of the machine, coupled with its unearthly quiet, only added to its mystique.

Elissa adjusted her grip on the side safety straps, the voidsuit snug against her frame. Its reinforced padding and integrated systems kept her body braced and stable, dispersing pressure and absorbing impacts that might have otherwise left her battered.

The town gate creaked closed behind them, its rusty hinges groaning in protest. Koron's voice broke the quiet. "Hold on."

"What do you mean—" she began, but her words were ripped from her mouth as the bike surged forward.

The acceleration was immediate and staggering, slamming her back against Koron's armored chest. Her breath caught as the sheer force pushed her into him, her voidsuit's stabilizers working overtime to counteract the G-forces threatening to crush her. Even with the suit, it was a shock—like being shot out of a cannon.

"Emperor's blood!" she gasped, her fingers tightening on the straps with a white-knuckled tension as her vision blurred at the edges. The wind screamed past them, but the suit's helmet dampened the worst of it, the built-in filters cutting out the deafening roar to a low, manageable hum. Still, the sensation of speed was overwhelming, her heart pounding as the world around them blurred into streaks of brown and gray.

Behind her, she felt Koron's voice vibrate through his chest. "Just testing her limits."

"Limits?!" she snapped, her voice rising. "You could have warned me properly!"

"I did," he replied, maddeningly calm, that tinge of laughter not quite hidden.

Her jaw clenched as she glared over her shoulder, though all she could see was the glint of his helmet in her peripheral vision. She turned back to the rushing wasteland, the dry, cracked earth disappearing beneath them at an almost surreal pace. The bike wasn't just fast—it was terrifyingly efficient, its energy field smoothing out every bump and dip in the terrain. It didn't so much drive as it seemed to glide over reality itself.

Her voidsuit absorbed the vibrations and shielded her from the worst of the jolts, but the sheer velocity was still enough to make her stomach churn. She pressed her body lower instinctively, trying to minimize drag, the suit's reinforced plating anchoring her against the seat.

"You could've warned me better!" she shouted, clearly rattled.

Koron's tone was infuriatingly unbothered. "You said you wanted to be up front. This is what that means."

Elissa bit back a string of curses, forcing herself to focus on her breathing. The suit's systems monitored her vitals, adjusting pressure and support to keep her stable. Still, there was no denying the raw, primal rush of moving at such an unbelievable speed. The bike's energy core thrummed beneath her; a steady, rhythmic pulse that felt alive.

The world around them blurred further as Koron twisted the throttle again, the bike accelerating with ease. She gasped as her body pressed harder against his chest, the voidsuit compensating to keep her steady. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her senses overwhelmed by the speed, the power, the sheer audacity of it all.

"Koron!" she growled through gritted teeth, her voice strained as the bike roared beneath them, "if I fall off this thing, I'm haunting you!"

"I'll take that under advisement," he replied, a hint of amusement softening his otherwise steady tone. "But you're not going anywhere. I'll keep you safe."

Something in his voice—calm, assured, and maddeningly confident—cut through her frustration. For a moment, the world didn't feel like it was blurring past at impossible speeds, the wind wasn't battering against the voidsuit, and her pulse wasn't hammering in her ears. His words carried a weight she wasn't used to hearing, a promise she hadn't expected.

She swallowed hard, her grip on the straps loosening slightly. The suit's stabilizers hummed faintly against her skin, and she realized that, despite the chaos, she did feel safe. Against her better judgment, she let out a small, breathy laugh.

"Bold claim," she muttered, her voice quieter now, the edge of her irritation melting into something more tempered. "Just don't make me regret trusting you."

"You won't," Koron said simply, the amusement in his tone giving way to something more solid. Resolute.

Elissa shook her head, half-smiling despite herself. "Emperor help me, I hope you're right."

She muttered a curse under her breath, her gaze snapping to the blurred horizon ahead. The town was already a distant speck, swallowed by the shimmering heatwaves of the wasteland. Her mind reeled at the thought of just how fast they were going—easily hundreds of miles per hour, and yet Koron handled the machine with a calm precision that bordered on unsettling.

As if reading her thoughts, he spoke again. "This is only half-throttle, by the way."

Her stomach dropped. She twisted her head slightly, giving him a wide-eyed glare. "Half?"

"Half," he confirmed, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant.

She groaned, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against the frame for a moment. "Emperor preserve me."

Koron chuckled softly, his voice a low rumble in her ears. The bike's speed held steady, carrying them deeper into the wasteland. The land stretched endlessly before them, barren and unforgiving, but for the first time in a long while, Elissa felt a strange, fleeting sense of freedom. Terrifying, exhilarating freedom.

-

"How much longer do we have?" Elissa asked, her voice steady, no longer fighting to shout over the roar of the wind. Koron had linked his voxbead to her suit, creating a direct comm link, though even the simplest words were carried with a strange echo beneath the press of wind that whipped around them.

"About nine hours at this speed," Koron replied, his voice calm, almost too calm for the chaos happening around them. The land around them was a blur of motion, colors and shapes distorting as they tore through the terrain with an almost unnatural swiftness. The scenery seemed to fold into itself, and she could barely register the horizon before it was gone, replaced by the next rushing fragment of the world.

Nine hours. That felt like an eternity. Her stomach tightened. Her fingers gripped the leather straps, but even with her voidsuit's support, the sheer force of the wind battering against her was enough to make her dizzy. The bike felt like a wild thing, an animal straining at the leash. She focused ahead, forcing the discomfort down. She had to push through. They needed to reach the city, and they would be better off to do it before dark.

Her voice came out clipped, almost too fast. "And if you went full throttle?"

There was a pause, a quiet hum of the bike's engine beneath them. Elissa's heartbeat thrummed in her chest, matching the accelerating pace of the bike.

"Two hours," Koron replied, sounding a little more cautious now. "We'd reach the city before nightfall. But I'm warning you—full speed is... intense. Are you sure you want to try it?"

Her stomach churned again, but the thought of the town, the lives that depended on the pump, pushed her forward. Two hours would give them the advantage, save them time. "Full throttle. We don't have time."

Koron's voice took on an almost respectful edge. "Understood. Hold on."

Then, without any more warning, the roar of the engine exploded beneath them—a deafening, violent sound that drowned everything else out. The bike lurched forward, surging with a force that hit Elissa like a sledgehammer, throwing her back against Koron's armored chest.

The world turned into a frantic smear. Land, sky, horizon—all of it bled together into a dizzying vortex of motion. Her breath hitched in her chest as the wind hammered against her helmet, trying to rip the air from her lungs. The landscape disappeared into a blur so fast that her eyes couldn't focus, the sheer speed of it making her stomach drop.

The pressure was unbearable. Every inch of her body felt like it was being crushed, her skin pulled tight against her muscles as the voidsuit strained to keep up with the onslaught. The wind was a wall, an unrelenting, invisible force that slammed into her chest and face with a brutal weight. Even with the suit, she felt it. Her heart pounded, each beat hammering against her ribs, struggling to keep pace with the acceleration.

Her fingers were slipping off the straps. She struggled to keep a grip, the vibration of the engine shooting through her bones, rattling her hands and arms. The sense of motion was too fast—she couldn't keep up with it, couldn't even make sense of what was happening beyond the sheer pressure, the roar of the engine, the blurring world.

"Koron!" she screamed, her voice ragged and torn as the force of the wind tried to steal it from her. Her words were lost beneath the sound of the engine, but the urgency was clear in her tone. "Stop! Stop! I can't—I can't—"

She gasped for breath, the air thick and harder to pull into her lungs. The suit couldn't compensate for this, couldn't protect her from the rush of speed tearing at her. It felt like she was fighting against the very force of nature, like her body was trying to break apart at the seams.

The world around her was nothing more than a storm of color and speed, and yet, the sensation of almost weightlessness, as though gravity had no control here, was pushing her to the edge of panic. There was no time to think, no time to process—it was too much.

Just as she thought she might lose control entirely, the bike suddenly shuddered beneath her, the roar of the engine dying down, and the force pulling against her body eased. The pressure on her chest released, the overwhelming acceleration finally easing back.

Koron's voice came through the comm, calm and measured, despite the chaos she had just experienced. "I've disengaged the secondary thrusters. Are you okay?"

Elissa's body shook as she clung to the straps, struggling to steady her breath, the world around her spinning as she fought to focus. She couldn't speak at first—her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart still hammering like a drumbeat against her ribs. The pressure from the suit was lessened, but it didn't stop her pulse from roaring in her ears.

Finally, she managed to speak, though her voice was strained, and cracked from the force of the scream. "Fine," she gasped. "I'm fine. Just... no full throttle."

Koron's voice softened, though she could tell he was still monitoring her. "Understood. We'll take it slower from here on out. I'll get us there safely, Elissa."

She nodded slightly, though he couldn't see her. Her hands were still trembling, her grip tight against the straps as she forced herself to focus. She hadn't expected it to feel like that—so much faster, so much more violent than she had imagined.

Her body was still fighting the sensations, but she had learned something. Something important.

Full throttle was beyond her limits. Even with the voidsuit, there were some things she just couldn't control.

-

They pulled the bike to a halt just beyond a ridge, the sound of the engine dying out as the machine slowed to a stop. Koron dismounted first, his motions smooth and precise, as always, before he turned to her, his expression unreadable beneath the heavy visor of his helmet.

Elissa swung a leg over the bike, her muscles protesting after hours of holding on tight, and let out a slow breath, feeling the strain on her back and shoulders. The cold hit her immediately, a sharp bite to the skin that seemed to seep through the layers of her suit. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the landscape bathed in the dimming blue light of twilight.

"Let's set up camp," she said, her voice a little hoarse, still recovering from the wild ride. She quickly got to work, pulling her small tent out from the storage compartment of the bike. The tent was compact, sized for two people, a modest structure that wouldn't take long to assemble.

Koron, ever the efficient one, stood to the side, his mechanical limbs a blur of motion as he pulled the small cube of campfire fuel from the pack. "I'll take first watch," he said, his voice warm with a hint of finality. "You rest. I'll make sure you're undisturbed."

Elissa didn't argue, though part of her itched to insist on taking a turn as well. It was hard to let go of control, especially out here. But, after the grueling ride, she didn't have much energy to spare.

With Koron on watch, Elissa focused on getting the tent set up. The ground was hard and uneven, but she made do, hammering in the small stakes with a practiced hand. The tent took shape quickly, a small bubble of warmth in the otherwise bitter cold of the evening.

The bike's engine hummed quietly behind her, its low noise a reminder of how much she had come to rely on it in the last few hours. It was strange, to feel like she had a machine she could trust, kinda. So long as it wasn't going all out.

She rummaged through her pack and pulled out a small firestarter, quickly getting a small fire going. It wasn't much—just a few dried logs she had packed away earlier—but it was enough to take the chill off the air, though she made sure to keep it in the firehole, masking much of its light pollution.

Too easy to be spotted in the dark when you are the only source of light.

Watching as the low flames crackled softly, she used a small pot to cook up the dried meat she had packed along with the berry jelly.

The smell of it, though simple and modest, filled the air, and Elissa couldn't help but smile slightly. It was a far cry from the cold, tasteless ration bars she had stashed away, but that was the whole point, and it was hers.

The warmth from the fire was a comfort, but the night air was cold, too cold to stay in much longer. Elissa pulled the silver blanket tighter around her shoulders, huddling close to the warmth of the fire, knowing it wouldn't last. The cold would seep back in soon enough, the kind of cold that seemed to creep into the bones and take root, making everything feel like it was made of ice.

Her breath came out in puffs of vapor as she ate slowly, savoring the small meal despite how simple it was. Koron stood near the fire, seemingly enjoying his portion, his posture relaxed but his attention never wavering, constantly scanning the horizon. "Elissa," He suddenly asked, nodding slightly to the south. "Does this planet have a history of intense storms? A massive amount of lightning discharges and the like?"

Blinking the steam away, she takes a moment to reply. "Not really, at least not this time of year. Near the years end we get a three month long monsoon with a crapload of lightning, but other than that? No, lightning is pretty rare. Why?"

"...Just curious."

Pushing his question aside, she finished up as the minutes bled away, her food gone too soon, and the night deepened around them. Elissa could feel the temperature dropping rapidly, the frost creeping up from the ground to bite at her exposed skin. Even with the heater pad in her suit and the blanket, she knew it wouldn't be enough. It would get cold, colder than it already was, and she would spend the night shivering, trying to hold off the inevitable chill that would find its way through her layers.

Leaning back against one of the bike's frame to steady herself, the firelight danced in her eyes, casting shifting shadows on the ground. Her fingers were chill as she tucked them beneath her arms, trying to ward off the worst of the cold.

"I'll be fine, Elissa," Koron said, his voice quiet. "Get some rest. I'll keep watch."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her throat was dry, and the weight of exhaustion was creeping in. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind the sharp awareness of just how much the day had taken out of her. She crawled into the tent, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders as she lay down on the hard ground, closing her eyes.

The cold pressed in from all sides, but she fought it off, focusing on the warmth of her suit and the faint, reassuring glow of the fire outside. Tomorrow, they would be at the city. Tomorrow, they would have what they needed to fix the pump. But for now, she would let herself sleep, even if it was fitful.

Still, his words irked her.

Elissa wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the chill in the air began to seep deeper into her bones. She was tucked as tightly as possible into her insulated suit and blanket, but it wasn't enough to stave off the cold that had already started to numb her limbs.

"Koron," she called out, her voice laced with irritation and concern, "You're going to freeze out there. Get in here with me."

She hadn't meant it to sound as sharp as it did, but the cold was making her irritable, and the thought of him standing out there while she struggled to keep warm irritated her even more. She could hear the wind biting at the tent, and the fire's heat had already started to wane.

Koron didn't immediately respond, his posture unshaken as he stood by the fire, looking out over the empty wasteland around them. She could see the subtle motion of his head, as if listening to something beyond the winds, before he slowly looked back toward her.

He was silent for a moment, his hand resting against the side of the bike, his shoulders tense beneath the armored plates. "I... I'm fine," he finally said, his voice steady but with an edge of hesitation. "I don't need rest like you do."

Elissa frowned, unable to shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't right. "What are you talking about? You're not some goddamn machine. You'll freeze just like any of us. Get in here."

Her words hung in the cold air for a few seconds, and she thought Koron would insist on staying out there, as stubborn as ever. But then, something changed. There was a subtle shift in his posture—like he was finally listening, truly listening, to something she couldn't hear.

Finally, he gave a small nod, though his movements were slower, almost careful. "Alright," he murmured, stepping toward the tent. "I'll... join you."

Elissa shifted her legs to make room as Koron entered the tent, his tall, armored form filling the space as he knelt carefully beside her. He didn't get too close, leaving a small but noticeable gap between them. The movement was cautious, deliberate. Despite his heavy armor, there was something about him that seemed almost... unsure.

He zipped up the tent, the sound of the fabric closing off the outside world. Elissa could feel a subtle tension in the air as they sat in the dim glow of the firelight. She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, watching him as he sat, his helmet still on, his hands moving to adjust the position of his arms.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she observed the unfamiliar tension in Koron's posture. Koron had been mostly calm, composed save for a few brief moments here and there. But now, there was something different. Beneath the cool, metallic exterior, she could sense a nervousness—a slight unease she hadn't seen before. His shoulders were tighter than usual, his movements more deliberate, as if he were consciously trying to give her space, even in the confines of the small tent.

A soft realization warmed her chest, something akin to affection. He's nervous. The thought brought an unexpected smile to her lips. Big bad Koron is nervous. Somehow, the sight of him so uncharacteristically hesitant, so human, made her feel more at ease. It was… kind of adorable, in a strange way.

"First time sharing a bed with a woman?" she teased, watching him with a playful smirk as his hands rested on his stomach, metal fingers interlaced. His gaze was fixed on the fluttering tent roof, seemingly lost in thought.

"No. Just… it's been a long time."

The blunt honesty in his voice caught her off guard. Her stomach twisted, a pang of guilt settling in her gut as she realized she had accidentally poked a nerve.

"Ah. Um... sorry," she said quickly, her tone shifting. "I didn't mean to make it weird. Just trying to get you to relax. You're tense as a compressed spring." She shrugged lightly. "I'm not gonna bite, promise."

A quiet snort of laughter escaped Koron's lips, surprising her. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh like that, a sound that felt human. "Go to sleep, Elissa. Still got a long way to go tomorrow, and then the trip back."

She let out a soft chuckle, settling into the warmth of their shared space. "Fair enough. Have a good night."

"Sleep tight," Koron murmured, his voice softer than usual, and for a moment, she could almost feel the weight of his exhaustion.

She closed her eyes, letting the hum of the campfire and the rhythmic sounds of Koron's breathing soothe her into sleep. The unease between them had softened, leaving only the strange, calming connection of shared silence.

-

The soft light of morning filtered into the tent, gently tugging Elissa from her sleep. She stirred, eyes fluttering open, the faint smell of earth and fresh air drifting through the fabric of the tent. Her body felt warm—comfortably so—and as she shifted, she realized why: She was tangled up, her arms and legs wrapped around him as she had sought the warmth.

Her breath hitched at the realization, her cheeks flushing as she tried to keep still, unsure of what to do. His warmth was oddly soothing, especially in the early hours of the morning when the world outside still felt frozen. For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of being nestled up against him. But then the awkwardness hit, and she gently shifted to wiggle out from under his arm.

Koron's grip was strong, more from habit than anything, and she had to move carefully to avoid waking him. His presence was solid, like a wall of warmth. But with one last little wriggle, she freed herself, sliding out from under him and into the cooler morning air.

Elissa took a moment to breathe. Easy girl. Just old habits. She shook it off quickly and stood, stretching her arms toward the tent ceiling before quietly moving to her pack.

Her back was to Koron now, but she couldn't resist the urge to glance over her shoulder. He was still lying there, his eyes closed, his face relaxed in sleep, but there was a subtle shift as he realized the space between them. The source of the heat was now clear, panels on his left arm sitting open to reveal a set of glowing coils, a heat haze rising gently from them. A moment later, his eyes blinked open slowly, and he groggily took in his surroundings.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, still half lost to the world, the panels on his arm sliding shut.

Elissa stood there for a beat, then smiled to herself, turning toward him with a teasing glint in her eye. "You know," she began casually, "I didn't think you'd be the type to cuddle."

Koron blinked, clearly startled, his hand instinctively reaching up to rub at his face as he flushed a deep shade of red. "I—uh—didn't mean to... I wasn't..." He trailed off, fumbling for words in that way he sometimes did, as if still caught between the haze of sleep and the reality of the situation. "I didn't—I mean, I didn't…I'm sorry."

Elissa grinned and leaned against the tent post. "You were practically holding me hostage."

Koron sat up a little too quickly, his cheeks growing all the more flushed. "Sorry! I didn't mean to—uh..."

She couldn't help herself. The teasing was too easy. "I'm just messing with you."

Elissa watched Koron squirm for a moment longer, unable to suppress a small, playful smile. There was something satisfying about watching him flustered, especially when it was so clear that he wasn't used to being the one caught off guard.

She leaned casually against the post, allowing her eyes to linger on him just a little longer than necessary. "Don't worry," she said, her voice lighter, a teasing edge creeping in, "In all honesty I wouldn't put it past me to have been the one to grab you. I always ended up doing it to my husband."

Koron's face flushed even deeper, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Right. Got it."

For a moment, Elissa could barely hold back a grin, enjoying the effect she was having on him. There was a strange satisfaction in teasing him, and she felt a little giddy from it.

But then, something shifted in her. She realized how playful she was being, how much she was leaning into it, and the warmth on her cheeks wasn't from the tents trapped heat.

Her smile faltered for a second, and she straightened up, suddenly feeling self-conscious. What am I doing? she mentally chided herself. Stop acting like a teenager.

Elissa shook her head, feeling the heat rise in her own face now, and quickly turned her attention to gathering her things, hoping to hide the blush that had crept up her neck. "You'll be fine," she added with a casual shrug, trying to mask the sudden awkwardness. "Don't worry about it. Just, y'know, personal space. Important stuff, that."

Koron nodded again, still looking sheepish, but the moment passed, and Elissa was glad for the change in topic. She'd have to reign it in a bit. No more teasing—at least, not too much.

She cleared her throat, trying to steady herself. Great job, Elissa. Now you've got yourself all worked up.

-

The horizon stretched before them, jagged and foreboding, as if the land itself recoiled from the monstrous silhouette of steel and smoke. The Forge city of Anaxis loomed in the distance, a colossus of machinery and industry. Its spires clawed at the darkened sky, shrouded in perpetual haze, while countless chimneys belched exhaust into the air like the labored breaths of some ancient, mechanical beast. The acrid scent of soot and oil hung heavy, carried on the winds, a stark reminder of the untamed wilderness they'd left behind.

The hum of machinery pulsed faintly through the air, barely perceptible but ever-present, like the heartbeat of a living city.

Elissa tugged the collar of her duster against the rising wind, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied the skyline. "Hell of a place," she muttered, her voice low, almost reverent. The labyrinth of smoke and shadow ahead seemed alive, its vastness swallowing any sense of familiarity or comfort.

Koron glanced up from the bike's controls, his expression neutral but his gaze sharp. "It's... active. Open signals everywhere—no encryption, no safeguards. Do they just not care about anyone listening in?"

Elissa let out a short laugh. "Doubtful. Anything they want to keep secret isn't hitting the airwaves. This is probably just background noise—logistics, machinery status, low-level chatter."

Koron nodded, falling silent for a moment as he took it all in. Then, his tone grew thoughtful. "You said these... priests venerate machinery. Should I leave the bike behind and cover my arms and armor? I've noticed I don't exactly blend in with your people's tech."

She considered this, her fingers drumming lightly against the handlebar. "Yeah, not a bad idea. We'll have to hoof it the rest of the way, though. Maybe an hour's walk from here. But trust me, it'll save us a lot of questions we don't want to answer."

"Understood," Koron replied, his agreement coming without hesitation. The hum of the bike's engine softened as he slowed to a stop behind a rocky outcropping. He powered it down, the hiss of cooling vents mingling with the wind. Elissa eyed the sleek black and blue machine, its smooth, polished surface standing out starkly against the dull, dusty terrain.

"You got a way to hide this thing? It's gonna stick out like a sore thumb," she said, gesturing at the vehicle.

Koron didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, placing a hand on the bike's control panel. A soft chime emanated from the vehicle, as if acknowledging his presence. "It won't," he said simply.

Elissa raised an eyebrow, her skepticism apparent. She crossed her arms, ready to press him for details, but stopped as the bike began to shift.

The change was subtle at first—a faint shimmer rippling across its polished panels. Then, like liquid metal, the surface began to ripple and flow. The glossy black finish dulled, its sheen replaced with the muted tones of rock and sand. Textures emerged, mimicking the gritty roughness of the surrounding outcropping, while the bike's edges blurred, blending into the terrain.

Sections of the vehicle folded inward with soft, precise clicks. Handlebars retracted into the frame, thruster modules collapsed flush, and the aerodynamic body compacted into an angular, unassuming form. Within moments, the sleek machine had disappeared, replaced by what appeared to be an ordinary boulder nestled among the others.

Elissa crouched beside it, running her fingers over the surface. It felt gritty and coarse, indistinguishable from the surrounding rock. "This is..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "This is cheating."

Koron's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "Adaptation," he corrected. "Its surface mimics the surrounding environment, down to texture and thermal signature. Invisible to casual observation and most scanning equipment."

"Most?" she repeated, brushing dust from her gloves as she straightened.

He nodded. "There are ways to detect it, but this is the best I can do right now."

She exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and awe. "You've got tech that makes myths look outdated. If the priests catch wind of this thing, they'll probably worship it—or dismantle it piece by piece."

"That's why Im hiding it," Koron replied as he stepped back. "Now, to address my own appearance."

Elissa smirked, adjusting her duster as she watched him. "This, I've got to see."

Koron's posture shifted as he ran his fingers along the seams of his armor. Lines of light flared briefly, tracing the contours of the black plating before dimming to nothing. The transformation began with his gauntlets, the segmented plates retracting into his forearms with fluid precision. His chestplate followed, folding inward like clockwork, each panel sliding into hidden compartments. The glowing filaments faded as the armor collapsed, piece by piece, into a compact, seamless block of dark metal no larger than a small, thin briefcase.

Elissa's gaze followed the process, her expression caught somewhere between amazement and suspicion. When he held out the finished block, she shook her head. "All that... in there?"

Koron nodded. "Fully sealed, insulated, and durable. It's lighter than it looks, but resilient enough for almost any environment."

"In the Emperors name," she muttered, brushing a hand over the cool, smooth surface. "This feels... impossible. What's next? Your clothing got a secret too?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, the undersuit shimmered faintly, the fabric rippling as if alive. The black began to fade, its surface shifting into a patchwork of muted greys and browns. Frayed edges appeared, and faint stains marred the material, giving it the look of something worn and scavenged.

Elissa's jaw tightened as she scrutinized the change. Even his boots and gloves dulled, their polished finish replaced by scuffed, uneven textures. The transformation was seamless—and unsettling.

"That's..." she started, struggling for words. "Okay, now you're just showing off."

Koron adjusted the collar of his now-ordinary coat. "Practicality. It's better not to stand out."

She snorted, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Better hope it doesn't come with a personality upgrade. Blending in means not acting like you're smarter than everyone else."

Koron tilted his head slightly, his lips curving in a faint smirk. "I'll take it under advisement."

Shaking her head, Elissa turned toward the looming gates of Anaxis. "Let's hope this is enough. If not, we're going to have a lot of explaining to do."

Koron followed silently, his newly unremarkable form blending into the haze of the Forge city.

 

[MrSmmufi]

Koron sounds like an engineer from the Dark Age

 

[reality deviant]

either that, or crossover character

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Three

-

The path to the city gates was a rough, uneven expanse of trampled ground, strewn with debris and the lingering scent of scorched metal. Towering heaps of salvaged wreckage flanked the way, each pile a chaotic monument to the Forge's insatiable appetite for resources. Machines buzzed in the distance, their unrelenting hum punctuated by the occasional screech of grinding gears or the sharp crack of plasma cutters. The gates of Anaxis loomed ahead, massive and impenetrable, framed by a constant flow of incoming and outgoing traffic.

The first sign of the servitors was the rhythmic thud of heavy, metallic footsteps. Elissa slowed, her gaze snapping toward the sound. Ahead, a cluster of the hulking cyborgs trudged along the road, their forms a grotesque fusion of flesh and machine. They moved with unyielding purpose, hauling massive slabs of metal toward the gates. Their heads were bowed, their faces obscured by crude respirators or mechanical plating. Blank, unseeing eyes stared straight ahead as their augmented limbs carried their burdens with mechanical precision.

"Servitors," Elissa muttered under her breath. Her tone was hard to place—resignation tinged with disgust.

Koron's steps faltered. He stared at the nearest servitor, his expression tightening. The cyborg was dragging what appeared to be the crumpled remains of a small transport vehicle, its massive arms fused with industrial-grade claws. Flesh sagged around the mechanical joints, the skin pale and sickly where it hadn't been entirely replaced by metal. A low whir emanated from its chest with each step, the sound of a machine working to keep its organic remnants alive.

"This…" Koron's voice was low, strained. "This is wrong."

Elissa glanced at him, then back at the servitors. "Yeah. It's not pretty. But this is how the Mechanicus works. Efficiency over everything. Even life."

The steady clink of metal chains drew their attention to another group of servitors. These were smaller, less imposing, their skeletal frames stripped of most organic tissue. Their tasks were more delicate: sorting through scrap heaps, retrieving usable components with spindly mechanical arms. Servo-skulls hovered above them, buzzing softly as they scanned each pile, their tiny manipulators delicately plucking at choice pieces of circuitry or wiring.

Koron's gaze lingered on one of the skulls. It floated mere feet away, its hollow eye sockets glowing faintly. The bone was stripped clean, gleaming white beneath layers of intricate filigree. A humming vox-unit and tiny emitters bristled from its underside, tools of some forgotten purpose now adapted for endless, mindless labor. The thing's movements were unnervingly smooth, and its faint whisper of binary code set Koron's teeth on edge.

"They're dead," he said finally, his voice barely audible. "Or… part of them is."

Elissa hesitated before responding. "Yeah. Usually prisoners, or those who've 'volunteered.'" She made air quotes with her fingers, her tone bitter. "Their bodies become servitors. If you're unlucky enough to die in the wrong place, you end up a skull. That's the Mechanicus for you."

A group of combat servitors lumbered into view, patrolling the edge of the road. Their designs were far cruder than the others—heavily armored torsos mounted on treaded or four-legged bases. Some carried plasma weaponry grafted to their arms, while others bore enormous power claws or heavy bolters. They moved with terrifying efficiency, their heads swiveling side to side as sensors scanned the area.

"They don't even acknowledge us," he said. His voice was tight, his usually measured tone betraying a flicker of unease. "Do they… feel anything?"

"I don't know," Elissa replied, her voice grim. "Never had the guts to ask, but the admech treat them like tools. Minds wiped, replaced with wire and circuits. They exist to serve, to work, to fight."

They approached a loading area where servitors were piling wreckage onto massive, tracked transports. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt metal, and the clatter of debris being dumped into waiting bins was deafening. Men in faded, grease-streaked robes shouted orders, their voices competing with the din. None of them spared a glance at the pair, their attention focused entirely on maintaining the flow of material into the city.

"Is this normal for you?" Koron asked, his eyes never leaving the servitors.

Elissa sighed, adjusting the brim of her hat to shield her face from a gust of wind. "It's normal for the Forge. Out here, the only thing that matters is production. The Mechanicus doesn't see people the way we do. You're either useful or you're raw material."

"That's…" Koron trailed off, his gaze locking onto a servitor struggling to lift a particularly large slab of metal. Its body strained, servos whining in protest as gears ground against bone. With a final heave, it dropped the piece onto the pile, its movements jerky and unnatural. It paused, head lolling slightly to one side, before resuming its task as though nothing had happened.

"It's monstrous." he finished, his voice hard.

Elissa glanced at him sidelong, her expression softening. "Yeah. It is. But if you let yourself get caught up in it, you'll drive yourself mad. Just keep your head down, and don't look too close."

They continued in silence, the massive gates looming ever larger. Servitors moved around them in a steady stream, carrying burdens of scrap, weapons, and ruined vehicles. Their presence was constant, a grim reminder of the Forge's priorities. Despite Koron's discomfort, none of the Mechanicus workers or servitors seemed to notice the pair. To the priests and their constructs, they were just another set of inconsequential figures in an endless tide of labor and salvage.

Elissa stole a glance at Koron as they neared the gates. His face was set, his jaw tight, but his eyes betrayed something more—a profound unease, almost grief. She didn't press him; the Forge world had a way of unsettling even the hardest souls. Instead, she reached out, tapping his arm lightly.

"Come on," she said softly. "We'll get through this quick. You don't have to understand it. Just survive it."

Koron nodded wordlessly, his gaze lingering on the servitors one last time before he turned toward the city. The gates yawned open before them, an entrance into the heart of Anaxis—and deeper into the grim, mechanical world that called itself progress.

-

The air thickened as they stepped into the maze of streets that made up the mid-levels of Anaxis. The choking smog was almost palpable, a cloying mix of industrial fumes, chemical tang, and the stale reek of human sweat and decay. Towering structures loomed above them, their surfaces slick with grime, while countless pipes and conduits crisscrossed the space, dripping with unidentifiable fluids that pooled in oily rivulets along the cracked ground.

Elissa pulled her scarf higher over her nose, grimacing at the oppressive air. "Emperor's breath, it's worse than I remember," she muttered, her voice muffled by the fabric. She paused, pulling her helmet from her pack and snapping it into place with a hiss. The atmospheric seals engaged, and she sighed in relief as cleaner air filtered in. "Should've done this from the start."

Koron walked beside her, unbothered, his posture calm and composed. The faint glow of street-level lumen strips reflected off his subdued, utilitarian clothing, blending seamlessly with the haggard laborers and grim-faced merchants trudging through the congested streets. His face, uncovered and seemingly unprotected, betrayed no discomfort despite the acrid fog clinging to the air.

Elissa shot him a sidelong glance. "How are you not gagging right now? This stuff burns your throat just standing in it."

Koron glanced at her, his expression impassive as he tapped his chest. "Cybernetic respiratory system. The air here isn't clean, but it's manageable. Nanofilters in my system neutralize most harmful particulates."

"Of course you've got tech for that," she muttered, shaking her head as they pressed onward. Her voice carried a note of exasperated amusement. "I swear, you could probably walk through a reactor leak and come out fine."

"No, fire and radiation in high levels will still kill me." He replied, glancing down at her, shoulders shrugging helplessly. "I am still mostly human after all."

The crowd thickened as they moved deeper into the city. The mid-level streets were a tangled web of activity, choked with pedestrians, rusted cargo haulers, and makeshift market stalls stacked precariously with scavenged goods. Shouting voices competed with the grinding roar of machinery, while servitors lumbered past, carrying massive loads on reinforced frames. Some were simple utility models, their humanoid forms barely recognizable beneath layers of grafted plating and industrial tools. Others bore the distinct bulk and weaponry of combat servitors, their movements eerily precise as they scanned the throng with cold, mechanical efficiency.

Elissa kept a wary eye on them, her pace steady but purposeful. "Those things creep me out," she muttered under her breath, gesturing subtly toward a pair of combat servitors standing guard near a supply depot. Their skull-like visages, half-flesh and half-machine, turned slowly as if evaluating every passerby. "Always watching, always ready to blast someone who looks out of place."

Koron's gaze lingered on the servitors for a moment, his expression unreadable. "They're…a grotesque perversion of what could be. A waste of life and technology, fused into something less than either."

Elissa glanced at him, noticing the faint tension in his jaw. "Yeah, well, try not to let them hear you say that. The cogboys don't exactly welcome critique." She hesitated, then added softly, "You alright? You've been staring at them like they owe you money."

He didn't answer immediately, his eyes tracing the movement of another servitor shuffling past—a hollow-eyed man encased in a crude exoskeleton, his every step driven by the hiss and grind of pistons. "It's…wrong," he repeated, his voice low and measured. "The integration of organic and machine should enhance, not degrade. These people were stripped of their humanity, reduced to tools. Their potential erased in the name of utility."

Elissa frowned, her helmet's polarized visor hiding her expression. "Yeah, it's grim, but that's the way things are here."

He didn't respond, his focus shifting back to the path ahead. Elissa let the conversation drop, sensing that whatever thoughts he was wrestling with weren't easily put into words.

The streets narrowed as they moved closer to their destination, the towering structures pressing in from all sides. Rusted metal walkways and rickety bridges spanned the gaps between buildings, crisscrossing above them like a web spun by some industrial spider. The air grew heavier, the faint scent of burning metal mingling with the omnipresent smog.

Elissa checked her bearings, her gaze flicking between her surroundings and the crude map displayed on her helmet's HUD. "The temples just ahead," she said, her tone clipped. "Should be a quieter spot—not as many prying eyes. You still good with blending in?"

Koron nodded, adjusting the collar of his patched jacket. "Unremarkable enough?"

"Unremarkable enough," she agreed, though her tone carried a hint of skepticism. "Just keep your tech tricks to a minimum. These people are suspicious enough."

They turned a corner, and the path opened into a small square where the noise of the main thoroughfare faded to a dull roar. The market here was smaller, more subdued, with stalls hawking salvaged machine parts, scrap metal, and the occasional piece of functioning tech. A squat building at the far end bore the sigils of the Adeptus Mechanicus, its entry flanked by a pair of servitors who stood like statues, their glowing optics scanning the trickle of customers.

Elissa exhaled, her hand instinctively resting on the butt of her pistol. "Alright," she murmured. "Let's get what we need and get out. The less time we spend here, the better."

Koron's gaze swept over the square; his expression as unreadable as ever. "Lead the way," he said quietly. His voice carried a note of resolve, though whether it stemmed from curiosity or unease was impossible to tell.

-

The interior of the Mechanicus temple was a cathedral of cold logic and oppressive sanctity. Metal columns, carved with intricate circuitry patterns, rose to meet a vaulted ceiling dimly lit by flickering lumen globes. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, oil, and the acrid tang of machinery, a suffocating blend that seemed to press against Elissa's lungs despite her helmet's filters. Servo-skulls hovered in the smoky air, their optics glowing as they darted from place to place, and the servitors shuffled with a mechanical precision that made her skin crawl.

At the far end of the chamber stood the Magos Dominus, elevated on a dais and draped in crimson robes that shimmered with augmetic extensions. His mask, a blend of brass and bone, glared down at her with green-lit optics. Behind him, a cogitator the size of a small hab block hummed, its screen arrays streaming endless lines of binaric scripture. The relentless hum of the room set her teeth on edge, a reminder that this was the heart of a machine cult that saw her flesh as an archaic imperfection.

Elissa pulled herself straighter and gave a shallow bow, her helmet obscuring the disdain on her face. "Magos, I seek components for repairs and reconstruction. I've traded with your temple before—my records should confirm I've always met the agreed terms."

The Magos's head tilted slightly, his optics focusing on her with an unnerving intensity. "Your records are irrelevant. The Omnissiah's blessings are offered at a cost. State your requirements, outsider."

His voice grated, layered with metallic undertones that stripped it of humanity. Elissa resisted the urge to wince and listed the components she needed. She kept her tone steady, though her stomach churned with unease.

The Magos listened in silence before naming his price, a sum so outrageous it took Elissa a moment to process. She stiffened, her voice sharp. "That's absurd. These parts aren't worth half that. They're standard templates—you manufacture them in abundance."

The Magos's optics narrowed. "The worth of the Omnissiah's work cannot be quantified by your primitive understanding of value. The price reflects the sanctity of the machine and the labor of its servitors."

"Sanctity doesn't inflate costs," Elissa snapped, her frustration breaking through. "These parts are surplus—they've been sitting in storage for years. You're extorting us because you think we don't have options."

"Options are not my concern," the Magos replied coldly. "You will pay the price, or you will leave."

Elissa clenched her fists, her mind racing. She cast a glance toward Koron, who stood a few paces away, leaning casually against a wall near a servitor cogitator. He hadn't said a word since they'd entered, his posture relaxed, but his gaze was sharp, scanning the room with unnerving focus.

"You've been quiet," she said, her voice tight as she turned back to him. "Any suggestions?"

Koron didn't answer immediately, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something she couldn't hear. When he finally spoke, his tone was even, almost dismissive. "Negotiation is your expertise. I trust you to resolve this."

Elissa narrowed her eyes, irritation flaring. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was up to something, but with the Magos's attention fixed on her, she had no time to press him. "Right," she muttered, turning back to the dais.

The Magos's gaze shifted briefly toward Koron, a flicker of calculation in his movements, but he said nothing, his focus returning to Elissa. She took a breath, trying to steady her voice. "There must be a compromise. These parts aren't rare. You're producing them here, and I've always paid fair prices before. Why the change?"

The Magos spread his mechanical arms, the gesture more theatrical than sincere. "Circumstances have changed. The Forge's demands are unending, and our resources finite. The Omnissiah's blessings are not subject to barter."

Elissa was about to retort when a servo-skull drifted down from above, its glowing optic sweeping over her helmet. She forced herself to stay still, her fingers twitching near her pistol. After a moment, the skull moved on, disappearing into the shadows above.

Her heart pounded, but she kept her face impassive. "I'm offering fair trade," she said, her voice hardening. "But this is extortion, and you know it."

The Magos made no reply, his silence more unnerving than any argument. Behind her, Koron remained still, his posture unchanging. Yet something about him felt off—too quiet, too focused.

Elissa, still locked in a tense standoff with the Magos, cast another glance at Koron. He remained a picture of calm disinterest, but her instincts screamed that he was hiding something. She bit back a curse and refocused on the Magos.

"There's always a middle ground," she said, her tone firm. "Let's find it, or this deal won't happen at all."

As she spoke, Koron straightened slightly, his expression was unreadable, but something in his demeanor had shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. Whatever he'd been doing, it was done.

-

Elissa grit her teeth, her patience running thinner with every obstinate reply from the Magos. The towering priest of the Mechanicus remained unmoved, his green optics glowing coldly as he reiterated his demands.

"There is no compromise," the Magos intoned, his metallic voice devoid of inflection. "The Omnissiah's work is priceless. You will pay the price, or leave."

Elissa clenched her fists at her sides. "That's absurd. These parts—"

The sudden screech of binary cut her off. Harsh and piercing, it echoed through the temple like a banshee's wail. A robed adept came hurtling into the chamber, his spindly limbs moving with frantic urgency. His voice, a shrill burst of machine code interspersed with broken Low Gothic, carried an unmistakable tone of alarm.

"Catastrophic systems failure! Data racks purged—entire archives collapsing! Cogitators—overheating—igniting—fire spreading!"

The Magos's optics flared, his entire frame stiffening as he processed the adept's panicked report. Servo-limbs flared out from his back, their claws twitching with agitation.

"What?" The single word was a blade, slicing through the chaos.

The adept screeched again, his binary even more erratic. "Cascading failure! Unauthorized access detected! Security protocols overridden—entire databanks erased!"

Elissa's eyes widened as she instinctively stepped back, her gaze darting between the panicking adept and the Magos, who now stood as still as a statue. A low, ominous hum began to build in the temple, the cogitator banks behind the dais flickering wildly as their screens filled with error codes and static.

"What's happening?" she asked, her voice tight.

The Magos didn't answer. His optics burned brighter as he turned toward the dais, a clawed hand gesturing for the adept to follow. "Lockdown all systems. Trace the intrusion. Find the source!"

Elissa took another step back, her pulse quickening. She cast a glance toward Koron, who still stood near the wall, his posture unchanging. His face was unreadable, but there was a sharpness in his gaze now, an almost imperceptible tension in his stance.

"Koron…" she began, her voice low.

Before she could say more, one of the massive cogitators behind the Magos erupted in a shower of sparks. Flames licked at its surface as servitors scrambled to contain the damage, their clumsy limbs spraying fire retardant foam in every direction. Another cogitator shuddered violently, its screen cracking before it went dark, the hum of its machinery fading into silence.

The Magos turned sharply, his voice a thunderclap of binary commands. "Quarantine all data systems! Purge infected nodes! Activate backup protocols—now!"

Elissa's heart pounded as she watched the chaos unfold. The servitors around the chamber moved in synchronized frenzy, their mechanical limbs whirring as they tried to execute the Magos's commands. Sparks flew from the cogitators as more systems failed, the once-immaculate temple descending into pandemonium.

"Koron!" she hissed, louder this time. "What the hell is going on?"

He finally moved, pushing off the wall with an almost casual grace. "It seems their systems are…unstable."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring. "Unstable?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering her question. "Highly so."

Before she could press him further, another explosion rocked the chamber, sending a plume of smoke billowing into the air. The adept screeched again, his panic reaching a fever pitch.

Elissa's gut churned. She didn't know exactly what Koron had done—or if he'd done anything at all—but the timing was too coincidental to ignore. Whatever this cascade was, it was crippling the Mechanicus systems in real-time.

The Magos's optics snapped toward them, a predatory gleam in his gaze. "You." His voice was sharp and accusatory. "What have you brought into this temple?"

Elissa raised her hands defensively, her mind racing. "I didn't bring anything! This has nothing to do with me!"

The Magos advanced a step, his servo-limbs clicking ominously. "This corruption is no coincidence. You will remain here for questioning—"

A violent burst of binary screamed through the temple as yet another cogitator failed, the flames spreading faster now. The servitors were overwhelmed, their mechanical precision faltering as the cascade continued unabated.

Elissa took a slow step toward Koron, lowering her voice. "We need to go. Now."

Koron's expression didn't change, but there was a slight shift in his posture—an acknowledgment of her words. "Agreed."

Without waiting for the Magos to issue further threats, Koron turned and began walking toward the temple doors. Elissa followed quickly, her heart hammering in her chest.

Behind them, the temple continued to collapse into chaos, the screams of binary and the crackle of fire fading as they slipped out into the polluted streets of the Forge city. Elissa shot Koron a sideways glance, her voice low and tense.

"Want to tell me what that was about?"

Koron's gaze remained forward; his tone unreadable. "Their systems were vulnerable. It was only a matter of time."

Elissa stopped in her tracks, grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn toward her. "You're telling me that was just a coincidence?"

His eyes met hers, calm and steady. "Does it matter?"

For a long moment, she stared at him, searching his expression for any hint of the truth. Finally, she let out a frustrated breath and turned away.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, her voice half-lost in the smog. "Let's just get the hell out of here before they decide to blame us for everything."

As they disappeared into the crowded streets, Koron glanced back at the temple, now a glowing ember against the skyline.

-

The walk back to the bike was tense, the weight of their failed negotiation hanging heavily in the polluted air. Elissa's boots scuffed against the ground as she trudged ahead, her hands buried in the pockets of her duster. Her helmet was back on, the filtered air inside offering some relief from the choking smog, but her mood remained sour.

"Stubborn bastards," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to Koron. "They've probably got enough parts in their storage to build a dozen fleets, but no, they want blood for a couple of scraps."

Koron walked silently beside her; his face unreadable as ever. His coat, still camouflaged in muted tones, blended seamlessly with the bleak surroundings. He didn't offer any words of comfort or explanation, his attention seemingly fixed inward.

Elissa cast him a sideways glance, her frustration bubbling over. "You're awfully quiet. Got anything to say about how we're supposed to pull a miracle out of thin air? Because if you do, now's the time."

Koron's gaze flicked to her, calm and unhurried. "We'll find a solution."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "Great. Vague and useless. Real inspiring, Koron."

The tension between them was palpable as they crested a rise in the rocky terrain, the outcropping where they'd hidden the bike coming into view. Elissa's mind churned, cycling through the options. They could push deeper into the Rust Sea, but the further in they went, the more likely they'd run into orks. And that wasn't a gamble she was eager to take.

She sighed heavily, kicking a loose rock as they descended toward the bike. "I don't even know where to start. Anything close to the city's already been stripped bare, and anything further out is crawling with green skins or worse. It's a dead end."

Koron didn't reply, his pace steady and unhurried as they approached the bike.

Elissa frowned as they neared the rocky outcropping. Something wasn't right. The shadows near the bike seemed…different. Darker, heavier. She stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes.

"Hold up," she said, her voice sharp.

Koron paused beside her, tilting his head slightly.

Elissa took a cautious step forward, her hand resting instinctively on the grip of her sidearm. As the angle of the light shifted, the shadows revealed their secret. A small pile of parts—clean, pristine, and unmistakably Mechanicus in design—was stacked neatly beside the rock.

"What the…" Elissa's voice trailed off as she approached the pile, her heart racing.

She crouched down, running her gloved fingers over the components. These weren't random scraps or junk. They were exactly what they needed: replacement actuators, power conduits, and the complete pump that had been the most difficult to source.

Her head snapped up, scanning the area. "This doesn't make any sense. How did this—"

Her words caught in her throat as she spotted faint, delicate tracks in the dust around the pile.

Servo-skulls.

She stood abruptly, her pulse hammering in her ears. "Koron, do you see this?"

He nodded, his expression as composed as ever.

"This wasn't here before. Someone—something—left this for us."

"Servo-skulls," he said simply.

Elissa's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I can see that. But why? Why would they do this? The Magos wouldn't have—"

Her words faltered as she turned to Koron, her eyes narrowing. "Unless you know something I don't.

He approached at a measured pace, his gaze steady as he took in the scene.

She straightened, her voice rising. "Alright, spill. What did you do?"

He tilted his head, his expression unchanging. "I didn't do anything."

"Bullshit!" she snapped, pointing at the parts. "Don't play coy with me. These weren't here before, and now, miraculously, they are. You expect me to believe that's just dumb luck?"

Koron shrugged slightly. "Perhaps someone took pity on you. One of the adepts, maybe. Or a kind stranger."

Her jaw dropped. "A kind stranger? In a Forge city? Are you even listening to yourself?" She stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward his chest. "I don't know what you did back there, but you're not fooling me. What was it? Did you sneak back in while I wasn't looking? Threaten someone? Hack into their supply list?"

He met her accusing gaze without flinching. "The parts are here. Does it matter how?"

"It does when you're dragging me into whatever mess you've made!" she shot back. "This kind of thing doesn't just happen, and if you've pissed off the cog-heads, I need to know!"

Koron's voice remained calm, infuriatingly so. "I didn't anger anyone. The parts were left for us. That's all that matters."

Elissa threw up her hands. "Unbelievable. You're just going to stand there and act like this is normal? The Mechanicus don't do charity, Koron! Someone left this here for a reason, and you know exactly what it is."

He stepped past her, crouching to inspect the parts. "What I know is that we have what we need. Speculating beyond that is a waste of time."

Her hands curled into fists as she fought the urge to scream. "You're impossible. Fine. Be mysterious. But when this comes back to bite us—and it will—don't say I didn't warn you."

She turned sharply, muttering curses under her breath as she began packing the parts into the bike's storage compartments, lashing the pump itself to the back of the bike. Koron worked alongside her, his movements efficient and unhurried, as though the situation was perfectly ordinary.

Once the last of the components was secured, Elissa stepped back, glaring at him. "You're lucky we needed these, or I'd make you leave them behind. I swear, if this gets us hunted down by enforcers, I'm throwing you to the cog-heads myself."

Koron climbed onto the bike, his tone still maddeningly calm. "Noted."

Elissa sighed heavily, pulling her helmet back on as she swung onto the bike in front of him. As the engine hummed to life and they sped away from the outcropping, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something—some vital piece of the puzzle that Koron wasn't sharing.

-

The acrid scent of scorched circuitry hung heavy in the air, mingling with the ever-present tang of machine oil and incense. The once-bustling temple, its halls echoing with the hum of servos and the chittering of binary cant, now lay eerily silent, save for the occasional hiss of venting steam and the crackle of sparking wires.

Magos Erathar stood in the center of the primary data sanctum, his augmented frame bathed in the cold glow of emergency lumen-strips. His mechadendrites snaked through the air, their tips interfacing with charred cogitator terminals as he surveyed the damage. What had once been an unassailable fortress of data now bore the scars of a catastrophic incursion.

Behind him, a cluster of adepts hovered anxiously, their cowled forms flitting between damaged consoles and lifeless servitor bays. Their binary exchanges were rapid, urgent, as they scrambled to assess the full extent of the breach.

Erathar's voice boomed through the chamber, laced with a synthetic distortion that amplified his authority. "Report status."

An adept approached; his gait uneven due to a poorly calibrated augmetic leg. He bowed low, speaking in a staccato blend of Low Gothic and Binary. "Magos, preliminary assessments indicate catastrophic failure across multiple data stacks. Memory cores gamma through theta are... unrecoverable. Cogitator units three, five, and seven have been rendered inert. Thermal overload cascades triggered in secondary processing arrays."

Erathar's optic lenses flickered with faint internal calculations. "Causation?"

The adept hesitated, his mechadendrites twitching nervously. "Unknown, Magos. Initial traces suggest an incursion of unparalleled sophistication. No identifiable vector or signature remains within the system. It is as though the attack... erased itself."

Erathar's mechadendrites froze mid-motion, and the faint whir of his internal cogitators filled the silence. "Erased itself?"

"Yes, Magos. There are no residual data fragments, no detectable code injections. Every node struck was wiped clean, leaving no digital spoor."

Erathar turned slowly, his lenses boring into the adept. "This is not incompetence?"

The adept's binary reply was instant and frantic. "No, Magos. This was... beyond any known standard of intrusion. The assault was executed with surgical precision and immense power. If I may... it was as if the Machine God Himself directed the attack."

Erathar's lenses narrowed. The incense-thick air seemed to grow heavier. "Blasphemy or revelation, adept?"

The adept stammered, bowing lower. "Neither, Magos. Simply... an observation. We recommend escalation to the Fabricator-General Thrant. This breach demands examination by higher echelons of the priesthood."

The Magos turned his attention to another adept, this one interfacing directly with the remnants of a data rack. Sparks flew as the adept disengaged his mechadendrite and turned to report. "Magos, the extent of the damage is unprecedented. Over seventy percent of our active data stores have been rendered non-functional. Historical records, schematics, operational directives and more—all... lost."

Erathar's synthetic voice carried an edge of barely constrained fury. "Seventy percent?"

"Correct, Magos. However, core data regarding the Rite of Purification remains intact, along with the Archive of Machine Hymns."

"Small blessings," Erathar growled. His mechadendrites lashed the air in agitation, their tips bristling with fine manipulators. "This temple will be shut down for the day. Divert all remaining resources to containment and analysis. All external communication is to cease. This breach will not be allowed to propagate."

The adepts scurried to obey, their servos whirring as they moved to seal the temple. Heavy blast doors slammed shut with a resounding clang, and a protective energy field shimmered faintly into place.

Erathar turned back to the scorched cogitators, his thoughts racing even as his expression remained impassive. "Begin the Rite of Inquiry. Identify any anomalies in our logs. Cross-reference with known threat vectors. If this is a new adversary, we must prepare countermeasures immediately."

Another adept stepped forward; his robes slightly burnt from a failed cogitator repair attempt. "Magos, if I may. The level of sophistication in this attack suggests resources and knowledge beyond that of any known heretical group. It is my recommendation that we request an Inquisitorial consultation."

Erathar's lenses whirred as they focused sharply on the adept. "You presume much, Adept Calrix. Do you fear we cannot solve this ourselves?"

The adept flinched but held his ground. "Magos, I mean no disrespect. But this incursion... surpasses anything within our operational knowledge. If it is an enemy, it is one that threatens not just our temple but the sanctity of the Omnissiah's works. Such threats must be addressed with the full might of the Priesthood."

The Magos was silent for a long moment, his lenses shifting as he gazed over the smoldering wreckage of his sanctum. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. Draft the communiqué. Encode it at the highest level of security and transmit via the sole remaining direct line to the Forge World's central nexus. Ensure the Fabricator-General understands the gravity of this intrusion."

Calrix bowed deeply. "It shall be done, Magos."

Erathar's attention returned to the ruined cogitators. Despite his outward composure, unease gnawed at his core logic. Whatever force had struck his temple, it had done so with a mastery that defied comprehension.

And as much as he loathed the idea of external intervention, a part of him feared that even the combined wisdom of the Mechanicus might not be enough to unravel the mystery of the unseen adversary that had so effortlessly laid waste to their temple.

-

The sanctum of Morrak Two's Fabricator-General, Karadel Thrant, was a study in unyielding order and calculated precision. Towering cogitator banks lined the walls, their blinking lumens and pulsating cables contrasting starkly with the smooth, pristine metal surfaces that adorned every inch of her chamber. A dozen hololithic displays floated in midair, their shifting data streams casting faint green glows across her crimson robes, reflecting the ceaseless flow of information and the Machina Omnissiah's divine will.

Karadel herself stood immobile at the chamber's center, her augmented frame towering. A quartet of mechadendrites extended from her back, their tips twitching and grasping at the edges of various data-scrolls. Her face, what little remained organic, was hidden behind an intricately wrought mask of polished steel and bronze. Only her pale, augmetic eyes betrayed any trace of emotion as they scanned the message before her.

The communiqué from Magos Erathar lay displayed on the primary hololithic projector. Binary code streamed alongside his voice recording, the words clipped and precise. The details of the attack unfolded with stark clarity:

"Catastrophic system breach. Unprecedented level of sophistication. No identifiable vector or residual traces. Data stores gamma through theta lost. Cogitators rendered inert. Defensive countermeasures... bypassed with surgical precision."

As Karadel reviewed the accompanying data logs, her mechadendrites moved with ceaseless efficiency, pulling up schematics of the affected systems and running diagnostics on the transmitted error reports. The evidence was damning:

• Seventy percent data loss
• Thermal cascades leading to cogitator immolation
• Complete lack of identifiable signatures or digital spoor

Her voice, a cold amalgam of machine clarity and metallic distortion, broke the silence. "Unprecedented," she murmured, more to herself than to the servitors attending her. "No spoor, no residual activity. A perfect ghost in the machine."

One of her attendants, a lesser Magos specializing in data integrity, stepped forward hesitantly. "Fabricator-General, might I suggest this could be the work of... an Abominable Intelligence?" His voice quivered slightly, the mere suggestion carrying the weight of heresy.

Karadel's optics flickered as she turned her gaze on him, the faint hum of her internal systems rising. "Eliminate such speculative hypotheses unless substantiated by evidence. The Men of Iron are long purged, and the Machine God's purity is inviolate. What you propose borders on blasphemy."

The Magos bowed deeply, retreating with a whispered burst of binary cant, acknowledging her rebuke.

Turning her attention back to the data, Karadel initiated an analysis subroutine, her neural augmetics processing the logs with mechanical efficiency. The results were no less troubling upon deeper review.

• Force Multiplication: The attack not only bypassed Mechanicus defenses but rendered them obsolete, executing with a precision that suggested knowledge of their inner workings.
• Sophistication Beyond Known Actors: Neither xenos tech nor heretek designs accounted for the sheer efficiency of the intrusion.
• Lack of Retaliation Options: There were no traces of code to analyze, no vectors to counter, and no discernible source to target.

Her augmented lips curled in a rare expression of distaste. For all the Mechanicus' knowledge and control, this was an anomaly that eluded explanation—a failing that bordered on unacceptable.

One of her mechadendrites tapped into the hololithic interface, sending a command across the temple network. A new display materialized, detailing known records of significant data breaches throughout Mechanicus history. As she cross-referenced these incidents with the current logs, it became increasingly clear: this attack was unique in scope and execution.

Karadel spoke aloud, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of tension. "Transmit the logs to the Fabricator-General of Mars. Include my assessment: this breach exceeds local capabilities for analysis or resolution. Recommend immediate escalation to Forge World Data-Sovereign Protocols and Archmagos Cybernetica consultation."

Another mechadendrite tapped against her chestplate, opening a direct line to her subordinate. "Magos Ulst, prepare the Omnissiah's Wrath for full deployment. Double all internal security protocols. If this anomaly strikes here, we will not be caught unprepared."

A servitor chimed acknowledgment in harsh, clipped binary as Karadel dismissed the transmission.

She turned to the primary display once more, her optics narrowing as if attempting to pierce the veil of the unknown. This breach, whatever its origin, had revealed a vulnerability within the sacred systems of the Mechanicus.

For the first time in centuries, Karadel felt the faint stirrings of unease. Whoever—or whatever—had the power to execute such an attack could not be underestimated.

"Knowledge is power," she whispered to herself, the ancient creed of the Mechanicus reverberating through her thoughts. "But ignorance is annihilation."

With a final command, the chamber lights dimmed, and the Fabricator-General returned to her silent, tireless pursuit of answers.

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Four

-

The pair had ridden through the night, Elissa unwilling to stay anywhere near the Forge city longer than absolutely necessary. Dusthaven's weathered wall finally came into view, the familiar outline bathed in the faint glow of dawn. The tension that had knotted her neck during the long, silent ride began to ease, though only slightly, as the sight of home grew clearer.

She called ahead, the crackle of the comm ensuring the nightwatch was ready to open the gates. As the massive doors groaned apart, the pair passed through without delay. Elissa issued a curt order to the guards stationed there, her voice sharp despite the weariness in her bones. "Double up patrols. Report anything—anyone—unusual immediately. No exceptions."

The guards saluted briskly, and she nudged Koron to follow her lead toward her house. The hum of the bike's anti-grav plating was barely audible against the stillness of the town at this hour. As they pulled into the dimly lit yard, the porch lights flickered on, illuminating two familiar figures descending the steps. The twins' hip-length hair shimmered like rivers of molten crimson, cascading over their shoulders in the cool night breeze.

Elissa slid off the bike and was immediately engulfed in her daughters' arms. She pulled them close, their warmth seeping into her, banishing the night's chill. For a fleeting moment, the tight knot of anxiety in her chest unraveled.

"I'll go get this stuff installed," Koron said, his voice breaking the moment's quiet. It was the first thing he'd said to her in almost twelve hours. His tone was steady, but distant, as if speaking more out of obligation than intention. Without waiting for a reply, he guided the bike toward the pump site, its anti-grav hum fading into the background.

Kala stepped back from the hug, her sharp gaze flicking from Koron's retreating figure to her mother's face. Her brow furrowed, but she stayed silent, letting Tara speak first.

"Mr. Koron," Tara called after him, her tone soft yet insistent as she pulled her robe tighter against the cold. "You don't have to do that tonight, you know? There's no rush. Maybe you should—"

She turned to her mother, but her words faltered. Elissa's expression had shifted, her features drawn tight and shadowed by something Tara couldn't quite place. The lines of exhaustion, frustration, and something deeper etched into her face stopped Tara's offer cold.

"Go inside, girls," Elissa said, her voice quieter now but firm. She nodded toward the open door. "Koron's got work to finish, and it's been a long night. We'll talk in the morning."

Tara hesitated for a heartbeat, glancing toward Kala as if seeking reassurance, but Kala gave a slight shake of her head. Together, the twins obeyed, their bare feet scuffing softly against the sand covered steps as they headed inside.

Elissa lingered in the yard for a moment, her eyes fixed on the direction Koron had gone. The faint hum of the bike was already lost to the quiet of the sleeping town, leaving her alone under the vast expanse of the night sky.

Tomorrow. There would be time for explanations tomorrow.

-

Rubbing her eyes, Elissa spun one of three dataslates in a slow, bored circle as she waited for Doc to arrive. Milo for his part was sitting by the window of the bar, cigarette smoke wafting away. Yannek for his part, was keeping an eye on the stovetop as the shardbean pancakes slowly formed, his bald head catching the light.

The clomp of Docs augmetic leg preceded her as she stepped inside. "Sorry, the Fudd's were early in asking questions about the water. Had to show them the slides before they believed me about still needing to boil the water."

Milo grunted as he flicked the remnants of his cig out to die in the bare sand. "No worries Doc, just arrived a minute ago myself." Picking up his lasgun, he shuffled over to the roundtable where Elissa sat with the dataslates, picking one up as he retook his seat.

Nodding as she took her own seat, Doc pulled from her jacket a small metal container, the sharp scent of whiskey hitting Elissa for a second. Ignoring the distinct scent, Elissa tapped a few buttons, graphs and stats rolling across the screen as she began.

"So, while the water pump and the reactor are back up, our basic needs are secured for the time being. That said, the towns barely making our payments to the caravans, and our credits shot to hell. We get any major losses or a sudden need, the chances of us being able to cover it are slim to none."

"Expanding out further into the Sea is really our own means of making more cash." Milo grumbled as he leaned forward on one arm. "A hundred years of salvage has stripped all the good stuff out of the wrecks nearest to us, so we're down to hauling in hull pieces, and those are just raw materials to the caravans."

"Speaking of, the next group that's coming through is what, the Votives?" At Elissa's nod, Doc continued. "Then just a heads up, we're short on immunosuppressants and antibiotics. I got enough for maybe seven more, fourteen if I shave the recommended doses to the absolute minimum."

"Fuck. That alone would chew up most of our budget." A sigh escaped from Elissa as she eyed the remaining thrones. "That's not even accounting for weapon parts, the hydroponics or the animal feed. We need to expand, which means digging deeper into the mountain, which means more pipes and conduits, wiring, ferrocrete-"

"El, we know." Milo cut her off with a hand on the shoulder. "We know, don't get stuck in your head on it, okay? We'll manage. We got power, we got water, and our food situation is…well, not great, but its not terrible either."

Her fingers tapped a unsteady rhythm on the tabletop as she stared at the list, her gaze distant. "Yannek? Could you give us a minute please?" Elissa asked, Yanneks gaze meeting hers as he turned. Nodding, he plates the pancakes onto the heater, ready for the lunch rush before he makes his way into the backroom.

"Well, that's not ominous at all." Doc muttered, taking another swig from her flask. "So, lets hear it."

Milo nodded, silent save for the level stare he focused on Elissa.

"Okay." Tossing her hat onto the table, Elissa ran her fingers through her crimson hair before she spoke. "Short and ugly? Im ninety nine percent sure that Koron somehow stole the pump parts from the cogboys."

Both Doc and Milo leaned forward at that news, listening intently as she relayed the incident at the temple.

For his part, Milo took a deep drag off his cigarette, blowing it out in a single long cloud. "Well….shit. That's suspicious as hell for sure."

"You said the Magos was talking about his data being wiped, his cogitators bursting into flame?" Doc asked, hunched over, eyes narrowed in thought. "I've seen tech-priests able to do stuff with machines at a distance, but, well, its generally obvious. Chanting, high pitched binary, not really a subtle thing. You said the boy didn't move or anything?"

Nodding, Elissa spread her arms wide, shoulders shrugging. "I don't know what other explanation could fit. We go in, the magos is being a shit, everything catches on fire and when we leave, lo and behold the exact parts we need. He did something, Im positive. I just…" Slumping, head in hands, her voice is ragged. "I don't know what the fuck to do. On the one hand-"

"Fella's done a lot of work here in a short time." Milo spoke up, interrupting. "Be a real bastard move to throw him out. On the other hand…"

"He endangered the whole town. The priests find out who, what and where, they wont even bother to ask why. They'll convert this whole town into servitors." Doc finished.

"….What do you two suggest? I..I really am running in a circle here."

Doc's gaze was unwavering as she considered the situation, tapping her flask against the table with a rhythm that matched the growing tension. "Alright. Let's break it down, but none of these are clean cuts. We've got three roads, and none of them come without consequences."

She raised her hand, ticking off her options. "Option one: You return the parts to the Mechanicus. Hand them over, apologize, and tell them Koron was just a misguided kid who got a little too eager. If they buy it, we might—might—walk away unscathed. But don't kid yourself. The moment they find out about Koron, and the fact that he's been working with us, they're going to want him. And if they come looking for him, the town won't stand a chance."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the stairs, then back to Elissa. "Option two: We get rid of him. Throw him out, tell him to pack his things and get lost. We hope the Mechanicus doesn't trace him here, and we pray they don't dig too deep into how he ended up with us. But they're bound to come sniffing around sooner or later. And when they do, you better pray they don't make an example of all of us."

Milo grunted, eyeing the remaining cigarette in his hand, torn. "We'd be throwing him to the wolves. That's no good, Doc."

Doc gave a short, sharp nod. "I don't like it either. But sometimes, you must choose the least awful option." She took another swig from her flask, her voice growing darker. "Option three is the most dangerous, and the one I'm leaning toward the least. We sit Koron down. We get the whole story, and we make him understand what he's doing—what kind of danger he's put us all in. If he's truly in over his head, fine. Maybe we figure out a way to get him some proper training, but—" She held up a hand to forestall any argument. "If he's playing us, manipulating us, or worse—if he's involved with the Mechanicus in some way... then we deal with it swiftly and decisively. Not a soul finds out."

Elissa stared at the table, her fingers brushing against the cold metal, tracing the lines of the dataslate without truly seeing it. Doc's options hung heavy in the air, and Milo's stare was sharp, cutting through her indecision.

Doc let the silence stretch on for a moment. "The problem with the third option is that we risk the whole town. If Koron is connected to something bigger, something deeper, then we're not just dealing with a rogue techie who got too curious. We're up against the Mechanicus themselves, and they don't take kindly to us squatting on what they believe is their property."

Elissa met Doc's eyes, her lips pressed tightly together. "So we're back to square one, huh?"

"Pretty much," Doc replied flatly, then glanced at Milo. "Your thoughts?"

Milo slowly exhaled, flicking ash into the bare sand outside. "We're talking about the whole damn town here, Doc. We've barely got enough to keep the lights on. Koron might be trouble, but throwing him out could bring bigger trouble. And hell, we've all seen the kid working late into the night on repairs. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have power or water." He looked at Elissa, a soft frustration in his eyes. "We can't just hand him over to them, can we?"

Elissa rubbed her forehead, trying to calm the rising frustration in her chest. "I don't know. I don't know if I'm even capable of doing what's best for everyone anymore." Her voice cracked slightly, but she shook it off. "But whatever happens, we're running out of time. The longer we sit on this, the worse it's going to get. We don't have the luxury of being indecisive anymore."

Doc was quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable as she gazed at the data slate. Finally, she spoke again, her voice less certain than before. "Whatever we do… if we decide to risk keeping Koron around, then we have to put in place contingencies. We can't afford to let this get out of hand." Her eyes met Elissa's. "And if we do let him go... we do it now. Before they come here."

Milo's head titled slightly, the faint chirp of his voxbead catching the girls attention as he tapped the bead. Nodding after a moment, he looks to Elissa. "Got reports of a series of what sounds like explosions coming from the eastern plateau. Big dust cloud, the patrols headed in to check it out. What do you want them to do?"

Doc's eyes narrowed. "You don't think the cogboys…?"

Shaking her head as she stood, Elissa said "Doubtful. If they had figured out what happened, they wouldn't be bothering with blowing up the bare rocks. They would just march in here and kill us all."

Nodding as he stood, Milo slings his rifle. "I'll take the boys, go see whats happening."

"Alright. Stay safe."

"Always do."

-

The truck's engine droned low, a monotonous hum that vibrated through the cracked earth and hung heavy in the arid air. Red dust swirled in the distance, restless spirals rising like specters from the barren expanse. The horizon shimmered under the relentless sun, the emptiness stretching endlessly ahead.

Milo adjusted his goggles, shielding his eyes from the glare. His jaw tightened as a distant, rhythmic pounding echoed across the plateau, each deep thud carrying with it a palpable weight. It wasn't natural. It wasn't right.

"Anyone else feel that?" muttered one of the guards in the back, his voice low, his knuckles white around the grip of his lasgun.

Milo raised a fist, the truck groaning to a stop, its engine sputtering into uneasy silence. The air was thick with the tang of scorched rock and ozone, the faint metallic taste of unease clinging to every breath.

They dismounted, boots crunching on brittle sand as they moved forward, lasguns at the ready. The pounding grew louder, the vibrations now tangible beneath their soles. Dust danced with each tremor, rising like smoke. As they crested the ridge, Milo's stomach sank.

Koron was there, a lone figure in a wasteland of shattered stone. His broad shoulders rose and fell with each labored breath, his torso bare, gleaming with sweat under the punishing light. His cybernetic arms moved in a blur, piston-driven fists slamming into the iron-hard boulders with a relentless fury.

Each impact sent cracks spidering through the rock, fragments of stone erupting into the air. Sparks flickered along his augmetics, the intricate mechanisms of his arms groaning as they delivered another shattering blow. The limbs didn't stop at his shoulders—Milo could see now that thin, gleaming struts of metal extended down his spine, their edges disappearing under skin stretched taut with strain.

But it wasn't the raw power that held Milo's attention. It was the scars.

Koron's torso was a roadmap of old wounds, brutal and chaotic. Burns marred his left side, their edges puckered and uneven. Deeper scars ran jagged across his chest and abdomen, their paths crisscrossing like cruel reminders of battles fought and survived. These weren't the clean, precise scars of a Guardsman hero in the holovids. They were the kind of wounds carved by predators in the dark, the kind that left no room for mercy.

"Emperor's mercy..." one of the guards whispered, his voice barely audible.

Milo stepped forward, silencing the man with a glance. "Koron!" he called out, his voice sharp and commanding.

Koron drove his fists into the boulder one final time, the impact sending a web of cracks rippling outward. Dust rose in a choking plume, the silence that followed more oppressive than the noise.

Koron didn't move at first. Then, he slowly crouched, his head bowed, his cybernetic fingers curling into fists so tight the servos whined.

"Koron," Milo tried again, softer this time.

The younger man's shoulders tensed but gave no reply. Milo sighed, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he pulled out a cigarette. He lit it with practiced ease, the first drag filling his lungs with sharp, acrid relief. He held the cigarette out toward Koron, smoke curling upward in the still air.

After a moment, Koron glanced up. His eyes were shadowed, stormy with unspoken turmoil. He reached out, his metal fingers surprisingly steady as he took the offered cig. Milo sat down in the sand beside him without a word.

The two passed the cigarette back and forth, the silence between them heavy, but not uncomfortable. The distant hum of wind filled the gaps, carrying with it the faint grit of the plateau's dust.

"You gonna be okay?" Milo asked eventually, his gaze drifting to the ruined expanse before them. The field of boulders was a jagged mess of rubble, as though Koron's fury had tried to shatter the world itself.

Koron exhaled slowly, smoke trailing from his lips. "...Yeah. Sorry. Just..." He tapped his temple with a metal finger, the gesture sharp.

Milo gave a small nod. "Yeah, I get it. Sometimes, you just gotta smash shit."

Koron managed a faint smile at that, though it didn't reach his eyes.

Milo leaned slightly, propping himself on one elbow. "This about those parts you grabbed from the city?"

Koron's laugh was short and humorless, a bitter sound that caught in his throat. "Not exactly. Finished some reading." He paused, his gaze distant. "Didn't expect what I found."

Milo watched him closely, the younger man's words tinged with a weariness that felt far too old for his age. "How old are you, anyway?" Milo asked after a moment. "You got one of those treatments? The Doc's fifty but looks half that, you know?"

Koron slowly shook his head. "No treatments. I'm twenty-one."

Milo blinked. "Twenty-one?" He studied Koron's scarred torso and hardened gaze, disbelief flickering across his face.

"Signed up on the first ship out I could, ready to see the stars," Koron continued, his voice softer now, almost wistful. "Mom packed me a dozen meals, told me to brush my teeth, floss..." He let out a soft laugh, lifting one metal hand to wag a finger in the air. "Spent a fortune on braces. 'I paid for that smile, Koron. Take care of it!'"

Milo chuckled, but the sound faded as he regarded Koron more closely. Twenty-one. Scarred like a veteran of a dozen campaigns. What the hell happened to you, kid?

Koron's smile faltered, his expression darkening as some buried memory rose to the surface. He shivered slightly, his gaze falling to the ground. "Oh. No. Twenty-three."

Milo let the silence settle for a moment before speaking again, quietly filing away the new age, but focused on the important bit. "El and the Doc are worried about the cogboys. You stealing those parts put a lot of lives at risk."

Koron's lips curled into a faint grin, shaking his head slowly. "Their records are ash. No names, no faces, no data. I made sure of it."

Milo studied him for a long moment, his gaze hard, searching, then he slowly nodded. "Alright. I'll hold you to that. Let's get back to town. You can tell me more about this when you're ready. Sound good?"

"Yeah." Koron's voice was quiet.

They stood together, dusting themselves off as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The truck's engine growled back to life, its sound rolling across the plateau like a reluctant sigh. Koron climbed into the truck bed without a word, leaning back against the side as the vehicle rumbled forward, shirt in his lap.

Milo stole a glance at him as the sun painted the horizon in hues of blood-red and gold. Koron sat still, his eyes distant, the scars on his body catching the dying light. Whatever storm the kid carried, Milo couldn't shake the feeling it wasn't done raging.

-

The midday sunlight streamed into the taverns main room, illuminating the modest spread on the table. Pancakes, honeybloom syrup, and a few stray mugs of sunfrond tea dominated the space, the cheerful aroma clashing with the sudden tension as the front door opened.

Milo stepped in first, his boots leaving faint trails of sand on the floor. Behind him was Koron, his bare chest revealing the stark landscape of scars that crisscrossed his flesh.

The room froze.

Elissa, seated at the head of the table, set her mug down with a quiet clink, her emerald eyes widening slightly. To her left, Tara blinked, her fork halfway to her mouth, an expression of soft concern settling on her delicate features. On Elissa's right, Kala leaned forward, her crimson hair spilling over her shoulders as she studied Koron with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

Doc, perched at the far end of the table, lowered her datapad. Her steely-gray eyes—sharp, clinical, and always observing—narrowed slightly as they traced the scars on Koron's torso. Her lips pressed into a thin line, though she said nothing.

Koron, however, seemed oblivious to their scrutiny. His steps were heavy, his gaze distant, as if he were carrying the weight of the entire plateau he'd shattered earlier. He moved toward the staircase without a word, shirt slung over his shoulder.

Kala was the first to break the silence, her teasing tone cutting through the tension like a blade. "So, Koron... what's the deal? You forget how shirts work, or are you trying to impress us?"

The words hit Koron like a slap. He froze, his eyes darting toward Kala, then to the others at the table, all of whom were watching him now. A faint flush rose to his cheeks as his jaw clenched. He grabbed his shirt and held it to his chest like a shield, his shoulders hunching slightly as if to make himself smaller.

Without a word, he turned and trudged up the stairs, the creak of each step echoing in the silence. A moment later, the soft click of his door closing signaled his retreat.

Elissa turned to Kala; her tone sharp. "Really, Kala? Was that necessary?"

Kala leaned back in her chair, an unrepentant grin on her face. "What? I'm just curious! Besides, can you blame me? He's hot, sweaty, covered in scars, and—mmm!" She bit her lip dramatically, fanning herself with exaggerated flair. "Much more, and I might need a change of underwear."

"Kala!" Elissa snapped; her cheeks flushed.

"Knock it off!" Tara yelped, her face turning nearly as red as her hair as she slammed her fork down with a clatter.

Doc sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Kala, for Throne's sake, show some decorum. He's not a bloody holovid star. That boy is clearly dealing with something." Her tone was sharp but laced with genuine concern. "And making him feel like a spectacle doesn't help."

Kala raised her hands in mock surrender, though her grin didn't fade. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. But seriously, can you blame me? I mean, come on—"

"You've made your point," Elissa interrupted, her voice tight. "We're not doing this."

Milo, leaning casually against the doorway, finally spoke up. "You're missing the big picture," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Kid's been through a lot. Let him have some space, yeah?" He jabbed a thumb toward the stairs. "Last thing he needs is you lot gawking at him like he's some kind of sideshow."

The table fell silent, Kala shrinking slightly under the weight of everyone's stares.

Doc cleared her throat, returning her focus to her datapad. "Milo's right. Anyway, why did you come back with him? What happened with the explosions?"

"That was him." Milo replied, gesturing towards the stairs. "Kid was breaking those old iron boulders into smaller and smaller rocks, with his bare fucking hands."

"…Im sorry he was what?!" Doc half shouted.

"That was about my reaction too Doc," Milo replied as he took a seat. "But yeah. Kid packs a punch, that's for damn sure. But, more than that? He says the, ah," His eyes snapped to the twins for a moment before continuing. "The thing we talked about, with him? He says it wont be an issue. There's nothin left for them find, so he says."

Elissas full lips narrowed into a tight, thin line. "And you believe him?"

"Honestly? I don't trust much anybody says. But…my guts telling me he's sure of his work. Best I can give you there."

Rubbing her temples, Elissa sighed, absently brushing her hair back into place. "Alright. We'll…give it a week, see what happens."

Doc tapped the table with her cybernetic hand. "Also, I want him over at my place after lunch. Those scars don't look like they were treated properly at all."

Elissa nodded, though her eyes lingered on the stairs. "Agreed."

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Five

-

The town hall was alive with activity, the hum of conversation reverberating through the wide, open space. Leaders of the dozen groups that made up Dusthaven's salvage forces had gathered for their weekly meeting, their voices a blend of anticipation and wary curiosity. Shafts of sunlight slanted through the cracked windows, catching the dust motes that danced in the air, while the faint tang of rust and oil lingered—a constant reminder of their trade.

Elissa stood at the front of the room, her posture commanding despite the weariness in her eyes. She tapped the map pinned to the board behind her, highlighting a new section marked in bold red. "Let's keep this quick," she began, her voice cutting cleanly through the din. "We're asking you to expand deeper into the Sea for new salvage."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd, skepticism mingling with unease. Elissa raised her hand, and the voices gradually stilled.

"Yes, I know. Orks." Her tone was flat, but the weight of the word hung heavy in the air. "The deeper you go into the Sea, the more likely you are to run into those green-skinned bastards. That's why we're assigning extra security. Milo and a dozen guards will accompany you as a reaction force. Between your crews and theirs, you should be able to handle most roving groups."

Her thin smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but it carried a spark of confidence, enough to settle the fidgeting among the crowd. "As always, you've got your breakdowns. If anyone here doesn't want to push deeper, that's fine. Stick to the wrecks along the outer edges. This isn't an order—it's a choice."

She let her gaze sweep over the gathered leaders, their faces lined with the grime of hard work and the sharp eagerness of those chasing bigger fortunes. Despite the risks, the lure of untouched plunder was hard to resist. Satisfied with the collective nods and murmurs of agreement, Elissa tipped her hat, a gesture of finality. "Alright, then. Get to it. Milo's your contact for operational questions—don't clog my line with them. Good luck out there."

The leaders began to disperse, their boots thudding against the worn wooden floor as they filed out. Elissa allowed herself a moment to exhale, rolling her stiff shoulders. The Sea was a dangerous place, but it was also their lifeblood, and every risk came with the promise of reward—or ruin.

Her eyes lifted as a familiar figure approached from the far end of the hall. Koron. His armor was back on, the dull sheen of its plating catching the light, though his helmet hung loosely from his belt. His strides were unhurried, but there was an air of quiet purpose about him.

"You got a moment?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made her straighten instinctively.

Elissa hesitated, the memory of their conversations over the past three days flaring to life, stirring an uncomfortable heat in her chest. She bit back the instinct to brush him off, instead taking a deep, steadying breath. "Yeah," she replied evenly, masking her tension. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Koron assured her, his expression open but earnest. "I was just wondering if I could help out with the salvage operations."

Surprise flickered across her face, softening the guarded lines of her features. She blinked, taking a moment to process the unexpected offer. "You want to help?" she asked, skepticism creeping into her tone. "Do you have a particular crew in mind?"

Koron shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a faint smile. "No. I figure I'd just slow them down. I was thinking I'd start near the edges of their operations, going over stuff that's already been picked through. Get a feel for how it works before I try anything new."

Elissa studied him, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly. For all his power and enigmatic nature, there was something disarmingly genuine about the way he stood there, offering his help like any other Dusthaven laborer. She found herself nodding almost before she realized it.

"Alright," she said, her voice carrying a note of cautious approval. "Just don't make a mess of it. And for the record? The deeper stuff isn't exactly beginner-friendly."

Koron gave a small, wry chuckle, his cybernetic fingers tapping idly against the edge of his belt. "Noted. Don't worry, I'll stay out of everyone's way."

She nodded again, more firmly this time. "Good. Then get yourself sorted—gear, tools, whatever you need. You can shadow Milo's group to start. He'll set you straight if you veer off course."

Koron inclined his head in gratitude. "Appreciate it," he said simply before turning to leave, his long strides carrying him toward the exit.

Elissa watched him go, her thoughts a tangled web of lingering doubts and begrudging respect. Koron was an enigma. She wasn't sure where he fit in Dusthaven's world, but for now, his offer of help was enough.

For now.

-

"For fuck's sake, someone get to the left flank and start shooting!" Milo roared into the vox, his voice raw with urgency. Bullets zipped past with sharp, deafening cracks, each near miss sending a pulse of adrenaline through his veins. The makeshift barricade of battered hull plates groaned and shuddered against his shoulder, a flimsy shield against the storm of fire.

The air hung thick with the acrid tang of burning ozone, mingling with the stench of blood, sweat, and the oily residue of slagged metal. In the distance, the ork rabble surged forward in a chaotic green tide. Thirty of the brutish xenos barreled toward them, howling guttural war cries that reverberated across the wreck-strewn battlefield. Their crude weapons spat lead in every direction, chewing through the shattered remnants of the derelict ship like paper.

"Riggs! Where the fuck is your team?!" Milo bellowed, thrusting his laspistol blindly over the barricade. He squeezed the trigger, sending a quick volley into the advancing horde. The shots weren't aimed to kill—just to remind the orks that they weren't the only ones with guns. He ducked back down as a cluster of bullets struck the plating above him, showering him with sparks. "We've got maybe a minute before we're—"

The words froze on his tongue as the ork charge stumbled. Several of the greenskins fell, their bodies broken by beams of crimson light. Milo whipped his head around to see Riggs and his crew perched high on the blown out plating of a nearby wreck. The fifteen-man squad had taken up firing positions, their lasrifles spitting death with ruthless efficiency. Riggs, massive servo arm waving, stood at the center of the group, bellowing a colorful stream of insults at the orks, his voice somehow cutting through the chaos.

For the orks, the sudden onslaught wasn't a deterrent—it was an invitation. More enemies simply meant more fun. Seven of the hulking brutes broke off from the main horde, their snarling laughter rising above the din as they barreled toward Milo's barricade.

Lasbolts rained into the charging greenskins, dropping three in quick succession, but the remaining four pressed on undeterred. Their thick, leathery hides and ramshackle armor absorbed glancing blows, and their frenzied momentum carried them forward. Each step was a thunderous drumbeat of impending doom, shaking the ground beneath them.

Leading the charge was a towering ork, easily twice the size of a man and covered in a patchwork of crude metal plates that served as armor. His right arm ended in a vicious, three-pronged claw, its rusted edges jagged and deadly. He roared as he veered toward an opening in the ship's hull, a gap that left Milo's right flank dangerously exposed. Drool flew from his tusked maw as he lunged through the breach.

The roar died in his throat as he was yanked backward mid-charge, his massive frame slamming into the ground with a bone-jarring crash. Dust and debris kicked up around him as he snarled in confusion, scrambling to his feet.

The next ork behind him bellowed with laughter at his leader's fall, only to meet the same fate. An unseen force clotheslined the greenskin, flipping him backward to land in a heap beside his leader.

The guardsmen didn't waste the opening. The four stationed on either side of the barricade unleashed a barrage of full-auto fire, their lasrifles turning the two prone orks into smoldering heaps. The remaining pair of greenskins hesitated for a moment, then broke into a panicked retreat. They didn't make it far. Concentrated lasfire from the barricade cut them down, their corpses crumpling into the sand.

The rest of the ork mob surged into the ruins of the wreck that Riggs's team had been exploring. Their war cries echoed through the metal halls, a cacophony of rage and bloodlust. After a full minute of relentless running, the orks emerged onto the ad-hoc balcony of broken hull plating that overlooked the battlefield—only to find it empty.

Riggs's team had vanished.

The salvagers had descended using drop harnesses as soon as the orks committed to the climb, spreading out in the wreck's shadowy lower levels. When the first dozen greenskins stumbled out onto the wreck's lower floors, confused by the lack of a fight, they were met with an ambush. Nearly thirty lasrifles opened fire in unison, the combined firepower cutting the xenos down in a merciless hail of energy bolts.

The last orks, realizing the futility of the fight, turned tail and vanished into the wreckage. Their retreating red dots faded from the auspex display, leaving only the eerie quiet of the battlefield in their wake.

Milo leaned back against the barricade, his chest heaving as he took a steadying breath. His voice was low and gruff as he keyed the vox. "Alright. Who's hurt and who's dead?"

"Emrick and Tyson are dead," came Jacob's reply, his voice trembling as he struggled to stay composed. "Hicks, Anders, Wilson, and Val are injured. Val… he lost his left arm. Other than that, we're okay."

Milo nodded to himself, his face grim. "Alright. Get everyone on the trucks. We're pulling out in five. Recall the salvage teams—I'm not leaving them out here to dry."

"Got it, boss."

"And Jacob?"

"Yeah?"

"That grapple line idea with the winch? Worked great, kid."

There was a pause before Jacob's voice came back, tinged with regret. "Thanks, boss. Just wish it had worked a bit better is all."

Milo closed his eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle around him. "Yeah," he muttered to himself, before pushing off the barricade to oversee the retreat. "Me too."

-

The convoy rumbled across the wasteland, the salvaged scraps lashed tightly to every available surface of the battered trucks. Dust clouds billowed in their wake as the edge of the Rust Sea loomed closer on the horizon, Dusthaven's safety tantalizingly within reach.

Milo's vox chimed, the static crackling briefly before the vanguard's voice came through.
"Boss, we've got greenskins on the auspex. Looks like bullets are flying up ahead, near where that new guy was searching."

Milo spat out his cigarette, crushing the smoldering butt underfoot as he grabbed his rifle and barked orders into the vox.
"Shit. Slow down and hold position. Let the convoy keep moving—get 'em back to town. My team will handle this."

"Affirmative," came the curt reply.

The trucks roared ahead, engines sputtering under their salvaged weight, while Milo's team veered off. Their tires churned up sand, spitting grit as the engines growled in protest. The harsh symphony of battle grew louder as they closed the distance: the rattling brap of ork shootas mingled with a distinct, sharp crack—something cleaner, more precise.

As they rounded a bend, the source of the carnage came into view. Koron's strange, hovering bike sat abandoned in the sand, a headless ork corpse sprawled nearby. The stump of its neck sizzled black, the stench of burned flesh still lingering. A few meters ahead lay another ork, this one felled by its own choppa lodged deep in its skull, its twisted arm bent grotesquely behind it. A third corpse was slumped against a hull fragment, its armored chest molten and warped, frozen rivulets of slag trailing down its body.

The trail of bodies led them to the source of the fight. Cresting a small rise, they came upon the scene. Three orks were howling with manic laughter as they swung their crude choppas in wide, clumsy arcs. Their shootas lay discarded in the sand, forgotten in the heat of their brutal melee. Their target was unmistakable—Koron stood alone, his form fluid and precise amidst the chaos, his every movement a stark contrast to the ork's brutish swings.

Milo raised his rifle, the crosshairs finding a target, but his finger hesitated on the trigger as he watched Koron move. The way the man fought was, for lack of a better word, inhuman.

The ork to Koron's left brought down its choppa in a heavy, overhand strike. Koron slid effortlessly to the side, the blade slamming harmlessly into the sand. His left knee bent low, his right leg sweeping into an arc, at the same time activating its anti-grav coils, that sent a spray of sand into the ork's leering face. The greenskin staggered, momentarily blinded.

The second ork's horizontal swing whistled through the air, missing Koron by a hair as he crouched even lower under the blade. The wild strike didn't go to waste, however—it carved deep into the first ork's shoulder, eliciting a guttural snarl of surprise.

Using the momentum of his crouch, Koron pushed off with his left leg, engaging his grav-plating in a focused burst. The surge of energy launched him into the air, spinning his body into a half-moon arc. His right leg extended, connecting with the injured ork's neck in a strike amplified by another pulse from his plating.

The impact was devastating. A sharp crack rang out, followed by a crackling hum as arcs of electricity danced across the ork's body. The greenskin convulsed violently before collapsing in a twitching heap, its skull hanging limp as it sank to the sand.

The third ork roared, charging with a relentless fury. Koron didn't land on his feet but instead let his body fall, a controlled descent that ended with him hovering inches above the sand. The ork, caught off guard by the sudden maneuver, barreled forward with no time to adjust.

Koron's leg shot out, planting firmly on the ork's hip. Using the momentum, he launched the ork, sending the greenskin sprawling headlong into the dirt.

"Shoot 'em!" Milo shouted, snapping out of his daze.

The cramped truck behind him erupted in fire, lasrifles unloading a deadly volley. Crimson bolts seared through the remaining two orks, their leather-clad bodies jerking violently as they were torn apart by concentrated firepower.

The battle was over in seconds. The acrid stench of burned flesh and ozone filled the air, mingling with the dust that had been kicked up in the fray.

Milo lowered his rifle, sparing a glance toward Koron as the younger man rose to his feet. The carnage around him seemed to phase him not at all, his movements calm and deliberate, as though dispatching three Orks in hand-to-hand combat was merely another task on his list.

Taking a steadying breath, Milo turned to his team. "Alright, keep your eyes peeled. There might be more of 'em lurking around."

Koron hustled back to his hovering bike, offering the team a quick wave of thanks. As Milo watched him with a mix of relief and curiosity, he reached for his vox. "You good, kid?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Bastards showed up just as I was hauling in the salvage," Koron replied, his voice steady despite what he'd just endured.

Milo frowned. "Likely drawn in by the firefight. You hurt?"

"No injuries," Koron assured him. "Just gonna grab the part and be on my way—two minutes tops."

"Alright, hurry it up. We'll cover you."

True to his word, Koron reappeared a few moments later, emerging from the ruined hull of the ancient ship. Slung over his shoulder was a massive cylinder, easily twice his height and so wide that both of his arms were fully engaged in carrying it. Four articulated arms folded along its sides, each adorned with rows of delicate, gleaming metal fins.

Milo's eyes narrowed as he took in the object, the scavenger in him instantly assessing its value. He had no idea what it was, but it looked important.

"What the hell is that, kid?" he called as Koron carefully lashed the cylinder to the side of his bike, the grav-plating's hum growing as it compensated.

"FTL engine stabilizer," Koron replied with a grin. "It keeps the transition between realspace and subspace stable. Fairly valuable piece of tech, though it'll need a good cleaning—it was buried under a foot of sand."

Milo blinked, the explanation barely registering. "You're hauling that thing around like it's a bag of groceries. It weighs what, a ton?"

"About eight hundred kilos," Koron said casually, patting the stabilizer affectionately. "The grav-plates help distribute the weight. Makes it manageable."

Milo snorted, climbing back into the passenger seat of the truck. "You're way too chipper for someone who just got jumped by Orks, you know that?"

"Hey," Koron shot back, straddling his bike with a smile. "I found a piece of tech I never got to work with much. I'm excited."

Milo rolled his eyes with a laugh and waved his team forward. "Kids," he muttered, half to himself.

The convoy began to move again, engines rumbling as they trundled toward the distant safety of Dusthaven, the prize of the day strapped securely to Koron's bike.

-

The mountain's shadow, under which they all lived, shielded them from the twin suns' searing heat, but even that natural barrier couldn't keep the air within their sheltered cave from turning oppressive at noon. The heat clawed at throats, dry and relentless, like a beast eager for a feast.

Milo took a slow swig from his canteen, savoring the brief relief the water provided, and let his eyes drift toward the firing range. The space echoed with the sharp, familiar crackle of lasgun fire—comforting in its regularity. The drills, a rigorous regimen of combat scenarios, weapon practice, and meticulous maintenance, had been Milo and Doc's brainchild more than two decades ago.

Across the other side of the field, Doc snapped at the students as they went through the basics of first aid care, what tools did what, basic medication routines. It wasn't nearly enough, but some training was better than none.

On Morrak Two, unpreparedness was a death sentence, and they'd learned that hard lesson early.

Today, though, Milo's focus wasn't on the drills themselves but on the peculiar young man waiting in line to receive his rifle. Were it not for those advanced prosthetics, Koron could have easily passed for one of the younger recruits shuffling impatiently in line.

It hadn't been easy to drag Koron out here. The kid had been perfectly content to spend the next three days holed up in the vehicle bay, obsessively cleaning the stabilizer he'd scavenged. Milo had found him there, grease-smeared and muttering under his breath, and had all but hauled him out by the scruff of his neck. Part of Milo's insistence was practical; Milo needed to know if the kid knew how to shoot straight. But if he were honest, his curiosity about the boy's past played a larger role. Koron had taken down a group of orks before Milo's arrival, and the mystery of how he'd done it gnawed at the older man's mind.

As Koron stepped up to the counter and accepted a rifle, Milo's curiosity sharpened into a keen edge. What would the kid do? How would he handle the weapon?

The answer came almost immediately, though not in the way Milo had expected. As Koron's hands wrapped around the rifle, his expression contorted. His face went stark white, and an audible gasp escaped his lips.

Then, with a startled cry, he dropped the weapon onto the counter as if it had burned him. His cybernetic hands trembled as he stared down at it, eyes wide.

"…You okay kid?" Milo asked, watching him.

"…Yeah. Just uh…hot. It surprised me."

Milos brown eyes flicked down towards the metal hands. "…Hot huh?"

His jaw tightened, Koron picked the lasgun back up with all the care of a explosives expert holding a particularly badly made bomb before making his way down to the range.

Shaking his head, Milo marked down Korons name and the serial number of the weapon given out. "Weird."

-

Pushing another stack of completed paperwork to the side, Elissa didn't even glance up when there was a knock on her office door. "Come in."

Koron stepped inside, his lasgun hanging from his hand by the strap. "Afternoon. I'll keep it brief since I know you're busy, but can I get into the armory?"

She raised an eyebrow, her attention snapping to him for the first time. "Why?"

He held out the rifle. "This? This is your settlement's primary weapon, right?"

"…Yes…?" Her tone carrying an edge of 'get to the point please'.

"Okay." Koron nodded, his expression serious. "You're in dire need of an upgrade. Same goes for your armor. I'm gonna take care of that. If I'm not done by the time the caravan gets here, the part I salvaged is in the vehicle bay. Feel free to sell it."

Elissa blinked, her mouth hanging slightly open as her tired mind tried to catch up with his words. The mountain of paperwork still weighed on her thoughts, leaving her more than a little frazzled. "Okay? Have fun I guess."

Koron gave a short nod, then turned and left without another word.

It wasn't until the evening, as she made her way home, that Elissa realized something nagging at the back of her mind. Maybe someone should go check on him.

Someone other than her, for her mattress was calling her name in a sweet, sweet sirens song.

-

The armory was a cavernous room carved into the natural rock of the mountain. Overhead, crude but effective lighting cast a pale, uneven glow, highlighting rows of weapons mounted on racks along the walls. Crates of ammunition and spare parts were stacked in organized chaos, their labels scrawled in faded marker or etched into the metal. The air smelled of oil, heated metal, and the faint ozone tang of lasgun discharge. A battered workbench took up the center of the room, its surface littered with tools, half-assembled components, and a few grease-stained manuals. A vent overhead hummed faintly, attempting—unsuccessfully—to circulate the stuffy air.

Koron was perched on a stool at the workbench, his posture slightly hunched as he worked on the guts of a disassembled lasgun. His cybernetic hands moved with quiet precision, the metallic joints gleaming faintly under the dim lights. The parts were laid out in meticulous order, each within easy reach—a stark contrast to the clutter around him. His muttering, an ongoing dialogue with himself, added a strange kind of life to the otherwise sterile atmosphere.

Tara stepped inside, her boots crunching softly against the gritty floor. She glanced around, taking in the meticulously organized chaos. Her eyes lingered on the pile of modified lasguns stacked neatly to one side of the bench.

"Mom sent me to check on you," she announced, leaning against the doorframe.

Koron didn't look up, his focus locked on the weapon's focusing coil. "Didn't realize I was on anyone's priority list."

"You're not," Tara shot back, smirking. "But she figured you'd probably forget to eat or sleep, and apparently that's a bad thing."

He snorted softly. "I'm fine. Almost done with this one." He gestured toward the pile of weapons. "Your settlement's gear needs some serious TLC."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that," Tara said as she approached the workbench. She tilted her head, inspecting the half-disassembled lasgun. "But, why? What's so bad about them?"

Koron finally glanced up, giving her a fleeting but pointed look. "Power efficiency's terrible, and your energy source"—he held up the lasgun's power pack, wiggling it a bit—"is a joke. Why someone's using a basic battery for a weapon is beyond me. Why they decided to use its lowest setting is right up there too." Tapping the opened-up barrel, its focusing lenses neatly aligned, he continued. "Your focusing lenses are misaligned. Your heat sinks don't properly dissipate heat when they're covered. These things are surprisingly reliable for their faults, but they could be a lot better."

"Okay," Tara said, her curiosity piqued, "but how do you fix it? Milo just swaps out parts when they break. He doesn't do... this." She gestured to the precise array of tools and components.

"That's the difference between patching and actual repair," Koron said. He held up a tiny capacitor, its surface charred. "Like this. Your capacitors are old, overworked, and probably not even rated for the higher power settings I see most of these guns set to. I'm re-tuning them to balance the power load."

Tara squinted at the capacitor, then at the lasgun. "You're telling me a little thing like that can make the whole gun work better?"

"Exactly," Koron said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It's like... if your heart's beating out of sync, it messes everything up. Fix the rhythm, and everything runs smoother."

Her eyebrows rose, and she leaned closer, her curiosity deepening. "How do you even know all this? You're, what, my age? Did you train with the Mechanicus or something?"

Koron laughed, though the sound was dry. "No, no Mechanicus. They—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "Anyway, no, I didn't learn from them. Just… lots of practice. Out there"—he nodded toward the cave entrance—"you either learn to fix what breaks or you die when it does."

Tara's face softened as she absorbed the words. "So, you've been alone out there... completely?"

He hesitated, his hands pausing briefly. He answered a moment later, voice soft. "Yeah. For a while."

"That's insane," she said, "The storms, the Orks... How did you survive?"

Koron shrugged, returning his attention to the rifle. "I'm very fast."

Her eyes drifted to his cybernetic arms. "Even the arms... Did you build those?"

"Some of it," he said, voice carefully neutral. "The rest came from scavenged tech. A lot of trial and error."

Before Tara could respond, the door creaked open, and Kala stepped in, her presence immediately filling the room with energy. She grinned at Koron, then at Tara, and sauntered over to the workbench, leaning casually against its edge.

"Well, if it isn't our resident magic man," Kala said, her voice light and teasing. "How's the tinkering going? Saving Dusthaven one lasgun at a time?"

Koron glanced up briefly, his expression unreadable. "It's going."

Kala's grin widened as she leaned in a little closer. "You know, Koron, if you're this good with machines, I bet you're a great cook too. You should join us for dinner sometime."

Tara groaned audibly. "Kala. Really?"

"What?" Kala said innocently, though her smirk betrayed her. "It's called being polite, Tara. You should try it."

"I appreciate the offer-" Koron began, only to be cut off as Tara spoke.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure someone here didn't even think to check with mom if she would be okay with it before asking."

Kala gasped in mock offense. "You wound me. I just thought he might like a hot meal."

Koron raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure whether to laugh or intervene. Tara shook her head, grabbing Kala by the arm. "Come on, lets go before you give him a flower."

As the door shut behind them, leaving Koron alone surrounded by weaponry, he quietly uttered "Flowers?"

-

Kala swung her arms loosely at her sides, her long braid bouncing against her back. "So," she began, shooting a glance at Tara, "what do you think Koron would do if I asked him to dinner?"

Tara stopped mid-step, her face twisting in disbelief. "Oh for-what are you doing?"

"You know," Kala continued, undeterred, "dinner. Food. Two people sitting together, eating, talking—maybe smiling. You've heard of it, right?"

Tara rolled her eyes and started walking again. "You're ridiculous."

"Am I?" Kala jogged to catch up, falling into step beside her sister. "I mean, don't you think he could use a good meal? He's always tinkering or wandering around like he's got some grand plan, but has anyone actually seen him eat? Maybe he needs someone to take care of him."

"Right," Tara said dryly. "Because you're so great at taking care of people."

Kala gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "Wow, Tara. Way to undermine my nurturing side. That hurt."

"I'm sure you'll survive."

They walked in silence for a moment, the dry breeze kicking up dust around their boots. Tara glanced sideways at her sister, her expression softening. "You're not serious, though… are you?"

Kala shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. He's interesting."

Tara let out a short laugh. "I admit that, but he's also weird. He's all calculations and half-answers. He barely talks to anyone unless he has to."

"That's what makes him interesting!" Kala shot back, grinning. "He's like some puzzle. You have to figure him out. Doesn't that make you curious?"

Tara frowned. "Curious, sure. But not enough to… you know." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Besides, I don't think he's the type to… I mean, can someone like him even—" Her face flushed as she tried to find the right words.

"Feel anything?" Kala finished for her. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. But he's still… I don't know, kind of fascinating, don't you think?"

Tara stopped again, turning to face Kala fully this time. "He's not some local boy you can tease. He's… different."

"I know that," Kala said, her tone softening. "But different doesn't mean bad, Tara. It just means different."

Tara crossed her arms, her voice dropping. "And what if you're wrong? What if he's more dangerous than he looks?"

Kala met her gaze, the teasing gone from her expression. "And what if he's not?"

The question hung between them, heavy in the quiet street. Tara opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, shaking her head.

"You're impossible," she muttered, walking ahead.

Kala smiled faintly as she followed. "And you worry too much."

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Six

-

The arrival of the caravans was always a time of controlled chaos, but it was the lifeblood of Dusthaven. From the moment the first dust cloud appeared on the horizon, signaling the approach of travelers, the whole town seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. The town would swell with activity: a mix of excitement, tension, and energy as merchants and salvagers spilled in, bringing with them goods and stories from far beyond the walls. The atmosphere was thick with the hum of transactions, bargaining, and the occasional shouted insult between traders trying to undercut each other.

Elissa, as always, was the orchestrator of it all, standing at the heart of the negotiations. Dusthaven needed supplies, and she was the one who made sure they got what they needed, no matter the cost. Her face remained calm, her voice steady, as she worked her way through deals with suppliers, contractors, and other settlements. Every word from her lips was a carefully calculated move, a negotiation tactic that had earned her the respect of even the most seasoned traders.

Milo, on the other hand, had no interest in the finer points of trade. He sat in the shade with the mercenaries and guards, exchanging stories and jokes as they passed around smokes and liquor. His time was spent listening to the gruff tales of life on the road—mercenaries boasting of their close calls, salvage teams recounting their greatest finds, and old war stories that seemed to grow more fantastical with each retelling. Milo had a quiet kind of presence—one that kept people around him relaxed, not because he said much, but because he knew how to let the silence sit and fill with camaraderie.

Doc, ever the opportunist, worked relentlessly during the caravan influx. With the caravan bringing in its usual set of injuries—scrapes, cuts, bruises, and the occasional more serious wound—Doc was in high demand, charging a premium for her services. Her practice had grown with the caravan's arrivals, and the air around her was thick with the scent of antiseptics, blood, and old bandages. Riggs and his crew, always a reliable source of minor injuries, kept Doc busy as they haggled over supplies in the backrooms, making sure she had everything she needed to keep the town running.

For Tara and Kala, however, the caravans brought with them a different kind of duty. As the mayor's daughters and prominent figures in Dusthaven, their role was more visible than most, even if they spent most of their time away from the hustle and bustle. They were assigned to guard posts in the high towers, their eyes sharp as they watched over the crowds below. It wasn't just the caravan traders they had to worry about; it was also the more unsavory types—merchants, wanderers, or mercenaries—who thought they could take advantage of the twins' reputation. There had been more than one attempt to corner them for a "quiet moment," and the twins had learned quickly how to use their presence and sharp wit to keep things from escalating.

The towers, though built for defense, gave the twins a unique perspective on the caravan scene. They could see the vast array of people flooding into town, the endless sea of faces, the mix of business and danger in the air. As guards, they were constantly alert, but the view was also a reminder of how many were dependent on Dusthaven's survival. Every person coming in was part of that delicate web—supply lines, trade routes, and relationships that held the town together in a place where resources were always scarce.

While the rest of the town mixed with the caravans, exchanging goods and favors, Tara and Kala stayed away from the crowds. They didn't need to get involved in the more personal transactions. It was safer that way—both for them and for those around them. The occasional friend or trusted acquaintance would wander into the caravan, picking up whatever they were asked to retrieve for the twins, but beyond that, it was a period of relative isolation.

Still, there was an unspoken understanding between the two sisters. The quiet moments in the towers, the only sounds being the occasional chatter on the commlink or the distant rumbles of the market below, were sometimes the only times they truly had for themselves. Even when they were on guard, they still found small moments to talk, to joke, to share concerns.

"Think we'll have another attempt today?" Tara asked, her voice breaking the silence between them as she adjusted her helmet and checked her rifle.

Kala glanced over, narrowing her eyes at the crowd below. "Probably. We're too easy of a target for some people. They think it'll get them a foot in the door. Not that they ever learn."

Tara grinned, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, if anyone does try anything today, I'll just let you handle it. I'm just hoping we get some more Thronhorns, lowering the milk prices would be nice. And a better chance of getting a more stable supply of the treats."

Kala rolled her eyes, but a soft smile tugged at her lips. "I just want a new mattress, I sink if I'm in the middle of my own bed."

Tara sighed dramatically, leaning back against the stone wall of the tower. "Yeah. Hey, speaking of buying stuff, think mom will rope us into another one of her 'discreet' negotiations later?"

"Maybe. Even if we don't get the job after she's gone, knowing how to barter is a good skill to have."

Kala's gaze swept over the chaotic sprawl of the market below, the noise and movement blurring into a restless tide of humanity. She leaned slightly against the edge of the guardtower's railing, her fingers tapping an absent rhythm as she scanned the crowd for anything unusual.

Her attention caught on a familiar figure winding his way through the crowded street, and her brow furrowed. Koron was there, all right, but it wasn't just his presence that stood out—it was what he was hauling.

Her eyes widened as she got a better look at the hulking piece of machinery strapped to the sled he dragged behind him. It was a massive cylinder, its polished surface catching the sunlight in gleaming streaks. The stabilizer looked like something out of a tech-priest's wildest prayers, all intricate details and sheer, industrial heft.

"Holy shit," Kala muttered under her breath, her mind racing. "That's what he's been working on the last few days?"

Her voice must have carried, because Tara was at her side in an instant. "What are you muttering about now?"

Kala didn't answer, just pointed toward Koron as he maneuvered through the crush of people, the stabilizers straps creaking, the sled groaning behind him. Tara leaned over the railing, her eyes following the line of Kala's gesture.

"Emperor's blood," Tara breathed, her tone halfway between awe and excitement. "That looks impressive. Did he fix that up himself?"

Kala shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in her voice. "Looks like it. He's been holed up with it for days after he was working in the armory."

Tara grinned, already stepping back from the railing. "We should go check it out!"

Kala blinked, startled. "We have a shift—"

"Okay, you stay," Tara called over her shoulder, already halfway down the stairs. "I'm gonna go see what that is!"

"Oh, for—wait for me!" Kala huffed, abandoning her post and hurrying after her twin.

By the time they caught up to Koron, he was stopped at a crossroads, wiping the sweat from his brow and catching his breath. The stabilizer loomed behind him, an unmistakable centerpiece of attention.

"Afternoon," Koron said as they approached, his face carefully blank.

"Hey," Kala said, jerking her thumb toward Tara, ignoring the tension that settled in her shoulders. "Tara decided seeing your piece here was more important than being in the guardtower."

Tara rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she walked a slow circle around the stabilizer, whistling low under her breath. "Koron, this thing is... damn, it's impressive. Operational, too?"

Koron straightened, wiping his metal hands on his trousers. "Operational and refurbished. Should fetch a solid price."

Kala tilted her head, eyeing the stabilizer with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "You hauling this to the tech-priests?"

"Yeah," Koron replied, his tone more serious now. "Figured they're the ones who'd appreciate it most—and pay what it's worth."

Tara shot a glance at Kala, her expression playful. "What do you say we tag along? Make sure nobody tries to undercut him—or pickpocket him."

Koron snorted. "I can handle myself, you know."

Tara gave him a pointed look. "You're hauling half a ton of delicate machinery through a crowded market. Let's not pretend you're invincible."

Koron didn't argue, just nodded toward the path ahead. "All right, fine. You two coming or what?"

"Lead the way, big guy," Kala said as they fell into step beside him.

As they walked, the twins kept a wary eye on the bustling crowd. The stabilizer drew plenty of attention, and not all of it was friendly. Whispers followed in their wake, traders and scavengers craning their necks for a better look, but none dared approach with the armed twins flanking Koron.

-

The Admech followers were set up in a large tent, a ring of servitors hauling away paid for goods, while four large combat servitors stood at the flanks, bristling with weaponry. Now, as they stood outside the Mechanicus tent, the tension inside was palpable, even through the thick canvas. The air carried the faint tang of machine oil and the sterile scent of the Mechanicus entourage, contrasting sharply with the dust and spice-laden aroma of Dusthaven's market beyond.

Tara leaned casually against one of the tent's sturdy poles, her fingers drumming lightly on the handle of her rifle. "Twenty-five thousand?" she muttered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "That's robbery."

Kala stood a step behind her, her rifle resting against her shoulder, but her sharp eyes never left the crimson-robed Magos and the hulking servitors stationed throughout the tent. Each of the mechanical behemoths bristled with weaponry, their lifeless optics sweeping the area with unsettling precision. "Koron's not going to take it," she said, her tone steady, but her grip on the rifle tightened. "He didn't haul that thing through town just to get lowballed."

Tara snorted softly. "That stabilizer is worth more than half the stuff they've got stockpiled in those haulers."

Inside the tent, Koron stood across from the Mechanicus envoy, his stance deceptively relaxed, but the sharp edge in his voice carried to where the twins stood.

"Twenty-five thousand?" Koron repeated, his tone laced with incredulity. He leaned forward slightly, his azure eyes narrowing. "That's cute, Magos. Really. I could scrap this for parts and make twice that."

Tara smirked. "Aaaaaand there it is," she murmured, glancing back at Kala.

Kala didn't respond immediately, her gaze shifting between Koron and the Magos. She watched the Magos tilt his head, the motion unnervingly precise, like a predatory bird calculating the weight of its prey. The faint hum of the Magos's mechadendrites filled the air as he responded in his emotionless, mechanical tone.

"Unlikely," the Magos droned. "The componentry within is valuable, yes, but disassembly carries significant risk. The value diminishes when individual pieces are extracted without the Mechanicus's expertise."

Kala's brow furrowed as she whispered to Tara, "Their 'expertise,' huh? Like Koron hasn't spent days restoring that thing to working condition."

Tara's grin widened. "They're playing scared now. They know it's worth more than they're offering. Koron's got them by the brass."

The exchange continued, the tension mounting with each volley. When the Magos offered thirty thousand Thrones, Tara let out a low whistle. "Still lowballing him. I almost feel sorry for them."

"Almost," Kala replied with a faint smirk, her tone softening slightly as she watched Koron lean back with the casual air of a man who knew exactly how much leverage he had. "He's making them sweat. Good."

The tent seemed to hold its breath as Koron delivered his counteroffer, his voice calm but unyielding. "One hundred thousand, half the pricetag these things go for. I know you've got the backing for it, and I know you won't find another stabilizer like this anywhere near Dusthaven. Hell, anywhere in this whole region. If you want, pay me the fifty in thrones, put the rest as a line of credit to be used at your facilities. Either way, you save your bosses over a hundred-fifty thousand thrones."

Kala's eyes flicked back to the Magos, her sharp gaze catching the faint twitch of their mechadendrites. It was subtle, but she'd seen enough negotiations to recognize hesitation—even from a machine. The twins exchanged a glance, and Tara's smirk grew wider.

"He's got them," Tara said softly. "They can't let him walk."

The Magos's vocoder broke the silence, his tone as cold and detached as ever. "This is an acceptable compromise."

Kala let out a slow breath she hadn't realized she was holding as the servitors moved to secure the stabilizer. Tara nudged her shoulder and gestured toward Koron, who was stepping back from the table with a triumphant smirk.

"Time to make sure he doesn't get jumped on his way out," Tara said, her tone light but her expression serious. The market outside the tent was a jungle, and the weight of that many Thrones was more than enough to draw unwanted attention.

The sisters entered the tent just as Koron was handed a heavy bag of throne gelt, the clinking sound unmistakable even amidst the mechanical whir of the Mechanicus entourage. Tara crossed her arms, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

"You know," she said, addressing Koron with a teasing grin, "you're lucky we didn't let you haul that thing here on your own."

Koron glanced at her, his lips tugging up slightly. "Oh, I didn't need luck. Just good company."

Kala rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that curled her lips. "Let's get that bag back to your place before anyone gets ideas."

"Lead the way," Koron replied, hefting the bag over his shoulder with ease. His tone was light, but the sharp glint in his eyes suggested he knew just how precarious the situation still was.

As they stepped back into the bustling chaos of Dusthaven's market, the world seemed to rush at them in a cacophony of sound and color. Hawkers shouted their wares, carts creaked under the weight of goods, and children darted between adults like mischievous shadows. But despite the familiar noise and movement, Tara and Kala felt the weight of their charge: Koron, the bag of Thrones on his shoulder, and the invisible target it painted on them all.

Tara's hand rested loosely atop the stock of her rifle, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease. There were more than a few curious glances aimed their way—too many for comfort—but no one dared approach. Not yet.

Kala walked on Koron's other side, her posture deceptively relaxed, though her fingers hovered near her rifles's grip. The air was thick with the scent of spice, machine oil, and dust, but beneath it all, she could feel the tension crackling like a live wire.

"Not bad, Koron," Kala said, her voice low enough to blend with the hum of the crowd. Her words carried a note of genuine approval.

Koron glanced her way, his smirk faint but unmistakable. "Thanks. But next time, remind me to charge double."

Tara laughed, her bright voice cutting through the market's din, even though her gaze didn't stop searching for signs of trouble. "Oh, so you're buying us lunch, then?"

Koron shot her a sidelong look, his expression wry. "Lunch? For what? You two just had to stand there and look scary."

Kala placed a hand on her chest in mock offense, her grin widening. "Scary? I'll have you know we were being lethally gorgeous."

"That's not a thing," Koron deadpanned, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

"It is now," Kala retorted, her tone full of playful defiance as she shook her head, unable to suppress a small smile. The banter was easy, light, but it carried an undercurrent of something deeper—an unspoken camaraderie that had grown in the weeks they'd known Koron. It wasn't something Kala had expected. He'd seemed like such a closed-off figure at first, a man weighed down by shadows he refused to name. Yet here he was, walking beside them like he belonged, his quiet presence a steadying force even in the chaos of the market.

-

Elissa stood at the edge of the market square, arms crossed over her chest, as her gaze followed Koron, Tara, and Kala weaving through the bustling crowd. The heat shimmered in waves above the sandblasted ground, but Elissa barely noticed. Her focus was on the three of them—an odd trio, if there ever was one.

Kala, as always, walked with that bold, unflinching energy of hers, her voice carrying over the clamor of the market. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, her laughter cutting through the dry air like a bell. Tara followed close behind, quieter but no less engaged, her sharp eyes darting from one stall to the next as if cataloging every detail for later.

And then there was Koron, a few odds and ends in hand. He moved differently from anyone else in Dusthaven—precise, deliberate, every motion measured as though his steps were calculated in advance. The weight of him, both literal and figurative, seemed to ripple outward. People stepped aside without realizing they were doing it, as if the stranger's presence demanded it.

Elissa's mouth tightened into a line as she watched Kala loop her arm around Koron's, leaning in with some half-joking remark that made Tara roll her eyes. Koron didn't laugh, but there was the faintest flicker of something—amusement? Tolerance?—in his expression. Tara said something next, her tone quieter but no less certain, and Koron tilted his head slightly, listening.

Elissa let out a slow breath.

Her daughters were growing up. That much was clear. Kala, headstrong and bold as the rising sun, had always walked the line between charm and recklessness. She'd been like this since she was a child—diving headfirst into anything that caught her interest, whether it was climbing the highest rock face in the cliffs or bartering with traders twice her age. Kala's confidence was a gift, but it was also a weapon, sharp and unpredictable. And lately, that weapon seemed pointed directly at Koron.

Tara was the opposite. Thoughtful, deliberate, with a mind like a well-oiled machine. Where Kala thrived in the heat of the moment, Tara lived in the quiet space between breaths, where plans were made and futures considered. But even she had started looking to Koron with something more than simple curiosity. Admiration? Respect? Maybe. Or maybe it was the pull of something neither sister truly understood.

Elissa rubbed her temples, a flicker of unease passing through her.

Koron wasn't like them. He wasn't like anyone. He'd stepped into Dusthaven like a shadow from another world, bringing with him knowledge, precision, and a quiet authority that unsettled as much as it reassured. The town needed him—she couldn't deny that—but need had a way of twisting into something more complicated.

And her daughters…

Elissa watched as Kala nudged Koron playfully, her voice loud enough to make a few heads turn. Tara said something that made her sister snort in mock indignation, and Koron glanced between them as he replied.

They'd formed a bond, the three of them. It was subtle at first, growing in small moments—shared conversations over repairs, the way Koron seemed to answer Tara's questions with patience he rarely offered others, or how Kala's boldness didn't seem to irritate him the way it did most. It wasn't just that her daughters looked up to him. They trusted him. And, judging from what she saw, likely more than just trust attached the twins to him.

And that's what worried her most.

Elissa had seen what trust could do in a place like this. Dusthaven was built on trust, on the fragile thread of it that tied neighbors together, even when water ran low and tempers ran high. But trust could just as easily be a weapon—a blade hidden in the folds of an outstretched hand. Add in the young, high energy emotions of attraction, especially with competition? It was a mix she dearly wanted to avoid.

Beyond even that, there was the man himself. Koron, for all his usefulness, for all the good he'd done for the town, still carried an air of something unspoken. Something dangerous.

Did they see it? Did Kala and Tara understand the risk that came with someone like him?

Elissa shook her head, brushing the thought aside. They were smart—both of them. And Koron, for all his mystery, hadn't given her a reason to think he'd harm them. If anything, he seemed to go out of his way to protect them, to guide them in his quiet, calculating way.

But still, she worried.

She worried about the way Kala leaned on him, testing boundaries the way she always did, as if daring him to push back. She worried about Tara's fascination with his technology, how she hung on his every word when he explained some mechanical detail, her green eyes wide with curiosity. She worried about the looks they exchanged—small, fleeting moments of understanding that passed between the three of them, like an unspoken language Elissa couldn't quite translate.

And she worried most of all about what would happen when the bond they were building came under strain.

Because it would. It always did.

The desert didn't let anything stay easy for long.

With a sigh, Elissa pushed herself off the wall, her boots crunching against the sand as she stepped back toward the market, towards the trio. Kala's laughter rang out again, clear and carefree, and Elissa couldn't help but smile, despite herself.

They were strong, her girls. Stronger than she sometimes gave them credit for. And Koron… well, Koron was a mystery she couldn't solve. But for now, at least, he was here. And that, for better or worse, would have to be enough.

Her smile returning, though it didn't entirely mask her introspection as she walked up. "Well, don't you all look busy," she called, her tone light as they approached.

Koron adjusted the load on his shoulder and dipped his head in a polite nod. "Just picking up a few things," he said simply.

"A few?" Elissa replied, raising an eyebrow. "It looks like you're moving an entire workshop into that shack of yours."

Kala grinned, stepping closer to her mother. "What can we say? We're helping him upgrade."

Tara nodded, adding softly, "It's about time he had a proper place to sleep."

Elissa's eyes flicked between her daughters, her instincts picking up on the unspoken undercurrents. She met Koron's gaze briefly, his expression as inscrutable as ever, and then turned her attention back to Kala and Tara.

"Well," she said after a beat, "it's good to see you all getting along so well." Her words were neutral, but the weight behind them wasn't lost on her daughters.

Kala tilted her head, giving her mother a curious look. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Elissa chuckled softly, placing a hand on her hip. "Not at all. Just... keep an eye on each other, alright?"

Tara frowned slightly, sensing the layers in her mother's tone, but didn't press. Instead, she gave a small smile. "We always do."

Elissa nodded, though her thoughts lingered as she watched the trio continue their way out of the market. She hoped her daughters would navigate this new dynamic with care, and perhaps even find a way to avoid the heartache she feared.

But for now, she pushed the worry aside, choosing instead to focus on the warmth of the moment—the sight of her daughters laughing and teasing as they walked beside Koron, their small, mismatched trio carving out a life together in the heart of Dusthaven.

-

Time passed, weeks turning to months, and before anyone realized it, summer arrived in full, bringing the relentless heat of Dusthaven's twin suns. The fiery orbs hung close, baking the desert planet beneath their oppressive glare. Radiation from direct sunlight made venturing out a risk, flora retreated into the dunes, and the hardier desert predators, driven by desperation, prowled closer to human settlements. The world fell into an uneasy stillness, as if holding its breath under the twin stars' wrath.

Few dared to brave the midday sun, but Koron was one of them. Clad in his black armor, he moved methodically along Dusthaven's sole defensive wall. Day by day, he stripped away old, corroded plating, replacing it with precisely cut slabs of ceramite and adamantine hull armor. Sections of the wall were patched with a mixture of stonebloom, a hardy local plant that hardened like ferrocrete when cured. The wall and guard towers were reinforced with plating that provided narrow firing slits, protecting defenders from enemy fire while allowing them to retaliate effectively. The wall grew stronger under his hands, evolving from a rough, functional barrier to a true fortification capable of withstanding a siege.

At first, Koron worked alone, his tireless precision cutting through the daunting task. But as word spread of his efforts, others joined in during the cooler early mornings and nights. Milo provided input on firing angles, ensuring the defenses covered every approach. Doc wandered by periodically, inspecting ramps and pathways to ensure injured defenders could be quickly evacuated if the worst came.

One such evening, after the townsfolk had dispersed to their homes, Elissa found herself walking the length of the wall. The air was cooler now, a faint breeze sweeping across the battlements. She spotted Koron sitting with his back against the newly reinforced stone, his helmet resting beside him as he stared out over the dunes, the lines of his face drawn with fatigue.

"Hey," she said softly, approaching and holding out a cup of water. "You doing okay?"

Koron turned his head, his gaze softening as he took the cup with a nod. "Yeah," he muttered, leaning his head back against the wall after a long sip. "Just tired is all."

"I can imagine," she replied, her fingers brushing the edge of the smooth metal now lining the wall. "Even with that armor of yours, the heat still gets to you, doesn't it?"

"Course," Koron said with a faint smirk. "Just makes it more manageable. Can't keep something like those damn suns out completely."

Elissa chuckled softly and lowered herself to sit beside him. For a moment, neither spoke, the quiet hum of the night filling the air. Her gaze drifted toward him, watching as his usually sharp, vigilant demeanor softened in the stillness. She hadn't expected him to integrate into the town so thoroughly—or to see this side of him, the one that worked tirelessly without complaint, the one who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"You've done a lot for this town," she said after a while, her voice quieter than she intended. "More than most would, considering you're not even one of us."

Koron glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly in mock outrage. "Ouch. Been four months, and I still don't get to have the patch for Dusthaven? I'm hurt."

"We have a very thorough vetting process," she replied, lightly elbowing him. "Lots of paperwork, gotta check your references. Takes forever."

"Oh man, the gap in my resume is gonna be hard to explain."

Her head tilted slightly at that, strands of crimson hair catching in the faint breeze as she gave him a soft smile. "Depends on how long it is."

Koron snorted, a sudden and genuine sound that caught her off guard. He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet with an exaggerated groan. "Aaaaand that's my cue to call it a night. Goodnight, El. I'll see you tomorrow."

Elissa watched him go, the faintest trace of a smile lingering on her lips. "Goodnight, Koron," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the desert wind.

As his figure disappeared into the shadows, she leaned back against the cool metal of the wall, the humor of the moment fading into a bittersweet quiet. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "What am I doing?" she muttered to herself. Yet even as she asked, she couldn't quite banish the small flicker of warmth that lingered from their exchange.

-

The garage was cool, quiet except for the occasional soft clink of tools and the faint hum of the diagnostic pad, a welcome reprieve from the blistering suns. Tara sat on the floor beside Koron, her knees drawn up, hands carefully cradling a delicate circuit board as she eyed the personally soldered points for the hundredth time.

Koron knelt across from her, the soft glow of his flashlight throwing a faint light over the worn, wheeled motorcycles open panel. He moved with quiet efficiency, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the wires as he examined them.

"Okay," he said after a moment, his voice low but steady. "Try reseating the coupling. Don't be afraid to give it some oomph, you're not gonna break it with your bare hands.

Tara nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Right. Oomph. Technical term?"

"Very."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she positioned the piece, and she hesitated, glancing up at him for reassurance. Koron's blue eyes met hers, calm and unwavering, and he gave her a small nod.

"You're fine," he said. "Take your time."

With a deep breath, Tara pressed the coupling into place. The faint click it made felt like a tiny victory, and she looked up at Koron with a shy smile. "Like that?"

"Perfect," he said, his voice warm with approval. "You've got a steady hand."

Her cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head to hide the smile that tugged at her lips.

They worked in tandem, Koron guiding her with quiet instructions while she followed with careful precision. Tara wasn't as naturally confident as her sister Kala, but there was a quiet determination in the way she approached the task. She asked questions, and she absorbed his answers like a sponge, her mind slowly piecing together the mechanics of the machine.

After a while, she broke the silence. "You're really patient," she said, her voice barely above a murmur. "I'd be frustrated if I were in your place."

Koron glanced at her, tilting his head slightly. "Why?"

"Because I'm slow," she admitted, her hands pausing over the wires. "And I'm not very good at this. I feel like I'm just in your way."

"You're learning," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Everyone starts somewhere. Besides, you're not slow. You're careful. That's better."

The sincerity in his tone made her chest tighten, and she blinked down at the bike, unsure how to respond. "Thanks," she managed, her voice barely audible.

Koron turned back to the bike, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand. "Here," he said, holding out a socket wrench. "Try loosening that bolt. Counterclockwise."

Tara took the wrench, her fingers brushing his as she did, but she ignored it, focusing on the job. The bolt gave way with a soft creak, and she exhaled a relieved sigh.

"You're a natural," Koron said, his tone light but genuine.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I wouldn't go that far."

"You'd be surprised." He leaned back, studying her for a moment. "You've got a good sense for this stuff. All you need is practice."

Tara looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. She'd always admired his quiet strength, the way he moved through the world with a calm assurance that made everything around him seem more stable. But sitting here, so close to him, she realized there was something else—a gentleness in the way he guided her, a patience that made her feel like she could actually do this.

"Thanks," she said again, her voice soft but earnest. "For teaching me. I... I really appreciate it."

Koron shrugged, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. "Everyone's got something worth teaching. You just needed someone to show you."

She quickly turned her attention back to the bike, hoping he didn't notice the blush creeping up her neck. As they continued to work, Tara found herself relaxing, the rhythm of the task and Koron's steady presence easing her usual self-doubt. And when the engine finally roared to life, its low rumble vibrating through the garage, the smile that spread across her face was as bright as the twin suns outside.

"We did it," she whispered, almost in disbelief.

Koron nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a rare smile. "You did it."

Tara looked at him, her chest tightening with a mix of pride and something she couldn't quite name.

-

The sandstorm rumbled in the distance, a looming wall of whirling copper and ochre that seemed to eat the horizon. The rising wind carried a dry, stinging grit that pricked at exposed skin. Kala Brandt stood at the gate of the scrapbeast pen, watching the herd shuffle nervously inside. The creatures stamped their splayed hooves and flicked their tails, their tough, leathery hides glinting faintly in the afternoon light.

"They're getting restless," Kala muttered to herself before glancing back over her shoulder, readjusting her goggles and heavy scarf. Koron was several paces behind, a bundle of feed in his arms and a wary look on his face.

One of the smaller scrapbeasts let out a sharp, bleating cry as he approached. The sound startled him just enough that he stopped in his tracks, earning a chuckle from Kala.

"Relax," she called. "It's just a warning. She thinks you're going to do something stupid."

"She might not be wrong," Koron replied, his tone dry but carrying a faint edge of unease. He adjusted the bundle in his arms and resumed his approach, carefully skirting around the nearest beast.

Kala smirked and stepped into the pen, her movements fluid and confident. "You can take down orks, but you're scared of a bunch of goats with attitude?"

"They're not goats," Koron muttered, glancing at the creature that had just snorted at him. Its spines quivered like a coiled spring, and it stomped the ground. "And they look like they're deciding whether to charge or bolt."

Kala crouched near one of the larger animals, a wiry female with scars tracing her flanks. She spoke softly, her voice low and even as she reached out to stroke the beast's side. The scrapbeast huffed but didn't pull away.

"They're smarter than you think," Kala said. "They can smell fear."

"Convenient," Koron muttered, shifting the bundle in his arms again.

She glanced up at him, grinning. "Come on, you'll be fine. Just do what I do."

Koron sighed and stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. As he set the feed down, one of the younger scrapbeasts trotted over to investigate. Its curious snout nudged at the bundle before it turned its attention to Koron, sniffing at his boots.

"If it starts chewing on my pants Im gonna be upset" he said, standing rigid as the creature sniffed higher up his leg.

"Oh come on, they need more fiber in their diet." Kala said, straightening up. "Don't flinch, or it'll think you're weak."

"Flinching isn't the problem," Koron muttered as the scrapbeast bumped its snout against his thigh.

Kala crossed her arms, suppressing a laugh. "You're fine. She likes you."

"Encouraging," he replied dryly, though his posture relaxed slightly.

The scrapbeast eventually lost interest, ambling back to its herd. Kala gestured for Koron to follow her as she moved toward a particularly restless creature near the edge of the pen.

"This one's the troublemaker," she said. "Keeps trying to bolt anytime there's a storm."

"Why not leave the gate shut?" Koron asked.

"She'll hurt herself trying to ram through it," Kala said. "She's stubborn, and kinda stupid."

"I thought you said they were smarter than I thought?"

"I'm using the word very loosely."

The beast let out a sharp bleat as Kala approached, pawing the ground.

"Watch and learn," Kala said, keeping her voice low. She edged closer, holding her hands out and speaking in soft, soothing tones. The beast twitched its spines but didn't retreat as Kala reached out to grip the collar loop around its thick neck.

"There we go," she murmured, stroking its leathery hide. "See? Easy."

She glanced over her shoulder at Koron, raising a brow. "Your turn."

He hesitated, glancing between Kala and the scrapbeast. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Nope," she said cheerfully. "But you've got to start somewhere."

Koron sighed, stepping forward. The scrapbeast shifted its weight, its spines flicking slightly as it watched him.

"Keep your movements slow," Kala said. "And don't make eye contact."

He nodded, mimicking her earlier motions as he reached for the collar. The beast snorted, its muscles tensing. Koron froze.

"Don't stop," Kala said quickly. "If you hesitate now, you'll lose her."

He took a breath and resumed his approach, his hand brushing against the collar. The beast let out a low huff but stayed still.

"There you go," Kala said, her tone warm, watching Koron take a step back. "Not bad for a first try."

Koron exhaled slowly, his shoulders finally relaxing as he released the scrapbeast's collar. "That was... something."

Kala grinned, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "You're a natural."

He raised a brow at her, brushing dust from his shirt. "Pretty sure she was humoring me."

"Maybe," Kala said with a teasing smirk. "But you didn't screw it up, and that's a win in my book."

Koron chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll take the win, then."

The two of them continued working side by side, securing the herd against the encroaching storm. Koron fumbled now and then, but Kala was quick to guide him back on track.

She just grinned, her tone light. "You're gonna be a pro at this in no time. Or at least you'll stop scaring the poor things."

Despite the teasing, there was an ease to their rhythm by the time they finished. Koron found himself appreciating Kala's sharp, instinctive understanding of the animals. She wasn't just good at this—she thrived in it.

As the first gusts of the sandstorm began to rattle the barn, Kala leaned against the wall, brushing loose strands of auburn hair out of her face. She looked at Koron with a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Not bad. You didn't even get trampled."

"High praise," Koron said dryly, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks for showing me the ropes."

"Anytime," Kala said, her grin widening. She tilted her head toward the nearby paddock. "So… you ready for the thornhorns next? Their pens could use a good cleaning, and I wouldn't say no to a hand."

Koron stared at her for a long moment, letting out a resigned sigh as his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I can help."

"Great!" Kala said, laughing as she grabbed a pair of shovels. She handed one to him with a mockingly formal bow. "Your noble steed awaits."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't help the faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am," she said with a wink. "Come on, I'll even show you the trick to keeping them from kicking you."

It wasn't much—just another small moment in the long, chaotic whirlwind that Koron's new life had become. But as he followed Kala into the thornhorn pen, he realized that sometimes, the little gestures mattered most. Here, among the dust and beasts and storm-worn fences, something unspoken passed between them: trust, tentative but growing, and the beginning of something that neither had quite dared to name.

-

The relentless suns of summer had given way to the endless rains of the flood season. The twin stars, once blazing and unyielding, were now dim and shrouded behind a ceiling of dense, slate-gray clouds. For three months, the rain would pour without respite, transforming the arid desert into a treacherous sea of mud and swirling currents. The sand, once a scorching and unyielding carpet of heat, became a deadly mire, claiming the careless and unwary.

Yet for Dusthaven, the rains were a blessing as much as they were a danger. Rainwater collectors overflowed, filling the town's reservoirs to last through the next cycle of brutal heat. The cool, damp air was a welcome reprieve from the months of suffocating dryness. Dusthaven's location inside a mountain kept it secure from the worst of the floods, and its angled layout ensured that any water that did make it through the mountain flowed out through drainage channels at the base of the wall.

The town's streets, though damp, bustled with life. Parents chatted as children splashed and laughed near the wall. Salvagers, unable to risk the deadly outside conditions, spent their time indulging in drink, games, women and occasional rowdiness, though Milo's watchful eye kept things from getting too out of hand.

In the heart of this wet season, Tara had all but moved into Koron's shack. The humble building, which had grown into a functional, if cramped, home over the months, was an oasis of purpose for her. What had started as little more than a single room now included a small bedroom, a rudimentary bathroom, a living space, and a large, ramshackle workshop where most of Koron's time—and hers—was spent.

Tara's days with Koron were a whirlwind of learning. The dataslate he had given her months ago had unlocked an insatiable hunger for knowledge, and she poured over schematics, manuals, and engineering guides in her spare time. Under Koron's guidance, she went from fumbling with tools to assembling drones with increasing confidence.

One rainy afternoon, Tara arrived at the shack, rainwater dripping from her poncho. She hung it on a hook near the door, the smell of damp earth and ozone mingling with the faint metallic tang of Koron's workspace. Inside, Koron was hunched over his bench, a faint glow from his augmented eyes reflecting off the polished surface. Sparks flew as his cybernetic fingers welded a delicate seam on a compact drone frame.

"What are you working on today?" Tara asked, brushing her damp hair out of her face as she set her bag down.

Koron glanced at her, a small nod of acknowledgement. "Same as yesterday. More drones. Thought I'd try making this one quieter." He gestured to a half-finished unit, its compact anti-grav assembly different from the others she'd seen. "I was thinking stealth reconnaissance might come in handy."

Tara nodded, rolling up her sleeves. "Need a hand with anything?"

He handed her a bundle of wires and a small circuit board. "You can start by attaching these. Follow the diagram on the slate—slot C connects to junction four-A. Make sure the insulation is tight."

Tara perched on a stool and got to work, her hands steady as she followed his instructions. They worked in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional hiss of solder and the steady drumming of rain outside.

The afternoon carried on with the quiet hum of productivity, the sound of tools and the relentless rain creating a soothing backdrop. Tara was midway through assembling another circuit when she glanced up at Koron, catching sight of his armor resting on a stand in the corner.

"I've been meaning to ask," she said, setting her tools down. "Your armor—it's different now. Not just the color, but the whole feel of it."

Koron glanced at the stand, his cybernetic fingers pausing over the drone he was assembling. "Yeah. I figured the old look wasn't doing me—or anyone else—any favors. Black, full coverage, military design… it screamed 'danger.' Didn't exactly make me approachable."

Tara nodded, studying the pale blue plates and the lighter, modular design. "I think it's a good change. The blue makes you seem… softer, I guess. More like you're here to help, not intimidate."

"That was the idea," Koron said, his voice thoughtful. "The last thing they need is another figure stomping around looking like trouble."

Tara smiled, leaning back against the bench. "Well, it's working.

As she turned back to the wiring, she noticed something unusual on the far side of the shack. A hulking mechanical arm, larger than anything she'd seen him build before, rested on a heavy worktable. Its length was reinforced with industrial-grade pistons, and thick bundles of synthetic fibers ran along its length, mimicking musculature. The sheer size of it was almost comical compared to the delicate precision of the drones.

"What is that?" Tara asked, setting her tools down and pointing.

Koron followed her gaze and gave a faint smile. "Oh, that? Just a side project. Keeps me sharp."

Tara stood and walked over to inspect it, running her hand along the cool metal. "It's huge. What's it for?"

"Nothing, really," Koron said, wiping his hands on a rag as he joined her. "It's more of a thought experiment. I just wanted to build a really big arm out of spare parts. It's silly, but… sometimes it's fun to build for the sake of building."

Tara chuckled, her fingers tracing the precise welds and joints. "Silly? More like overkill. Are you sure you're not secretly designing power armor?"

Koron's lips twitched in what might have been a smirk. "Not yet, but it's tempting."

-

The rainy season blurred the days together, but Koron and Tara's quiet routine was occasionally interrupted by Kala. Restless and cooped up within Dusthaven's walls, Kala despised the flood season. Her boundless energy and need for activity eventually led her to Koron's workshop, where she hovered, asked questions, and tried to help.

It didn't always go well. After the sixth time she cross-wired a drone's internal systems, causing it to catch fire, Koron gently but firmly asked her to stop.

"Please," he said with a weary sigh, extinguishing the flames. "Stop trying to burn my house down."

Chastened but undeterred, Kala shifted her focus to other things. She coaxed Koron and Tara into taking breaks, playing card games, watching the rain from the doorway, or sharing simple meals. Her presence added a liveliness to the otherwise methodical atmosphere of the shack.

One day, as they sat playing cards during a rare lull in work, Kala suddenly turned to Koron, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Hey," she said. "Can you teach me how to fight like you?"

Koron tilted his head, studying her. "Fight like me?"

"Yeah," Kala said, leaning forward. "You took down Orks, right? I want to learn. Show me how to do it."

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "You're serious?"

Kala grinned. "Why not? I'm bored out of my mind, and it's better than sitting around. Besides," she added with a wink, "I want to be ready if anything nasty shows up."

Koron's expression was unreadable for a moment before he nodded. "It's not easy, Kala. What I do—it's a mix of training, cybernetic enhancements, and... well, necessity. But if you're serious, I can teach you the basics."

Kala smirks. "I'm always serious."

The workshop, once quiet and orderly, would soon echo with the sounds of practice and laughter as Koron began teaching Kala—and soon enough Tara—the fundamentals of his combat techniques.

-

Near the end of the downpour, the muffled sound of rain echoing through Dusthaven's hollow corridors, the steady trickle of water draining from the upper levels creating a background rhythm that she all but ignored. Inside her modest office, Elissa sat at her desk, papers and dataslates arrayed in neat, orderly stacks. The lumen globes overhead cast a warm glow, banishing the shadows of the storm beyond the stone walls. Outside, she could hear faint chatter from the townsfolk making the best of their forced confinement.

She was midway through reconciling a shipment ledger when the sharp chirp of the vox bead on her desk broke her concentration. Frowning, she set her pen down and reached for it.

"Elissa here," she answered, her tone brisk.

"It's Milo," came the gruff reply. The faint crackle of static underscored his words, and even through the distortion, Elissa caught a note of unease. "We've got a situation down at the gate. I think you'll want to see this."

"What kind of situation?" Elissa asked, already reaching for her coat.

"Bodies, human and ork," Milo said bluntly. "Looks like a caravan got caught in the storm and tried to cross the flats, likely runnin from the greenskins. Now they're all washed up against the wall." He hesitated, then added, "It's bad, but there's something else. The Orks… their wounds don't look right. I've never seen anything like it."

That gave Elissa pause. "How do you mean, 'don't look right'?"

"Thin cuts," Milo said, his voice low. "Precise. Not orky enough, and never seen human weapons look like this."

Elissa's frown deepened. "I'm on my way," she said, ending the call and grabbing her things.

-

The air was cool and damp as Elissa stepped into the sheltered outer courtyard near Dusthaven's gates. Though the mountain's rocky bulk kept the worst of the rain at bay, rivulets of water trickled down the carved stone walls, collecting in shallow pools along the gutters. A steady mist hung in the air, carried on the chill wind that howled through the outer passages.

Milo was waiting near the gate, his rifle slung over one shoulder and his expression grim. Behind him, a group of guards stood near the drainage channels, their boots splashing in the shallow streams that carried runoff from the mountain's higher reaches.

"This way," Milo said, leading her down the slope toward the outer barrier.

As they approached, Elissa saw what had drawn his concern. At the base of the wall, just outside the main drainage grates, a tangled mass of debris and bodies had collected. Most were human—emaciated figures in tattered clothes, their faces pale and bloated from the rain. But among them were hulking green shapes unmistakable as Orks, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles where the currents had thrown them against the stone.

Elissa pulled her coat tighter around herself as she crouched near one of the Ork corpses. The foul stench of wet flesh and decay hung heavy in the air. She brushed away some of the mud to get a better look at the wounds, her sharp eyes narrowing as she examined the damage.

Milo crouched beside her, his weathered face lined with unease. "See what I mean?" he said quietly, gesturing to the Ork's torso.

Elissa nodded slowly. The wounds were unlike anything she'd expected. Thin, surgical cuts crisscrossed the creature's thick hide, as though made by a series of razor-sharp blades. There were no jagged tears or crushing blows—nothing to suggest the brutal melee weapons typically associated with Orks or even the crude firearms of the wasteland's scavengers.

"These aren't from Ork weapons," she murmured, her voice thoughtful. "And they're not from lasfire or slugs, either. Whatever did this… it's methodical. Purposeful."

"That's what I thought," Milo said, resting his arms on his knees. "It's clean. Too clean."

Elissa straightened, casting her gaze over the rest of the bodies. The humans, in stark contrast, bore the chaotic injuries she expected—ragged gashes, crushing impacts, and signs of desperation. But the Orks…

Her attention shifted to another corpse, then another, confirming what she'd already suspected. Each of the green-skinned brutes bore the same precise injuries, their wounds unnervingly uniform.

"You think it's a weapon?" Milo asked, watching her closely.

"Possibly," Elissa said, her tone measured. "But not one I've ever seen before. It's too deliberate for raiders and too advanced for the locals. If this came from a caravan…" She trailed off, her eyes narrowing. "No. This is something else entirely."

Milo stood, his rifle tapping lightly against his shoulder. "What do you want to do?"

"Gather the bodies," Elissa said, her voice firm. "Keep them separated. I want a full inventory of the caravan's remains, too. If there's anything salvageable, bring it in. And send word to Doc, I want her to take a look at these wounds."

Milo nodded, gesturing to the guards to begin the grim task of hauling the bodies from the muck.

As Elissa turned to leave, she paused, glancing back at the piled corpses. The faint drizzle from the mountain's runoff caught the pale light of the courtyard's lumen-strips, casting eerie shadows over the scene.

"Double the guards on the gate," she said over her shoulder. "Whatever did this… I don't want it getting close without us knowing."

Milo's jaw tightened as he nodded, his expression hard.

The rain continued to fall, masking the quiet urgency that had settled over the courtyard. But Elissa's mind was already racing, turning over the puzzle of those wounds. Something out there was cutting down Orks with precision that no wasteland savage could match.

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Seven

-

Doctor Malinov strode through the streets of Dusthaven with an unsettling purpose, her every step echoing in the rain-slicked thoroughfares. Her gait, slightly offbeat due to the faint whir of her cybernetic leg, was usually a familiar sight in the town. Today, however, the air around her crackled with authority, and the townsfolk seemed to sense it.

This wasn't the silver-haired, eagle-eyed healer they all knew—the one with a sharp tongue but a steady hand, a woman who stitched them back together no matter how dire the wound. No, what marched down the street today was something else entirely.

The gleaming silver armor of a Sister of Battle caught every stray beam of pale light that managed to filter through the rain-heavy clouds. Crimson tabards and pristine white cloth fluttered with each step, and in her gauntleted hands, she carried a weapon that drew gasps and uneasy murmurs. A bolter, its barrel glinting with quiet menace.

The crowd parted without a word, no one daring to stop her. For the first time in years, Dusthaven saw not the doctor—but the warrior she had once been.

Her march ended at a familiar shack near the town's edge, its makeshift construction a testament to necessity and ingenuity. Without hesitation, her armored fist rapped on the door, the impact reverberating like a gunshot.

"Koron!" she called, her voice carrying a clipped edge. "Get your ass out here—I need your help!"

A pause. Then the door creaked open, and a flushed, wild-haired Kala peeked out. Her wide eyes drank in the sight of the armored figure standing before her.

"Whoa," she breathed, stepping back instinctively. Her gaze flicked over the silver plates, the crimson and white of the battle garb, and finally to the enormous bolter cradled in Doc's hands. "Wait a minute... Doc? Is that you?"

"Yes—"

Before Doc could say more, two more figures appeared behind Kala. Tara and Koron stepped into the cramped front room, both disheveled and sweaty, Tara tugging at the hem of her shirt as she glanced between Doc and Kala.

"…Am I interrupting something?" Doc asked, her tone half-curious, half-impatient.

Kala tilted her head, confusion blooming in her expression. "No? Well, yes—but no. We were sparring." Her eyes flicked to the bolter again. "But more importantly, Doc, what is with the armor? And the gun? What's going on?"

Doc mentally filed the scene away for later and turned to Koron, her gaze sharp. "I need a ride to the city. Now. Your bike is the only thing that can handle the desert with all this water—and get me there in time. Will you take me?"

Koron didn't hesitate. He nodded, his eyes already scanning for his gear. "Give me five minutes."

-

Moments later, the two were astride Koron's bike. The machine's hum was almost lost under the hammering rain, but it still hovered above the shifting sands. Doc's arms wrapped tightly around Koron's waist, her grip firm as the desert became a blur of shifting dunes and churning water.

The rain lashed at Doc's armor, hissing against the reinforced plating. She barely noticed; her gaze fixed on the faint glint of Koron's pale blue chest plate.

"What's the problem?" Koron's voice crackled through her helmet's voxbead, calm but probing.

Doc's voice came back steady, but with an undercurrent of urgency. "Milo brought in some bodies earlier—caravaners and orks. And I recognized the wounds they had."

Koron's hands tightened on the controls. "What kind of wounds?"

"If I'm right…" Doc hesitated, her voice dropping a fraction. "We're going to need help. Big-time help."

A pause. Then, "How bad are we talking?"

Her response was grim, each word heavy with meaning. "Complete annihilation of all life on this planet."

For a second, silence filled the voxbead. Then Koron's voice came back, laced with grim determination.

"Hold on," he said. "I'm opening up the throttle."

The bike surged forward, its engines screaming as they tore across the rain-soaked dunes, a storm ahead and a storm behind.

-

The atmosphere of the Forge city of Anaxis had not changed much since Koron had last visited. The cold, mechanical hum of servitors laboring through the torrential downpour was the same, their movements steady despite the weather. As Koron guided the bike through the tunnels toward the heart of the city, a curse slipped from his lips, his expression tightening as the imposing structures of the city loomed ahead. He slowed, then sped up again, frustration evident in his actions.

Before Doc could ask what had caused the sudden change, the bike's engines roared louder, the power surge pushing them forward, cutting through the humid, waterlogged air. The servitors paid no heed to their passage—small but significant in the grand machine of the city.

Koron glanced to Doc as he steered the bike with precision. "Where am I going?" His voice was steady, but she could hear the slight tension in it as they navigated the congested streets.

"The main spire," Doc replied, scanning the pathways ahead, her gaze unwavering as ever. "That's where the astropathic choir will be."

Koron's expression tightened as he slowed again, veering around a cluster of servitors and workers. "We going to have trouble getting in? The cogboys—"

"No," Doc interrupted, her tone firm. "Won't be an issue. Just get us there, fast."

The air between them was thick with urgency, and Koron wasted no time in flicking a switch that activated the stabilizers at the rear of the jetbike. The hum of the anti-grav plating became higher-pitched as the bike surged forward, lifting them into the air with precision. With controlled bursts, they soared above the congested pathways of the city, easily bypassing the chaos below.

The towering spire soon came into view, its jagged silhouette piercing the heavens, an imposing structure of cold stone and Imperial grandeur. Imperial script adorned its walls, and banners depicting the Emperor's symbols fluttered in the damp air. People milled about below, the vast number of adepts, servitors, and workers going about their daily lives, caught in the ever-turning gears of the Imperium. Bureaucracy had its way with them all, slow and unyielding.

Doc, however, cut through the crowds like a storm, her power armor gleaming under the artificial lights. Her movements were deliberate, no hesitation in her pace as she shouldered past the civilians. Some of them shuffled aside at the sight of the armed and armored figure, while the few who dared not step out of her way found themselves quickly and forcefully shoved aside.

The pair made their way through the crowded entrance with ease after the first few pained cries. There, an adept stood frozen in place, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the fully armored Sister of Battle.

Doc didn't wait for any further exchange. She moved up to the adept with a cold, commanding presence. From the heavy-duty container at her side, she withdrew a simple charm, pale gold and engraved with an intricate skull, six tines, three to a side. It gleamed in the artificial lights as she held it out to the adept.

"I am Interrogator Lucia Malinov," she stated, her voice calm, but cutting through the air with authority. "By the power vested in me by the Emperor, I hereby invoke Aquila Extremis."

The adept's face turned a sickly shade of pale as he stammered, his hands shaking. "I— I—yes, of course, but—"

Doc leaned forward, her silver visor locking onto his gaze, her voice now a low, commanding growl. "Get me the astropathic choir. Now."

There was no hesitation in the adept's response. His terror was palpable, but he knew enough of the Inquisition's might to recognize when to comply. Trembling, he gestured quickly to one of the nearby attendants, who scurried off to make the necessary arrangements. Doc did not move, her gaze unflinching, her entire presence radiating quiet but absolute authority.

The words of the Emperor were not to be denied, and Lucia Malinov knew that.

-

Message Subject: Urgent – Confirmed Necron Awakening - Request for Immediate Response.

Message Body:

By the authority of Interrogator Malinov, Cipher Veritas 774-Argentis, I issue this distress signal on behalf of the Imperium. Black Star Ascension, Omega-level Containment Protocol. I have confirmed evidence of a Necron awakening. The planetary system is Lysix, Morrak Two within the Segmentum Tempestus. An immediate response is required. We are already seeing signs of early Necron activity, including unusual weaponry wounds and environmental instability.

As the local Interrogator, I am unable to confirm the status of my superior Lysandra Ferox or her whereabouts. Considering this, I request that this message be forwarded to my Inquisitor, if possible. If she is unavailable, I seek guidance from the nearest available Ordo Xenos authority. A complete planetary eradication event is a likely outcome, and escalation of force will likely be required. Response required within twenty-four hours. Time is of the essence.

Instructions to Forward:
Ensure that this message is forwarded to Inquisitor Lysandra Ferox of Ordo Xenos, as she may be the only one with the necessary experience and resources to address the threat immediately.

End Message

Finished, Doc leaned back from the servitor as it transcribed her message. Above, the hololith of Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant, her form rendered in greenish light, every detail of her intricate augmetics displayed, her own message appearing beside Docs.

Transmechanic Priority Declaration

From: Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant, Forge City Anaxis, Forge-World Morrak-Two, Lysix System, Segmentum Tempestus.
To: All Adeptus Mechanicus High Commands, Segmentum Tempestus Conclaves, and Relevant Forge Worlds Within Proximity
Subject: Escalation Status Omicron-Acutis: Potential Existential Threat Detected

Cipher: Delta-9A Alpha Binary Encryption
Priority Code: Magenta-Level Absolute Imperative
Security Seal: Transmechanic Sigillite of Forge Authority, Blessed Datum-Lock Confirmed
Timestamp: M41.999 (Local Morrak-Two Conversion)

-

Message Content

Skitarii Protocol Preface (Validated by Servo-Litanies):

Praise the Omnissiah and His Manifestations in the Universal Machine.

This is an urgent message from the Forge World of Morrak-Two regarding a newly identified xenos manifestation posing an unprecedented level of risk to local systems. Immediate attention and coordination are required to safeguard Mechanicus assets and Imperial interests.

Threat Analysis:

1. Xenos Classification: 97.4% identifying markers associated with Necron architectures and technologies.
2. Observations:
   • Presence of Necrodermis-like Materials at incident sites.
   • Locally observed disruptions to environmental conditions, consistent with awakening protocols of stasis-locked xenos artifacts.
   • Initial encounters suggest autonomous war constructs of significant lethality, resistant to conventional Mechanicus ordnance.
3. Escalation Directive: Omicron-Acutis.
   • Self-replicating potential identified.
   • Environmental tampering indicative of system-wide consequences if left unchecked.

Strategic Considerations – Titan Legio Loss Risk

To All Recipients:

As Fabricator-General of Morrak-Two, I must stress the unparalleled importance of this forge world in the production and maintenance of Titan-class war assets. While Morrak-Two does not possess the output of the highest-priority forge worlds, it remains a vital contributor to the Legio Morrakul's supply chain and maintenance of Titan-class constructs.

1. Necron Threat Analysis: The observed xenos technology exhibits constructive self-replication, potential disruption of planetary geostrata, and emissions consistent with terraforming or void-linked reconstitution fields. These effects, if left unchecked, pose an immediate existential threat to the continued operational capacity of this forge world.
2. Titanic Strategic Impact:
   • The Legio Morrakul has 17 operational Titans, with an additional 9 under construction or maintenance.
   • Current Operational Unit Status: Four Warlords. Four Reavers. Six Hounds. One Imperator. Two Nemesis Warbringers.
   • Xenos incursions at this stage could result in catastrophic delays or outright destruction of irreplaceable Mechanicum assets.
3. Broader Imperial Consequences: The loss or significant disruption of Titan production at Morrak-Two would weaken Imperial forces along Segmentum Tempestus borders, as nearby forge worlds lack sufficient infrastructure to compensate for Titan shortfalls. This would leave key sectors vulnerable to xenos incursions and heretek warbands, further compounding the damage.

Directive: Call for Reinforcements.

By the Will of the Omnissiah, Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant hereby invokes Mechanicum Protocol Absolutis, a Magenta-Level Directive, to request the following:

1. Deployment of Titan Legions in reserve or surplus capacity to counter potential existential xenos war constructs.
2. Immediate deployment of Ordo Reductor elements for containment.
3. Priority transport and mobilization of high-ranking Magi, Tech-Priests, and Skitarii cohorts to Forge World Morrak-Two to assist with tactical and defensive operations.
4. Deployment of Skitarii Legions and Combat Maniples to secure Morrak-Two.
5. Activation of Titanic Support Pacts to prevent irretrievable loss of Titan assets.
6. Coordination of strategic resources to ensure Legio Morrakul's operational readiness.

Failure to act decisively at this critical juncture risks not only the destruction of this forge world but also a cascade of losses that could destabilize nearby sectors and compromise the Omnissiah's divine work.

Coordination with the Ordo Xenos:
In conjunction with Interrogator Lucia Malinov, operative of the Inquisition, this threat has been elevated to Imperial Conclave Awareness Status. All recipients are urged to synchronize their efforts with Imperial authorities in the Segmentum Tempestus.

Omnissiah's Protection and Blessing Requested. Awaiting Immediate Response.

Mechanicus Sealant: Transmitted under Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant's authority, with the authentication of Binary Canticles and Magos-Validated Encryptions.

May the Omnissiah guide us all.

"Messages sent, astropathic choir transmitting. Warp stability is high, likelihood of message being received: 94.352%." The towering amalgamation of flesh and metal, her pale irises locked on Doc, said. "Time to mobilization from Mechanicus assets…. best estimates of one hundred and sixty-eight hours with optimal speeds and standard warp behavior."

"A damned week." Koron spat the word out like a curse. "And that's optimal. What the hell are the timeframes for if things don't go well?"

The scarlet robed woman turned her head towards Koron, muted clicks sounding from within her hidden frame, observing the man. Seemingly satisfied, Karadel turned back to Doc. "Interrogator, is the presence of your menial necessary here?"

Brushing aside the question with a swift motion, Doc's voice cut through the air with an authority that could slice through steel. "Irrelevant. What I…request," Her words were deliberate, her silver hair gleaming like moonlight in the dimly lit chamber. "Is a single large aerial transport, one capable of evacuating valuable personnel. It should be returned to you within two days. Would this be acceptable?"

The Fabricator-General's mechadendrites shifted in a subtle, almost imperceptible motion as she calculated the request. A flicker of data flashed across her augmented gaze, and after a moment's pause, she spoke. "It is. We can spare an Arvus Lighter for the operation."

Doc gave a curt nod, the fluid motion of her silver strands catching the light in a way that made her seem more than human. "More than enough. Thank you for your time."

"And the Omnissiah's blessings upon you," the General intoned solemnly, her voice a low hum of mechanized precision. "I will return to my preparations now."

With that, the Fabricator-General turned on her heel, the soft whirring of her mechanized limbs filling the silence before the hololith display cut out. Doc exhaled, the tension in the room lifting as the weight of the conversation settled into the past.

Koron, who had been silent through the exchange, took a step forward, his boots echoing against the cold, steel floors. He glanced over at Doc, his expression tight with the uncertainty that seemed to cloud every new moment they faced. "My knowledge of this is pretty sporadic. How much time do we have before this really kicks off?"

Doc didn't look at him immediately. Her gaze was fixed ahead, but her voice, when it came, was grave, threaded with a weariness that she hadn't yet allowed to show. "I wish I had a more realistic answer for you, Koron. The fact remains, it's highly variable. Tomb worlds, as I've seen, can take years to fully awaken, but here…" She shook her head slowly, her silver hair framing her face like a shroud. "Here, it's happening at a much faster rate. The signs are unmistakable. I fear that one of the leaders of this world is already active, pulling the strings."

Koron's jaw tightened as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. He processed Doc's words, the implications gnawing at him. "So… months?" he asked, voice laced with reluctant disbelief.

Doc's reply came softly, but with a gravity that filled the space between them. "More likely days to weeks." Her voice was a low murmur, heavy with an unspoken understanding. "And that's assuming the Mechanicus reports aren't just catching up. If we're unlucky, we could see Necron forces mobilizing in the next day or two." She looked at him, eyes dark but steely with resolve. "It's happening faster than we can keep up with."

The two of them exited the meeting room, the sterile, metallic hallways of Forge City stretching before them. The air was thick with the faint hum of distant machinery, a constant reminder of the world's vast mechanical heart. Their footsteps echoed off the polished metal floors, muffled in the quiet corridor. Etched into the walls were the sigils of the Adeptus Mechanicus, glowing faintly with ancient power—an ever-present reminder of the forge's unyielding dedication to the Omnissiah.

Koron was silent as they descended another flight of stairs. He stopped mid-step, hand reaching out to steady Doc, a subtle but firm grip on her arm halting her in turn. His voice, when it came, was low and laced with the hint of uncertainty. "Hey… Do you think you could get me access to the data archives here?" He hesitated, eyes narrowing as he sought the right words. "If the Mechanicus has any reports on the Necrons, there's bound to be something—anything—that can help us. Their behavior, weaknesses, maybe something we can exploit. I might be able to offer some insight if I can get to that data."

Doc paused, her body tense as her mind quickly processed the request. She stood still for a moment, brow furrowed, considering the risks and the possibilities. Her fingers tapped absent-mindedly against the side of her leg in a rhythm of contemplation. After a moment, she exhaled softly, a steadying breath as she tilted her head and looked up at Koron. "Maybe," she said, her tone thoughtful but guarded. "My authority isn't…" Her voice dropped into a low whisper. "Exactly what it used to be. If the cogboys do a deep dive, there will be problems." She exhaled a quiet sigh. "We'll have to be careful. But asking for data on Necron weaknesses should be… manageable." She looked at him then, her eyes sharpening with quiet determination. "I'll make it happen. Just follow my lead."

-

An hour later, Doc watched in silence as Koron's cybernetic fingers, each split into smaller tines, danced across the dataslate screen with remarkable precision. "So," she asked, her voice breaking the silence, "what are you thinking?"

Koron didn't look up from the screen, his focus entirely absorbed by the torrent of data scrolling before him. "I'm thinking we're utterly fucked," he muttered, his words blunt, heavy with grim finality. "There are zero reports of any Imperial forces managing to defeat the Necrons in sustained combat. No worlds reclaimed… plenty destroyed."

Doc's silver eyebrow arched in surprise. "You've gone through all the records of every engagement with the Necrons already?"

Koron gave a slight shrug, still absorbed in his work. "I'm a fast reader. What's worse, though, is that the Mechanicus has had a hell of a time getting any real intel on their weapons or armor. Their dogma is the biggest barrier, but even then…" He trailed off, speaking almost to himself now. "Basic molecular dispersion and phase displacement, but their body construction—unique. And the weapons, what's the power source? Zero-point energy? Quantum destabilization? File that for later consideration."

Doc, pacing with a restless energy, absently ran her fingers over the worn contours of her bolter's casing, her mind elsewhere. "So, what's the plan?" she asked, her voice tinged with impatience.

Koron stood up abruptly, fingers sliding back into place as he pushed away from the terminal. "I can see where I might help, but frankly speaking, none of it's really viable. I don't have the tools or materials to make what I know into something functional." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. "I was thinking maybe we could adjust the city's shields or mess with their teleportation somehow, but…" His voice faltered for a moment, the weight of the task ahead pressing in. "Sorry. Near as I can tell, the Necrons' systems are so far beyond what the Mechanicus understands, that even if they weren't so... hidebound, they still wouldn't be able to figure it out. And I'm guessing tuning the city's void shields isn't something your badge can get us access to, is it?"

Doc snorted, shaking her head with a small, rueful smile as she pulled her helmet back on. "Not even close. Forge city defenses are paramount. A full Inquisitor would face resistance trying to get that sort of access. We?" She raised an eyebrow. "We'd be laughed out of the room or shot. Probably both."

Koron's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile, his frustration giving way to a darker kind of humor. He nodded, accepting the bitter reality as he slid his own helmet on, its pale blue a stark contrast to the rest of the space. "I figured as much."

-

As Koron pulsed the jetbike and its cargo up the ramp, Doc kept a watchful eye on the tech-priests nearby. Their heads turned in unison to track the vehicle, their augmented senses no doubt cataloging every detail. She had no doubt they would have swarmed it, dissecting it down to the rivets, had she not been standing there, her argent armor gleaming even in the relentless downpour. Erratic blasts of emerald lightning carved jagged pathways across the storm-laden sky, each one, at least in her mind, a harbinger of what was to come.

Striding aboard the transport, she made her way to the cockpit only to find Koron already seated, his fingers moving with practiced precision over the controls. "I didn't know you knew how to fly," she said, strapping herself into a chair just outside the cockpit.

"Me neither," he replied with a short laugh. His tone quickly sobered, though, as he continued. "But, Doc, what's the plan here? Even if we evac the town, the city won't hold forever, hell, the optimal week might be pushing it. And then what—hope we can get them to the ships in time to escape?"

"Something like that," she admitted, her voice steady but tinged with weariness. "My priority is to protect the people. I'll use everything I have to do that. Much like you, I hope." Her gaze flicked toward the cargo bay. "You've hauled in a lot of parts back there. What are you planning?"

"Automated defenses," Koron replied without hesitation. "Slapdash as hell, but it'll be better than nothing. The rest is for some bigger ideas I'll need the crew to help me with."

"Like what?" she pressed.

"Grav plating for the crawler, in case we need to get out by land. Energy projectors and cabling to add a defensive field to the wall—"

"You're going to put a force field around the city?" Doc's voice sharpened, a mixture of disbelief and intrigue.

"Not the city, just the wall." Koron's tone was calm, measured, as though he were explaining a simple maintenance routine. "Necron weapons strip molecular bonds, and the Mechanicus force fields are either useless or fail too quickly. I'm going to tweak them—adjust the harmonics—to make them more effective."

As he spoke, Doc's eyes were drawn to the small blue circle embedded in Koron's arm. It glowed faintly, the armatures within whirring with precision as they rapidly assembled...something. It was another reminder of just how different he was.

She narrowed her gaze. "Koron, who the hell are you?"

He didn't look back, his helmeted face remained focused on the controls. "Someone who wants to protect them. Same as you."

Every instinct told her to dig deeper. Koron knew too much. He did too much. No simple Mechanicus operative—certainly no menial—could possess his skill or insight. She'd seen this sort of thing before: the heretek tinkering with forbidden technology, arrogantly claiming their work was for the greater good. Those had been the first she'd consigned to flames, purging their corruption before it could spread.

But Koron was different. He didn't flaunt his abilities or seek power. He helped when asked, often without being asked. He kept out of politics and never sought to elevate himself. In the year he'd been in the town, not a single sign of Chaos corruption had surfaced. If anything, people seemed...happier. Safer.

And she'd watched him, harder than he probably realized. She'd run every test: medical, spiritual, and purity scans. Each time, he came up clean. No taint. No warp residue. Just a man doing more than most dared to.

She let out a slow breath, her tension easing ever so slightly. For now, she'd hold her questions. For now.

"Just don't get any of us killed," she muttered, settling back into her chair.

Koron's quiet reply held a weight she recognized. "That's the plan."

Outside, another lattice of jade lightning illuminated the storm, casting shadows that seemed to dance like specters of what was to come.

-

The cockpit of the lighter hummed with subdued activity as Koron guided the craft through the storm-laden skies. Rain streaked the reinforced viewscreen, and occasional flashes of emerald lightning illuminated the jagged terrain below. The drone of the engines filled the small space, a steady rhythm that masked the storm's howling fury outside. Doc sat strapped into the chair just behind him, her argent armor faintly reflecting the dim interior lights.

"Storm's worse than I expected," Koron muttered, fingers deftly adjusting the controls. "Visibility's trash. At least Dusthaven's beacon is holding steady."

Doc leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the glowing instruments. "It'll hold. The Mechanicus doesn't build navigation markers to fail under a little bad weather."

The moment of relative calm shattered as a shrill chime pierced the cockpit. A crimson light flared on the comms console, accompanied by the unmistakable tone of an emergency burst transmission. Koron's hand shot out, activating the feed. Static hissed through the speakers, resolving into the panicked voice of a Mechanicus acolyte.

"Attention all loyal forces. This is Forge City Anaxis. Priority code Magenta. Omicron-Acutis escalation confirmed." The voice wavered, both from the distortion of the transmission and barely restrained fear. "Necron forces detected. Multiple units advancing across sectors Theta-4 through Theta-9. Estimated mobilization rate—unprecedented. All available forces are to—"

The voice cut off abruptly, replaced by a burst of mechanical shrieks and distorted binary. A few tense seconds passed before the signal returned, now calmer but no less dire. This time, the voice belonged to Fabricator-General Karadel Thrant herself.

"This is Karadel Thrant. Forge City Anaxis is now under threat of imminent Necron assault. Initial skirmishes with xenos constructs confirm extreme lethality. Automated defenses at Theta-7 have been overrun."

Doc's hands clenched the armrests of her seat, her voice low and steady despite the weight of the words. "They've broken through already?"

Koron shook his head grimly, his glowing implants casting faint shadows across his helmet. "If they're hitting automated defenses that far out, they've been moving for longer than the city knew."

Thrant's voice continued, the rhythmic cant of her Mechanicus enunciation now crackling with urgency. "Requesting immediate reinforcements from all available allied forces. Necron units advancing on Forge City proper. Estimated time to contact: six hours. Defensive protocols activating across all primary sectors. Omnissiah preserve us."

The transmission ended with a sharp tone, leaving only the hum of the lighter's systems and the muffled rumble of thunder outside. Doc exhaled sharply, her voice laced with tension. "Six hours. That's less time than I'd hoped."

Koron kept his eyes on the controls, his jaw tight as he processed the message. "Not enough time to fortify anything properly. The city might hold for a while, but Dusthaven—"

"—is a sitting target," Doc finished grimly. She pushed herself up from the seat, her armor creaking slightly. "We need to get back to Dusthaven now. Evacuation plans need to be finalized, and defenses need to go up yesterday."

Koron's fingers flew over the console, increasing the lighter's speed. The engines roared in protest, but the craft surged forward. "We're pushing max burn. If the storm doesn't rip us apart, we'll make it in thirty minutes."

Doc glanced out the viewport, her gaze tracing the eerie flashes of green lightning on the horizon. "It's not just about getting there in time. It's about holding long enough to matter."

Koron's voice was steady, but there was a grim resolve behind it. "Then we'd better get to work."

The lighter hurtled through the storm, carrying them toward Dusthaven—and the impending storm of war.

 

[mickeysofine]

She didn't look at him. Instead, her eyes stayed fixed on Koron, her voice low but fierce as she spoke to the armored figure. "Don't." She commanded, her voice low, calm, but focused.

Click to shrink...

Is she talking to the MC like he's a dog?

I get that you need to introduce peers for the MC to interact with, but this interaction is crooked.
It'd work better if no shots were fired, the woman talked the guards down, and got the MC to communicate.
As of now, the MC has been shot and regardless of no harm no foul, it's poor precedence for his character to forgive that.

 

[Talon88.1]

Is she talking to the MC like he's a dog?

I get that you need to introduce peers for the MC to interact with, but this interaction is crooked.
It'd work better if no shots were fired, the woman talked the guards down, and got the MC to communicate.
As of now, the MC has been shot and regardless of no harm no foul, it's poor precedence for his character to forgive that.

Click to shrink...

I had never really thought of it that way. In my head, it was more akin to how police tell someone to stand down, short, intense commands to try and gain control of the situation.

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Eight

-

The frantic hustle of Dusthaven was palpable. The air was thick with the clang of metal, the hiss of steam, and the crackling of lasrifles being tested in the high wind. Everywhere, people moved with purpose, carrying out tasks that had only hours ago seemed impossible. But now, in the face of the impending Necron assault, there was no time to second-guess. Every second mattered.

Koron darted between the walls of hastily constructed fortifications, his boots thumping against the wet ground, his helmeted gaze never faltering from the array of devices he was securing into place. His hands were a blur, effortlessly securing wires and connecting strange orbs—his own improvisations—into the ferrocrete of the wall. The pieces of technology were alien, strange, and yet they seemed to hum with potential. The neon glow of his fabricator flickered as he worked, driven by a cold, calculating precision.

Tara was beside him, moving quickly, but with a deliberation that spoke of a keen understanding of the mechanisms at play. She read the console, her eyes darting back and forth between the flickering data, her voice calm yet tinged with urgency as she relayed the results.

"Field strength is holding steady at eighty-two percent. Energy consumption is high, but manageable," she reported, her tone tight but controlled. She had learned quickly under Koron's tutelage, a willing student in the art of warping technology to their needs.

Koron didn't look up. His fingers kept working, tightening a bolt here, adjusting a panel there, always a step ahead. "Good," he muttered. "The field should hold long enough to buy us time. What's the status of the turrets and the grav-plates on the crawler? If this fails, we're not sticking around to die."

"Markus is reporting ten minutes to completion on the crawler, Daniel says they are about finished with the turrets." Tara replied with a sharp nod, quickly entering more commands into the console. As the orb flickered with a pulse of violet energy, Koron gave a satisfied grunt and moved to the next.

Above them, the storm raged in the skies, emerald lightning flashing in chaotic patterns. The storm was no longer just a natural occurrence—it was an omen, a sign of what was to come. The distant hum of the Forge city's emergency transmission still rang in the air, the last words they'd received echoing like a ghost through the ruins of Dusthaven's defenses: The Necron forces are on the move. Prepare for engagement.

Milo's voice came over the vox, breaking through the tense atmosphere from the tower above. "Movement," he called out, his voice carrying clearly through the wind, "they're coming in fast. At least fifty of them on the horizon. Too far to make out specifics, but they're closing in. We're not gonna have long before they're in range."

Beyond the wall, Doc stood in the hospital, her hands steady as she checked the bandages and equipment, each motion fluid and practiced. The old medical tools, though primitive by comparison to modern tech, were all she had. Her mind raced as she double-checked the sterilization tools and made sure the few remaining staff were ready for the wave of wounded she knew was coming. Each time she adjusted the straps of her armor, she couldn't help but think of the fragility of it all. People would get hurt. People would die. But she would not let them suffer alone.

Her heart tightened as she thought about those who would need saving—and those who might never make it back. Dusthaven was not ready for this fight, but it would have to be. There was no time left. Nodding once more to herself, she left the hospital to those she trusted, making her way to stand upon the wall, one more time.

On the walls, the militia moved into position. The engineering teams had worked through the rain, building up the defenses and fortifying the perimeter. The massive, armored hull-plates stood ready, and behind them, the milita of Dusthaven began to gather, soaked and grim-faced, their rifles at the ready. They were far from expertly trained soldiers, but all were seasoned warriors, the fire in their eyes bright and clear.

Kala, lips tight, helped load extra power packs into a crate. She wiped a streak of dirt from her forehead and shifted the few explosives they had, making sure they were within reach. There was no telling how long they would hold out, but she would make damn sure the town was ready for whatever came.

Elissa moved among them all, directing, shouting orders where needed, ensuring that the last pieces of the puzzle were in place. Her crimson braid whipped in the wind as she darted between groups, her sharp eyes constantly assessing and reassessing the situation. She was everywhere, her presence a beacon of authority in the chaos. And in this moment, it seemed as though Dusthaven's survival was inextricably tied to her ability to keep things running—no one else had the same trust, her ability to command.

Back at the barricades, the militia kept their eyes trained on the horizon, where the Necrons slowly loomed larger in the distance. Each moment stretched on for an eternity as they waited, bracing for what was to come. The rain hammered against their faces, but their grip on their weapons remained steady.

"They're almost here," Koron muttered, standing at the edge of the barricade, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the battlefield. The strange devices he had installed, the orbs on the walls, pulsed softly, their energy slowly building. "Tara, how's that energy buffer holding up?"

"It's steady," she replied, her voice steady, despite the mounting tension. "Ready when you are."

"Don't activate it yet. Lets see how this opening move goes first." He said, slotting his rifle into the cutout in the adamantine hull plating that girded the wall.

Milo was perched high in the guardtower, his fingers tight around the grips of Dusthaven's lone heavy weapon, a lascannon. The barrel gleamed in the flickering green of the lightning storm above, its targeting array locked onto the distant, approaching skeletal figures of the Necron forces. A faint hum of energy coursed through the orange cable linking the weapon to the reactor deep in the mountain.

"Three hundred and fifty meters out," he spoke calmly into the vox, his voice cutting through the storm's howl. "I'll open up once they're within range, but it's gonna be a bit before your rifles—"

"No," Koron interrupted, his voice sharp through the vox. "Open up together when they hit three hundred meters. You'll have the range."

Milo's brow furrowed at the boy's command. "Kid, lasguns don't—"

"They will hit," Koron cut in again, his tone unwavering. "Trust me. Please. I swear, these guns will hit that range."

There was a brief pause before Elissa spoke up, her voice firm but cautious. "Fine. All forces, this is the Mayor. Once the bastards hit three hundred, open fire. Milo, I want you to hold back until you see a hard target."

"Afirm." Milo muttered, his cigarette dangling between his lips as he settled deeper into the gunner's seat, chewing the end thoughtfully. "Hope you know what you're doing, kid." His gaze never wavered from the horizon, the skeletal figures marching with mechanical precision, their glowing green eyes flickering like the storm above.

The next minute passed in tense silence, save for the relentless drumming of the rain, the crack of lightning tearing across the sky, and the howling winds that whistled between the barricades. The Necrons marched steadily forward, unyielding, their figures impervious to the elements, even as some were swept momentarily by the twisting sands. Yet, they remained, an endless tide of cold metal and death.

Finally, the optics chimed green.

The Necrons were in range.

A deep, resonating hum filled the air as the defenders of Dusthaven—one hundred and ten soldiers strong—fired in unison. The turrets came alive, their quadruple array of lasguns firing rapidly, filling the air with streaks of incandescent white light. In that moment, it wasn't just a burst of fire—it was a torrent.

Each rifle, each turret, seemed to hum with the pulse of power Koron had promised, their settings altered to deliver a searing, pulsing blast that was no longer a simple beam but a rapid succession of focused pulses. The white beams struck in succession, each one landing in a series of blistering flashes of light. The waves of light weren't just single, piercing beams anymore; they were ripping through the battlefield, breaking apart the Necrons' metallic forms with pinpoint accuracy.

The pulses were unlike anything they had seen before. The initial crack of each shot felt like the thrum of an angry beast, each pulse adding to the wave of destruction. The beams didn't just tear through armor; they shredded it, blasted the air around the Necrons into shimmering heat ripples.

The Necron warriors, despite their durability, stumbled. Their limbs shattered under the repeated barrage, their skeletal forms breaking apart in dismay. The sound of impact was less a shot and more a series of short, searing bursts, with each pulse delivering a shockwave of heat that broke their mechanical bodies apart piece by piece.

And still, the soldiers of Dusthaven couldn't believe what was happening.

It wasn't just that their rifles now fired with more power, more precision—it was that they felt it. The weapons in their hands felt like they were tuned to something more lethal, more deadly than before. The lasguns were no longer the simple weapons they had once known. Each pull of the trigger unleashed punishing streams of energy, sending Necron warriors crumpling to the ground, their armor scorched and deformed.

The six automated turrets, their guns spat fire with deadly efficiency. Each turret, independent yet synchronized, unleashed a deluge of rapid-fire pulses, their settings matched to cut down everything in sight. The weapons fired in unison, and they didn't miss. A wave of pulsating energy lanced through the air, turning the battlefield into a flurry of bright, burning trails of white that ate through the Necron lines.

The defenders' surprise turned into something else entirely. The Necron advance, so assured and relentless just moments ago, seemed to falter. The Necron warriors, so impervious to standard fire, now found themselves being systematically dismantled, their dark, unblinking eyes flickering out as their bodies were torn apart.

Doc, standing beside Koron on the edge of the barricade, had been watching, expecting only the desperate skirmish, a hail of lasfire that would slow but never truly stop the relentless tide of enemies. What she saw now was something different.

The Necrons—the unstoppable force they had all feared—were falling.

Falling in droves. The militia had ripped through their ranks, and Doc's heart skipped. She blinked, trying to reconcile the speed at which the Necron line was being shredded. It was working. She hadn't thought it would, not like this. Not with what they had to work with. But the energy pulses were striking with precision, intensity, and above all, force.

Even as the militia began to grasp their newfound advantage, the fight remained tense. The rain hammered against the barricades, the storm's fury matching the intensity of the battle. The defenders fired relentlessly, their rifles spitting out bursts of energy that ripped through the dark, glowing red-hot against the obsidian sheen of the Necron bodies.

Two minutes passed.

Then silence.

The battlefield was eerily still, save for the soft hiss of steam rising from the scorched sand. Milo's voice broke through the quiet, wavering as he called out from the tower, "…All clear." He lowered the magnoculars, his hands trembling slightly. Below, the Necron dead—what remained of them—flickered with unnatural green light as their bodies began to disintegrate.

Doc stood at the barricade, her bolter clutched tightly in her hands. She hadn't fired a single shot. Her wide eyes scanned the devastation, the flares of emerald light reflecting in her visor. Slowly, she turned to Koron, who stood beside her, his rifle in hand. The rain pattered against his armor, rivulets streaking the cerulean metal.

"…Koron," she began, her voice shaking with equal parts awe and unease. "What did you do?"

Koron turned his helmeted gaze to her. "I modulated the lasguns," he said, his voice even. "Instead of firing a single burst, they now emit a rapid series of pulses. Each one weakens the target, stripping away armor and material until it fails completely. Basically…" He glanced back toward the battlefield. "…they shred now, instead of punch."

Doc stared at him, her fingers unconsciously clutching the rosette on her chest. Her mind raced with implications, the unspoken fear of what this innovation could mean. "…The Mechanicus, the Inquisition…" she murmured. "They'll see this as—"

"I know," Koron cut her off, turning to face her fully. His voice carried a weight of certainty, a defiant edge. "I've read the histories. I know how this will be viewed. But I'd rather risk their wrath than stand by and do nothing while people die."

Her hand tightened around the rosette, the rain soaking into her gloves. Slowly, she shook her head. "They'll come back," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And in even greater numbers now that they have encountered resistance. This?" She waved a hand towards the discorporating skeletons. "This was a token force, little more than scouts. Next time..."

"Even with those weapons, we can't hold forever."

Koron's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the last of the green lights faded into the storm. "I know," he said, his tone resolute. "We just need to last a week."

Doc followed his gaze, the weight of his words settling on her. A week. Against an enemy that seemed unending, tireless, and implacable. But for now, the battlefield was silent, the storm the only sound as Dusthaven's defenders braced for what was to come.

-

The chamber hummed with the dull resonance of Necron machinery, its walls lined with black obelisks that pulsed with faint emerald light. At the center of the room, Orykhal the Luminous Calculant stood over a holographic display, His long and spindly fingers, ending in razor-sharp tips, twitching subtly as they manipulated streams of data projected into the air. The projection was dominated by the map of the region, each sector marked with symbols denoting troop movements, enemy positions, and targets of interest.

One sector flashed crimson—a small, insignificant blip on the map. The Cryptek tilted his head, the motion unnervingly precise, and extended a taloned finger toward the anomaly. His eyes, two narrow, vertical slits filled with jade light, reminiscent of the flowing data streams, focused upon it.

Losses: Detachment 1014. Status: TOTAL ANNIHILATION. Location: UNSURVEYED SETTLEMENT. Enemy Resistance: UNKNOWN. Time to Destruction: 2 minutes, 17 seconds.

Orykhal paused, analyzing the data with the cold, unfeeling efficiency of his kind. His mind, a quantum lattice of ancient knowledge and computational mastery, ran the probabilities repeatedly. No ordinary human settlement could achieve this level of resistance. Even armed militia forces or rogue planetary defenses wouldn't have dispatched his warriors so quickly. This… anomaly… demanded immediate investigation.

His voice, a grating synthesis of metallic tones, echoed through the chamber. "Query: Tactical anomaly detected in sub-sector delta. Probability of unforeseen asset: 92.3%. Hypothesis: third-party interference or anomalous technology. Initiate in-depth analysis."

With a gesture, he summoned holographic overlays of the battle telemetry captured by the fallen Necron warriors. The feed, though fragmented, showed flashes of white light ripping through the phalanx of soldiers. A surge of damage reports scrolled alongside the video—armor integrity failing in seconds, thermal signatures far exceeding baseline human weaponry.

His gaze shifted to the source of the weapons fire: a crude settlement built into a mountain. Optics brightened slightly as he zoomed in on the image. The defensive positions, the makeshift fortifications, and—most notably—the humans wielding primitive lasguns that should have been night useless against warriors. And yet…

"Conclusion: Human ingenuity exceeds parameters of baseline analysis. Potential technological development. Risk factor: Escalation."

He considered the implications carefully. If this small settlement had somehow acquired or developed weapons capable of neutralizing warriors in moments, it could pose a destabilizing threat to his broader campaign. Worse, if these weapons originated elsewhere, it could indicate the presence of a larger faction or interference by forces beyond his calculations.

With another flick of his hand, he deployed a response directive.

"Sub-Directive 017 initiated. Allocate wraiths to sector. Engage with minimal force. Objective: Secure data. Determine source of technological anomaly. Evaluate potential risk to overarching operations."

The Cryptek stepped back from the display, digitigrade legs slowly tapping against the blackstone floors, the taloned toes gripping ever so lightly. His mind however, was already running thousands of simulations. The humans had revealed their hand, but he doubted they understood what they had provoked. He would not send a massive force to crush them—not yet. No, he would study them, isolate their advantage, and dismantle it with precision.

And then he would ensure that the settlement and its inhabitants were erased from existence, a forgotten footnote in the unrelenting march of the Necron empire.

-

Orykhal's attention drifted across a thousand threads of data, each one a whisper of conquest. Awakening protocols thrummed across the system, his mind orchestrating the emergence of countless legions. Forge cities slowly ground away, resource caches were secured, and defensive nodes faltered under the relentless precision of his forces.

And yet, even amid this symphony of victory, a discordant note lingered—Humanoid Outpost-731.

He dismissed the settlement as a backwater anomaly at first, a mere speck of defiance unworthy of full deployment. The initial Wraith reconnaissance was a routine measure, more an indulgence of curiosity than necessity. Now, as the Wraith transmitted its observations, Orykhal's interest sharpened. The settlement's defenses were crude, but its occupants moved with unusual coordination. Patrols formed natural countermeasures against stealth incursions, their actions almost instinctive.

"Primitive," Orykhal mused, his voice an icy whisper in the empty chamber. "And yet… coordinated."

The first Wraith moved deeper into the settlement, its segmented body phasing through barriers, undetectable to the lesser technologies of man. It followed faint energy trails, seeking the source of the anomalous weaponry that had obliterated the minor Necron detachment.

Orykhal's mind splintered further, allocating a fraction of his attention to observe. The Wraith's sensory data filled his perception—thermal imprints, electromagnetic distortions, and the faint hum of the settlement's crude power grid. The humans moved in patterns, unaware of the predator among them.

Then the feed cut.

It happened too quickly for Orykhal to parse in real time. One moment, the Wraith was stalking its prey; the next, its sensors flared with energy—an unknown frequency disrupting its phase systems. A glimpse of movement, a flash of light, and silence.

The loss was insignificant, a single unit among countless others. And yet, it was the way it had been lost that gave him pause.

The second Wraith had been observing from a distance, its cloaked form slithering between buildings as it recorded the events. Now, it closed in, its focus on the location where its companion had vanished. Orykhal adjusted his perceptions, narrowing his focus on the Wraith's feed.

The settlement was calm, almost unnervingly so. The humans moved without panic, as if unaware of what had just transpired. The Wraith scanned the area, its sensors picking up faint traces of energy interference—enough to suggest advanced technology, though still not enough to know which.

A figure moved below.

The Wraith's focus shifted, its sensors locking onto the target. It was difficult to discern specifics—a humanoid form moving with unnatural precision yet lacking the clumsy mechanical augments that often accompanied such prowess. Orykhal's interest deepened.

"Adaptive combat techniques," he murmured. "Or… something more?"

The Wraith moved closer, its claws primed to strike. Then, the target turned.

Orykhal barely had time to register the movement before the humanoid lashed out. Energy flared—an electrostatic discharge, thrumming with an unfamiliar energy signature that disrupted the Wraith's phasing matrix. The Necron construct spasmed, momentarily frozen in place as the energy enveloped it.

From above, a concentrated energy beam pierced the air. The lascannon shot struck true, obliterating the Wraith's torso in an instant.

The Wraith's feed cut to static, leaving Orykhal in silence. He stood motionless, processing the fragments of data.

Two Wraiths lost—each dispatched with surgical precision. The first, ambushed before it could even transmit meaningful data. The second, destroyed in a coordinated strike that combined disruptive energy and long-range firepower.

"A layered strategy," Orykhal mused, his skeletal fingers steepled in thought. "Unusual."

The faint echoes of distant calculations resonated through his chamber, a soundless symphony of logic and strategy only he could perceive. The humanoid's movements and tactics defied the patterns of typical human resistance. No brash shows of force, no desperate charges. Instead, it acted with calculated precision, countering the Wraiths' strengths with an almost prescient understanding of their vulnerabilities.

Orykhal's luminous optics pulsed faintly as he replayed the telemetry. Streams of data filtered through his mind in cascading flows, each parsed and cataloged. Among them, one anomaly stood out: an energy signature faint yet distinct, resonating with a frequency he had not encountered since…ages long past. It carried the faint whisper of something ancient—something dangerous.

"Anomalies," he intoned softly, his voice a hollow echo in the stillness of his sanctum. The word lingered in the air, as if even the silent walls contemplated its weight. "But fortuitous. New datasets to analyze and incorporate."

The Cryptek's mind, a web of interwoven probabilities, expanded to account for the variables. Patterns began to emerge, hazy outlines of a strategy still forming. The settlement had proven itself to be slightly more than a trivial obstacle. Its defenders exhibited coordination far beyond the capabilities of most organic minds. This alone warranted his curiosity, though not his full attention.

Not yet.

Orykhal shifted his gaze to the larger hololithic display dominating the chamber. The battle for Morrak Two unfolded across its surface in a dazzling mosaic of emerald and crimson. Cities fell in flames. Armored columns clashed with armies of tireless warriors. The awakening protocols rippled outward, activating forgotten legions buried deep beneath the planet's crust. Progress was precise, measured, and efficient—just as it should be.

The settlement, this anomaly, was an irritant in the grand scheme, but it was an irritant he could afford to ignore, for now. He would devote a fraction of a fraction of his mind to its unraveling, a thread to pull at while the rest of him remained focused on the true objective: the awakening of the Overlord and the consolidation of the Lysix system.

"Curious," Orykhal said, almost to himself.

He turned his thoughts back to the awakening protocols. The Overlord's rise was imminent, and with it, the culmination of Orykhal's work. Morrak Two was but one step in a far grander design. Yet, as the faint energy signature flickered in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but feel a pang of something approximating anticipation.

Not everything could be reduced to pure logic. Some anomalies, after all, demanded closer study.

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Nine

-

The relentless rain hammered against the settlement, its intensity growing with each passing hour. Emerald lightning arced across the churning sky, illuminating the drenched landscape in eerie, staccato flashes. Howling gales tore through the streets, rattling loose panels and driving icy sheets of water against the walls. On the ramparts, guards huddled behind what cover they could find, their cloaks plastered to their bodies as they braced against the storm.

Inside the hastily repurposed town hall, now a bustling command center, the scene was marginally more comfortable. The elderly worked with quiet determination, taking stock of dwindling supplies, preparing simple meals, and tending to the youngest among them. Though age kept them from standing sentry in the freezing rain, their resolve was unshaken. This was their home, and they would contribute however they could.

Elissa sat at a makeshift desk piled high with dataslates, the soft glow of their screens casting a pale light over her tired face. Milo's steady voice crackled through the vox, a lifeline of updates and camaraderie. His reports were punctuated by bawdy jokes and lighthearted banter among the guards, their shared humor providing a small comfort against the oppressive weight of their situation. Despite the occasional flush of heat rising to her cheeks at Milo's jokes, Elissa didn't chastise him. Morale was fragile, and if laughter kept it intact, she wouldn't interfere.

"Here." Tara's soft voice broke through the haze of exhaustion that had dulled Elissa's senses. She looked up, startled, as her daughter placed a bowl of steaming stew before her. The rich aroma of dustjackel meat and gritroot mash filled the air. "You need to eat," Tara said gently.

Elissa blinked, momentarily disoriented, before offering her daughter a wan smile. "Thanks, honey. How are you and Kala holding up?"

Tara settled into the chair opposite her, setting her own bowl on the table. Her segmented armor plates shifted as she moved, the custom fit a necessary adjustment made by Koron. Standard gear wasn't designed with their figures in mind, and it had taken considerable effort to craft something both functional and comfortable.

"Not bad," Tara replied, rolling her shoulders. "Tired, though. Kala's still out delivering meals to the guys, and I just finished helping Markus calibrate the grav plates on the crawler. It's ready to go whenever we need it."

Elissa let out a long sigh, her shoulders sagging with the weight of two sleepless nights. She took a bite of the stew, the warmth spreading from her stomach and driving back the chill in her bones. "Emperor's blood, I didn't realize how hungry I was," she muttered, savoring the rich flavor before continuing. "As for the plates, that's good to hear. But let's hope we don't have to use it. What about the shuttle? Any updates?"

Tara nodded, her expression calm but focused. "Doc called in after they landed. She's got a warehouse set up near the spaceport. Nothing fancy, but it's secure. Our people are there, and she's got a few volunteers from the local cogboys helping stand guard. She should be back soon."

"Good," Elissa said, relief flickering briefly in her weary eyes. "One more flight, and that's all the non-combatants accounted for."

Tara nodded silently, and the two fell into a moment of quiet, savoring their stews. The warm, hearty meal was a fleeting comfort in the storm of chaos that surrounded them.

Then, the lights went out.

Darkness swallowed the town, the hum of machinery replaced by startled cries echoing through the streets. The shrieks of surprise were quickly muffled as backup batteries flickered to life, casting dim, uneven illumination across the settlement.

Elissa's hand shot to her helmet, snapping it on with practiced efficiency. Her voice was sharp as she tapped the vox. "Reactor team, report. What's happening?"

Silence answered her call.

"Shit!" she hissed through clenched teeth, rising swiftly from her chair and grabbing her rifle from where it leaned against the table. Her armor shifted with her movements, the plates clicking softly as she strapped them into place. "Milo, the reactor team isn't responding. I want the wall on full alert. Get everyone up and ready. I'm taking my team to the reactor to see what's going on. Koron, if you're listening, meet me there!"

Tara was already at her side, her own rifle slung and ready. Together, they moved to the door, their boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. Elissa reached for the handle, but a sudden metallic screech froze her in place.

She had just enough time to jerk back before the door was shredded.

Four jagged metal claws punched through the reinforced steel as if it were paper, carving through the material in precise, deliberate strokes. The door fell away in quarters, clattering to the ground with a deafening crash.

Elissa staggered back, her rifle snapping up instinctively. Tara mirrored her movements, the two women standing shoulder to shoulder as they faced the intruders.

Six glowing green eyes peered at them from the darkness beyond the doorway, their light cutting through the gloom like searchlights. The skeletal xenos creatures crouched low, their hunched frames clicking as they advanced with unsettling, jerky movements.

Their bodies were grotesque amalgamations of old and new. Dark ichor oozed, mixing with the dried, blackened blood that streaked their metallic limbs. Ragged remnants of flesh clung to their forms, hanging limply like macabre trophies.

Elissa's breath hitched, but her voice was steady. "Tara," she said, keeping her rifle trained on the lead figure. "Stay close. We're not dying here tonight."

The creatures clicked and hissed, their movements almost inquisitive as they scanned the room. But there was no hesitation in their predatory stance.

And then, they lunged.

Elissa's rifle blazed as she fell back, panic ripping away control, white beams stitching across the roof in jagged bursts. The empty, gore-smeared skull of the Flayer grew large in her vision, its hollow eyes glowing faintly as its claws slashed down. Pain erupted across her stomach, sharp and burning, as the wicked talons raked her flesh.

Tara's scream cut through the chaos. "Mom!"

A brilliant streak of white lasfire tore into the Flayer's side. The rapid pulses punched into its torso, cracking and splintering its metal frame. The sickly green glow in its chest flickered and sputtered, extinguished as the force of Tara's shots hurled the xenos off Elissa.

Elissa twisted, pain tearing up her spine as she struggled to bring her rifle up again. Blood pooled hot and sticky at her side, but she ignored it. Two more Flayers scuttled toward them, their metal limbs clicking against the stone floor, their wretched flesh rags slapping wetly with each motion. One lunged at Tara, the other leaping toward Elissa with unnatural speed.

Gunfire exploded from the older townsfolk, the sharp crack of slug throwers and scatterguns echoing in the chamber. Pellets and slugs slammed into the twisted Necrons, sparks flying from their metallic bodies. Though the bullets barely dented the xenos, the impacts knocked them off balance. Tara's attacker crashed into a table, sending papers and children's toys scattering.

The creature began to rise, claws extended, but Tara was faster. She fired, her lasgun's white-hot beams tearing through its chest. What she lacked in precision, she made up for with volume, holding the trigger down, splitting the Flayer's torso in half and severing its arm in a flash of crackling white.

Elissa gritted her teeth, blood trickling down her side as she raised her rifle. Her vision blurred slightly, but she focused on the last Flayer. Joining the storm of lead from the others, she aimed for its torso. The combined barrage tore into the creature, its body convulsing violently as its frame twisted under the relentless assault. Finally, with a bright green flare, the Flayer disintegrated, collapsing into a heap of ash and fragmented metal.

Elissa heard the panic in her daughter's voice before she felt the hands gripping her sides. "Mom!" Tara half-shouted, dropping her rifle and rushing to her side. Her hands pressed firmly against the wound, the pressure sharp and immediate. "Someone get a medkit, now!"

"I'm fine," Elissa hissed through gritted teeth, trying to wave her daughter off. Pain shot through her with every breath as she struggled to push herself upright.

"Don't move!" Tara snapped, her hands trembling as she worked to slow the bleeding.

A pair of older men hurried to cover the shattered door, their weapons raised and eyes darting for any further threats. Another figure—an elderly woman with wiry strength—grabbed Elissa by the armpits and hauled her back from the blood-slicked floor. Elissa gritted her teeth, trying not to focus on the streak of crimson trailing behind her.

"Let me see," the older woman muttered, pulling aside the torn armor and the shredded fabric of Elissa's shirt. Four deep gashes ran across her stomach, but the wounds weren't as long or as devastating as they'd felt. The woman poured antiseptic and blood-clotting powder onto the wounds, making Elissa arch her back in pain, before cinching gauze tightly around her middle.

"She'll be fine," the woman said, her voice steady but firm. "Lucky, really. If that thing's claws had gone an inch deeper, we'd be in trouble. Her armor didn't do much to stop it."

Elissa grunted as she pushed herself upright, resting a hand briefly on Tara's shoulder. "Tara, cover the door," she rasped. "I'm okay."

Tara hesitated, her emerald eyes searching her mother's pale face. With a reluctant nod, she squeezed Elissa's hand before grabbing her rifle and moving into position near the door.

Wincing, Elissa tapped the vox controls on her wrist, flinching as the channel flooded with overlapping voices. Shouts for orders, desperate cries for reinforcements, and panicked chatter filled the line.

Milo's voice cut through moments later, sharp and commanding, as he tried to restore order. Deciding to leave it to him, she switched the channel with a muttered curse. "Koron, you there?"

The response came quickly, his voice tense, clipped. "Busy!"

The sound of crunching metal and guttural, inhuman snarls came over the line, the battle on his end clearly still underway.

"Get something in front of that door!" she barked, her voice sharp with urgency as she gestured toward one of the larger tables. "It won't stop them, but it'll slow them down."

Several hands moved quickly, dragging the heavy table across the floor and slamming it against the shattered doorway. Chairs and other debris were thrown on top for good measure, creating a makeshift barricade. It wasn't elegant, but it might buy them a few seconds if more of those things came through.

As the immediate danger inside ebbed, the chaos outside surged into focus. The sharp crack of lasfire echoed through the air, punctuated by desperate screams for help. Elissa's stomach tightened at the sound, the reality of the town's dire situation pressing in on her.

Switching back to the main vox channel, her earpiece crackled to life. Milo's gruff but steady voice came through, barking orders. "Form up! Sweep sector by sector! Keep moving and stay together!" The occasional deep thunderclap of the guard tower's lascannon firing cut through the chatter, signaling that the main battle was still raging.

Gritting her teeth, Elissa pressed the vox button on her wrist. "Milo, Elissa here. We got hit, but we're still good. We're heading to the reactor to back up Koron. Once we've secured it, we'll sweep down toward the gate. Have your squads move up toward us—we'll pinch anything left between our teams."

"Afirm," Milo replied, his voice short and clipped, but steady as always. "Good luck."

Elissa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned to the others, her gaze firm despite the pain pulling at her side. "Okay, people," she said, her voice cutting through the room like steel, "we're making for the reactor. On me."

Grunting as she adjusted her armor, pulling the straps tight over the bandages, Elissa forced herself to her feet. The room was tense, the faces around her pale but determined. The six townsfolk still able to fight—old but steadfast, their hands gripping rifles with white-knuckled resolve—nodded silently and fell into step behind her as those who would remain behind pulled the barricade to the side.

The howling wind carried the scent of blood and burned metal. The muddy streets glistened with slick puddles, reflecting the emerald flashes of lightning that tore across the sky.

Elissa kept her rifle at the ready as they moved, her sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement in the storm. The fight for Dusthaven was far from over, and the reactor was the next critical battleground.

-

The heavy metal door to the reactor facility glowed a sickly green, a jagged hole bored clean through it. The floor was stained with blood, dark crimson streaks marking the way, and long, clawed gouges scarred the walls, evidence of the carnage that had come before them.

Elissa swallowed; her throat tight. Her heart pounded in her ears as she stepped forward, the bitter taste of fear rising in her mouth. Her eyes traced the destruction, the grotesque aftermath of the xenos' attack. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of metal shrieking from within the reactor. It was a sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Keep moving," she ordered, voice hoarse, though she wasn't sure if it was from the strain of her wounds or the horror that gripped her heart. Her team quickstepped through the corridor, lamp-packs casting harsh beams that only made the shadows seem darker, more oppressive.

By the time they reached the second flight of stairs, they saw the first of the scarabs—small, metallic insects, their lifeless forms sprawled across the ground, crushed and burnt. Several were embedded in the walls, likely driven into them by some heavy impact. It was an eerie sight, one that only deepened the sense of dread gnawing at her gut.

Ignoring the pain shooting through her side with every step, Elissa pushed on, forcing herself to focus. They had no time. The reactor was their priority. The door to the command center was shut, but it only took a second for Elissa to realize that the sound of movement beyond it was the least of their worries.

She caught sight of a flash of blue armor through the oval port, the dark silhouette of Koron darting through the narrow window. The screech of metal filled the air, followed by a heavy thud—too late for her to process the impact.

Koron dove backward, just in time to avoid a slash from one of the flayers, its long, clawed fingers cutting through the space where he'd been a moment before.

"Don't open the door!" Koron's voice crackled through the vox, urgent and strained, laced with raw panic. His words hit Elissa like a physical blow, twisting something deep in her chest. "They breached the reactor!"

Tara was already moving, her fingers a blur as they danced over the console beside the door. The readout that flashed across the screen stole the air from her lungs.

"Forty-five sieverts inside... the reactor shielding's breached," Tara whispered, her face drained of color as more data sped by, almost all of it flashing a enraged red. "It's going critical. It's going to blow."

Elissa's heart stopped. A cold, sick feeling flooded her chest, her mind struggling to keep up with the horror unfolding in front of her. Radiation levels were off the charts, and the reactor was on the brink of detonation. In an instant, the world felt like it was slipping from beneath her feet. The town—the people—were all about to be wiped out in a single catastrophic explosion.

Tara's voice was barely a whisper as she turned toward her mother, trembling with the weight of the truth. "Mom, there's... nothing we can do. If we leave now, we won't make it out of the blast radius. It's too late."

Elissa's throat tightened, the weight of Tara's words sinking in. She had no answer, no solution. For a moment, time seemed to stretch and falter. The sound of her own breathing became deafening, her body frozen in place as panic gnawed at her.

She reached for Tara, pulling her into an embrace, her arms trembling as she tried to steady herself. Just for a moment, just a moment more. She whispered the words she knew weren't true, the lie burning her lips even as she spoke the words.

"It's okay, honey. We'll... we'll figure something out. We always do."

Tara didn't respond. She just clung to her mother, the weight of the moment hanging between them.

For a brief, agonizing stretch of time, there was only silence, thick and suffocating.

Then, crackling over the vox, Koron's voice—rough and ragged, yet undeniably defiant—pierced through the static, cutting through the cold air like a beacon of defiance.

"Not… like… this."

Elissa's blood went cold, her breath freezing in her lungs as a surge of something fierce and desperate ran through her. She pressed herself against the door, her hands trembling as she searched for a glimpse of what was happening on the other side. The team gathered behind her, their collective breath held as they, too, strained to see.

And there, silhouetted against the blinding, ominous light of the reactor core, was Koron.

His blue armor was scorched, darkened by fire and radiation, his body streaked with blood, and his movements slow—every step a struggle. But there he was, alive, fighting against the odds. The air around him shimmered with heat as he ripped open a panel in the wall, his hands trembling but determined.

The hiss of steam filled the room as he grappled with the reactor's valve. His fingers, the edges glowing red hot, gripped the metal tightly, twisting with all the strength he had left. The groaning of metal echoed in the air; a sound so agonizingly strained that it felt like it would tear the world apart. With a final, desperate twist, the valve gave way.

But the reactor's pulse didn't stop. The energy continued to surge, blinding in its intensity, spilling into the room in waves of white-hot light.

Koron stumbled, nearly falling, his body fighting against the unbearable heat. His augmentations flickered, barely holding together. His systems were frying, but still, he pressed on. His hands—normally so precise, so controlled—jerked and faltered as the cascading failures of his internal systems made every motion feel like an impossible effort.

Then, in a final, brutal act of desperation, Koron redirected the power. The flare of energy from the breach seemed to funnel, to condense, focusing on a single point as the containment field forced a direction upon it. The wall inside the chamber began to melt, molten steel dripping to the floor as the last of the plasma was vented away.

Tara, her eyes wide in disbelief, turned to the panel. "Emperor's blood..." She gasped, a small, fleeting smile breaking through her fear. "He did it. The plasma injectors are cut, the fuel lines are empty! The core's shutting down!"

Elissa felt the weight in her chest lighten, but only slightly. The reactor might be stable for now, but Koron was not.

Even as the reactor's dangerous flare began to fade, Koron stumbled toward the airlock, his suit blackened and torn, his body burned and blistered. He was moving on pure instinct now. With one last slam of his fist, he activated the airlock cycle, his body collapsing as the chamber sealed.

Elissa's heart nearly stopped. She rushed forward, but the thick white mist of the radiation purge began to envelop the chamber. The system's alarms blared, warning them to stay clear.

The door sealed with a final, heavy hiss. Inside, Koron lay unmoving, his battered body crumpled against the floor. The faintest wisp of breath escaped his lips, barely visible through the mist as the chamber filled with the thick, white spray of purging foam.

Elissa stood frozen, her hands clenched tightly at her sides, helpless as she watched through the small window. The airlock was an impenetrable barrier, a cruel divide between life and death. Her stomach churned, dread pooling in her gut as the alarms blared their relentless warning.

And then, cutting through the static of her vox like a thread of silk, a woman's voice crackled to life. It was soft yet urgent, each word wrapped in a honeyed tone that Elissa couldn't place. For a fleeting moment, it tugged at the edges of a distant memory—her mother's touch, comforting her during long nights of fevered sickness.

The voice spoke, quick and sharp, tinged with desperation.

"Listen to me carefully. I need your help if I'm going to save Koron's life."

Elissa snapped to attention, her jaw tightening as she keyed her vox. "Who is this? Identify yourself," she demanded, her tone hard-edged. "And how do you know what's going on with Koron?"

The voice didn't hesitate. "My name is Sasha," the woman replied, her words steady but carrying the weight of urgency. "And if he's going to live, you need to listen to me. Now."

-

Koron lay crumpled on the floor, unmoving. The faintest rasp of breath escaped his blistered lips, but it was clear his systems were failing. White mist continued to fill the chamber, dissipating slowly, as the radiation counter on the wall ticked downward at an agonizing pace.

"Okay, Sasha," Elissa asked, her voice tight with tension. "What do we do as soon as it's safe to open the door?"

Sasha's response came brisk and precise, her tone commanding yet reassuring, cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "First, wait until the purge completes. Do not touch his skin until we've neutralized the residual radiation. Tara, there should be a decontamination kit in the emergency medical locker on your left. Retrieve it immediately."

Tara nodded, her movements automatic, wrenching open the rusted locker and pulling out a dust-covered case. The faded symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus adorned its surface, a relic of a different age. She cracked it open with trembling fingers, revealing pristine instruments and vials, gleaming as though untouched by the passage of time.

"Elissa," Sasha continued, her voice softening for a moment. "When the door opens, you'll need to position Koron's arms to access the medical suite in his cybernetics. His systems are failing, but there's still a chance to stabilize him—if we act quickly."

Elissa nodded, swallowing hard as precious seconds ticked by. The radiation counter finally dipped into the green, and with a hiss, the airlock began to cycle open. A faint reek of burned flesh and scorched circuitry spilled into the corridor, the acrid stench making her stomach churn.

Koron lay motionless, his once-bright blue armor blackened and stripped away in places, revealing raw, blistered skin beneath. Steam rose faintly from his armor, mixing with the lingering mist in the air.

Elissa knelt beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly over his battered form. "Where do I start?"

"First, Tara," Sasha said quickly. "Grab the residual radiation remover. It should be a bottle with a trigger on it. Spray his entire body—don't miss a spot."

Without hesitation, Tara rummaged through the kit, finding the bottle and dousing Koron's motionless form with its contents. The chemical hissed and foamed on contact, neutralizing the lingering radiation on his skin and armor.

"Good," Sasha said. "Now, Elissa, his right forearm. You'll need to manually access his medical suite. Slide back the plating near his wrist—it's damaged, so it might stick. Push up until it stops, twist towards him, then pull back to open it."

Elissa's hands trembled as she followed the instructions, prying the scorched plating aside. Beneath, a small array of injectors and ports came into view, some intact, others sparking faintly.

"Now what?" she asked, her voice strained.

"There are three critical components inside," Sasha explained. "A tissue stabilizer, a rad-neutralizing agent, and an emergency nanite injection. Each must be deployed manually because his automated systems are fried. Start with the glowing green vial—that's the rad-neutralizer. Slide it into the injector and press until you hear a click."

Elissa fumbled slightly but managed to fit the vial into place. With a faint hiss, the compound deployed, spreading beneath Koron's charred skin.

"His vitals are stabilizing," Sasha noted, though her tone remained tense. "But it's not enough. We need to repair the cellular damage. Look for the vial with silver fluid, slightly thicker—unscrew it and pull it loose."

Tara reached over, quickly unscrewing the vial and handing it to Elissa. "What do we do with this?"

"Inject it directly into his chest," Sasha said. "There's an access port near his clavicle. His systems will distribute the nanites where they're most needed."

Elissa's stomach churned as she located the access port, its cover barely intact. She pried it open, exposing a delicate lattice of circuitry and synthetic tissue. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the injector against the port and triggered the release.

Koron's body twitched, a faint mechanical whir emanating from his chest as the nanites surged into action. Steam rose in faint plumes from his skin, his cybernetic systems struggling to keep up with the influx of activity.

"We're almost there," Sasha said, her voice tinged with urgency. "The tissue stabilizer is last. It's dark blue or purple—find it and inject it into the same port."

Elissa quickly located the vial, her hands shaking as she slid it free and fitted it into the injector. With one final press, the stabilizer entered his system, and Koron's body seemed to release a faint, shuddering exhale.

"What's happening to him now?" Elissa asked, alarmed as more steam began rising from Koron's form.

"The chemicals are neutralizing residual radiation at a cellular level," Sasha explained. "His systems are trying to assist, but they're heavily damaged. It's a good sign that his recovery protocols are still online, but they're barely holding together."

Tara wiped sweat from her brow, glancing at Elissa. "So… what now? Is he going to make it?"

Sasha's voice softened. "He needs rest and further care. His body will hold for now, but he requires intravenous fluids to stay hydrated and additional nutrients to support his recovery. You'll have to move him somewhere safe and set up an IV drip immediately."

Elissa glanced down at Koron's still form, her heart pounding as she watched the faint flickers of light from his armors systems. "We'll get him through this," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"And Elissa," Sasha added quietly, almost gently, "thank you. You've given him a chance."

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Ten

-

The chamber was silent but for the hum of ancient machinery and the faint scrape of servos adjusting the Cryptek's stance. Orykhal stood motionless atop his polished dais. His metallic form gleamed faintly in the cold green glow of stasis-lit monoliths that framed his command chamber. Streams of cascading glyphs illuminated the air around him, feeding him every detail of the recent skirmish.

The primitive settlement known as Dusthaven still stood. Its power grid had been crippled as planned, plunging the town into chaos and leaving its inhabitants scrambling in darkness. Several humans had perished, their soft forms no match for the mechanical precision of his scarabs and flayed ones. But that was where the progress ended.

It was not enough.

Orykhal's talons flexed at his sides, the faint grinding sound of metal on metal the only outward sign of his bemusement. "Suboptimal, if intriguing results." His voice reverberated through the chamber, metallic and emotionless, the echoes filling the void like the chime of a distant bell.

The loss of fifty scarabs, while irksome, was inconsequential. They were drones, replaceable with a flick of thought and time. And the loss of the flayed ones was, if anything, a boon to the Necron race as a whole.

What was not replaceable, however, was his certainty. And that certainty had been shaken by a single figure.

The Cryptek's optic sensors narrowed, focusing on the hololith hovering before him. From the fractured memory cores of his destroyed units, he replayed the assault on the reactor's control chamber. There, amidst the chaos and radiation, the image was clear: a lone human clad in battered pale blue armor, moving with a precision and lethality that belied his species' usual frailty.

The recording stuttered as it displayed the human's desperate stand. Six flayed ones converged on the human, their bladed fingers slicing through the air. Yet the human fought with savage determination. He ducked, sidestepped, and countered, each motion deliberate. A cybernetic arm, shimmering faintly with flickers of blue-white electrostatic energy, drove a fist clean through the chest of one flayed one, before pivoting to drive his elbow into another, smashing it into the wall with bone-shattering force. The fight was raw, close, and vicious, and by the time it ended, all six flayed ones lay in sparking ruin, their limbs twitching lifelessly on the reactor floor.

"Interesting," Orykhal murmured, his voice a low metallic rasp.

The data flickered again, shifting to show faint traces of the human's systems. The scarabs had tried to probe his tech, but their intrusion had been met with powerful barriers—defensive code, elegant and alien, patterns Orykhal had never seen before. These defenses were not the crude, clunky work of the Adeptus Mechanicus. No, this was something far stronger, far more efficient.

The Cryptek's gaze lingered on the image of the human, collapsed and unconscious, bloodied and battered yet somehow alive. His systems had been failing, and his flesh should have succumbed to the searing radiation, yet the blue-white energy of his implants still flickered faintly, stubbornly pushing back against death.

"Resilient." Orykhal said to the silent chamber, his tone one of quiet contemplation. "But not enough."

The display shifted, showing another angle of the battle. The scarab swarm had successfully severed the settlement's power grid, throwing the humans into disarray, but their defense had held firm where it mattered. Dusthaven remained intact, and this one figure had been pivotal to that outcome.

Orykhal turned his attention to the streams of data cascading across the hololith. "Preserve everything we have on this anomaly," he commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Every fragment. Analyze it."

Straightening, his towering frame casting long shadows across the chamber, he continued. "This anomaly is valuable. A fresh dataset for the first time in ages."

He turned away, ascending the dais that overlooked his chamber. Behind him, the hololith replayed the fragments of the failed assault, the image of Koron's bloodied body frozen in the faint green light. Yet even as Orykhal began to shift his focus to plans of the next assault, a sharp alert pulsed through his neural lattice.

A glyph pulsed red, interrupting his thoughts. Orykhal froze, his optics flaring brightly as he accessed the information directly. The chamber was utterly silent as the data streamed into his mind.

Six Imperial vessels arriving in orbit. Astartes, Salamanders.

The faintest trace of excitement entered Orykhal's voice as he spoke. "Astartes. A welcome addition of combat data."

The hololith flickered, shifting to display the arrival of the six ships in orbit. Their green-and-black hulls bore the unmistakable sigils of the Salamanders Chapter, fire-breathing dragons etched into their plating like a challenge hurled across the stars. Orykhal stared, his mind working with cold precision.

"Perhaps…" he mused softly. "Yes. Extrapolate out scenarios of the settlement gaining Astartes aid. Project results of the anomaly interacting with current Astartes armaments. Update as projections complete."

Orykhal turned to the hololith, the faint green glow casting his skeletal visage in stark relief. His voice dropped to a cold whisper as the results began to come in. "Excellent. Data results are worth exploring. Direct communications, refine troop movements. Bring the anomalies settlement to the human's attention."

-

Elissa sat in silence, staring at the seven white sheets stretched across the morgue. Beneath them, the bodies rested—mercifully hidden from view. Some irrational part of her mind urged her to pull back the fabric, to see their faces one last time. To remember them, to honor them.

But another part, selfish and raw, whispered louder: Don't. She didn't need their faces etched into her nightmares. Not when the weight of this war already threatened to crush her. Not when the only relief was knowing neither of her daughters lay beneath those covers.

She stayed frozen, her breath shallow, her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

A heavy, armored hand clasped her shoulder. Warm through the ceramite, steadying. Doc knelt beside her, the polished silver of her armor a sharp contrast to the stark whiteness of the sheets. "It's not your fault," she said, her voice low but firm, as if daring Elissa to argue.

"I know. Up here," Elissa murmured, tapping her temple lightly with trembling fingers. Her voice cracked as she added, "But I—"

"No." Doc's grip tightened, an unyielding anchor against the storm of guilt. "Don't even think it. Don't let that thought take root." Her eyes burned with conviction. "This wasn't you. You didn't do this. Those Emperor damned xenos did. They took them. Not. You."

Elissa's breath hitched. She tried to speak, to force a denial past the lump in her throat, but the words refused to come. Instead, she nodded faintly, her gaze lowering to her lap. Doc stayed by her side, silent now, her presence the only reassurance she could offer.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Elissa knew the guilt wouldn't vanish, not entirely. The faces she'd refused to look at would still haunt her. But for this moment, Doc's words cut through the noise.

Taking a steadying breath, Elissa grabbed Docs hand, giving it a squeeze. "Thanks Doc. I should-I should go, lots of stuff to get done." She stood, Doc following a moment after as they left the morgue, and the dead within, to their rest.

Once outside, Elissa tilted her head back, rubbing her cheeks with trembling fingers as she let out a long, steadying breath. "Okay," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "What's our status?"

Doc stood beside her, her silver hair catching the faint glow of the emergency lights. The streaks of grime on her pale skin made her look as weary as Elissa felt. "Not great," Doc admitted, voice grim. "Power's still down, but the backup generator and batteries are holding, for now. We've got the hospital, command, spotlights, charging ports, and the water system running, but that's it. Everyone else is making do with firepits and lanterns."

"And the wounded?" Elissa asked, her voice quieter, almost hesitant.

"A dozen or so, nothing life-threatening." Doc hesitated, her gaze shifting to the corner of the hospital where a privacy sheet swayed faintly, as if disturbed by an unseen hand. "Except Koron."

Elissa followed Doc's gaze, her full lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line. "What's his condition?"

Before Doc could answer, their vox pinged softly, and Sasha's honeyed voice came over the channel, warm and laced with the faint twang of a drawl. "He's holdin' on, sugar, by the skin of his teeth. Radiation levels have dropped to where they're no longer downright fatal, and his systems are workin' overtime to patch him up. But that man's gonna need at least three days of good rest before he's anywhere near his best self again."

Elissa frowned, her hand dropping to her hip as she tilted her head slightly. "Hold on a second. That… accent—where did that come from? You didn't sound like this before."

Sasha's laugh came soft and smooth, a musical tone that carried through the static. "Oh, darlin', this is my normal voice. I usually talk this way—it's how I like to be. But when things get all hectic, like with Koron, I drop it for clarity and speed. Ain't no time for charm when a life's on the line."

Doc raised an eyebrow, her fingers tightening on her bolter. "So, what, the charm's back on now that he's stable?"

"More or less," Sasha replied, her tone bright but unbothered. "I figure y'all deserve to meet the real me now that we're not racin' the clock. 'Sides, this is just how I like to talk—makes me more personable. And who doesn't need a bit of that in times like these?"

Elissa's brow furrowed for a moment before she shook her head, brushing past it. "Fine. Let's focus on the situation at hand."

Doc's grip didn't loosen as she gave Elissa a wary glance, but she kept quiet. Elissa's shoulders remained tense as she turned toward the door, glancing back toward the privacy sheet one last time.

"So," she asked, her tone sharper now as she spoke into her vox-bead, "what can you do for us?"

The vox crackled softly as Sasha answered, her voice picking up a lilting confidence like a hostess welcoming someone to a grand ball. "Well, I may not be much in a firefight, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. First off, I've got Koron's drones at my disposal. They're not built for tusslin', but they're mighty fine when it comes to sneakin' around and gettin' the lay of the land. I can send 'em out to scout the Necrons and give y'all early warnings about what's comin' your way."

Elissa paused at the door, raising an eyebrow. "That's something, at least. And?"

"I can lend a hand with repairs and fortifyin' your defenses," Sasha continued, her tone warm and practical, like a neighbor offering to patch a leaky roof. "The drones can seal up holes in your walls, shore up weak spots, and even whip up a few surprises if you've got the right materials lyin' around. Nothing fancy, but every little bit helps, don't it? Right now, they're patchin' up the hole in the reactor, so at least it'll quit spewin' rads all over the place."

Doc scoffed lightly, crossing her arms. "Not exactly groundbreaking. What about firepower?"

"Now, sugar," Sasha said with a gentle laugh, "I'm not about to go fibbin' to you. Combat ain't their forte. But I can help you make the most of what you've got. The Necrons may be nasty, but they're not invincible. I can analyze their movements, find their weak spots, and give you strategies to hit 'em where it hurts. Y'all might be runnin' on fumes, but I'll help you stretch every drop."

Elissa leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at her temples. "All of this sounds great in theory, but we don't have the resources for a drawn-out fight."

"I know, darlin'. That's why I'm here—to lighten your load, not add to it. Let me handle the drones and keep an eye on the battlefield. I'll make sure y'all have the intel you need to stay one step ahead. You focus on your people, and together we'll keep Dusthaven standin'."

For a moment, silence filled the air, broken only by the faint hum of the emergency lights. Finally, Elissa sighed and nodded. "Alright. Let's see what you've got."

Doc gave a sharp, skeptical glance at Elissa before rising to her feet, bolter slung over her shoulder. "I'm keepin' my eye on you, Sasha. Don't make me regret it."

Sasha's response was smooth, with a touch of playful warmth. "You won't, sugar. Now, let's get to work."

-

The dim light of the command room flickered faintly as Elissa leaned over the weathered map of Dusthaven spread across the central table. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched beside her, her eyes focused but heavy with exhaustion. Two days. Two days without an attack, without the Necron presence even scraping at the outskirts. She should have felt relieved.

Should have.

The vox pinged, Sasha's smooth drawl cutting through the still air. "Elissa, darlin', you got a minute? We need to talk."

Elissa frowned, straightening up. "What's going on, Sasha?"

"Well," Sasha began, her voice warm but laced with concern, "I've been keepin' an eye on those metal-headed varmints. Somethin' about their movements just don't sit right with me."

Elissa crossed her arms, the faint crease in her brow deepening. "Movements? You mean the fact that there haven't been any? Not that I'm complaining, but…"

"Oh, I reckon it's a bit more complicated than that," Sasha said, a soft hum in her voice like she was piecing her thoughts together. "They ain't just quiet, sugar. They're… avoidin' us."

Elissa blinked. "Avoiding? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. They're movin', alright. But every pattern, every approach they've taken in the last two days has deliberately avoided Dusthaven. It's as plain as day once you look at it. You could draw a circle around this town on the map, and they'd be dancin' right along the edge, never settin' foot inside."

That twisted something deep in Elissa's gut. "Why? Why would they avoid us? From what I've seen they don't hesitate, they don't retreat. They just… march. Kill."

"Exactly, darlin'. And that's why it's downright peculiar. This ain't normal behavior for them. It's too obvious, too deliberate." Sasha's voice carried an undertone of unease. "I don't know why they're doin' it, but any fool with half a brain could see this shift in their pattern. And if it's obvious to us…"

Elissa's eyes narrowed. "It's a message," she muttered.

"Or a trap," Sasha countered gently, her voice soft. "Could be both. Could be neither. Whatever it is, sugar, it's unnatural, and that makes it dangerous. Mark my words, this quiet ain't somethin' we should be sittin' easy with."

"Agreed." Elissa leaned back in her chair; the flickering overhead light casting shadows that made the room feel even smaller than it was. She folded her arms, gaze distant. "What's our status anyway?"

Sasha's voice filled the air, calm but purposeful, as though the words were coming from somewhere just beyond Elissa's line of sight. "Backup gens are down to two days of operation. We could stretch it to a week if we only use them for the absolute necessities. Batteries will fail the day after that. Reactor core's sealed tight, but we're stuck 'til we figure out how to deal with the rads. Ain't even safe to get near it right now, let alone make repairs."

A small pause, the subtle hum of electronics in the background as Sasha continued. "Weapons and ammo? We're good. Plenty of both. Food, we're set for a month and water is just gonna need people to ferry it once the powers out. But perishables are gonna spoil soon without power, so if you've got meat you're looking to keep, I'd suggest salting it or using it soon. You've got maybe a couple days."

Elissa nodded absently, already processing the information. "Medical supplies?"

Sasha's voice lowered, a touch more measured. "Stretched thin. But we've been lucky, for now. Most injuries have been either minor, or... well, fatal. Koron's the big concern, as you know."

Her thoughts briefly shifted to the memory of the man lying behind the cloth screen. "And how's he doing?"

"Better," Sasha responded smoothly. "System repairs are going well. His bio-signs are improving. He'll be up and about in a day or two, assuming no setbacks."

Elissa let out a slow breath, relaxing just a little. "And my girls?"

"Oh, those two?" Sasha's tone softened with an almost maternal note. "They've been on rotating shifts to keep him company. Think it's good for 'em—he's a good friend, and both of 'em need the connection. But if you need 'em for anything, just say the word, sugar. I can direct them elsewhere if that's what you prefer."

Elissa hesitated for a moment before shaking her head, her crimson braid swaying. "No, let them be. They're keeping their duties in order. We've got enough work to go around right now. No need to pull them off in their free time."

"Sure thing, darlin'." Sasha's voice carried a warmth that seemed to wrap around Elissa. It was strange—comforting, almost as if Sasha were sitting right there beside her, offering reassurance. "Be sure to get some rest tonight, alright? You've been burning the candle at both ends, and the people need their leader healthy. I'll keep an eye on things."

Rubbing her eyes, Elissa let out a tired sigh. "Yeah, alright. I'm gonna grab a bite and hit the hay. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Of course, sugar. I'll have Yannek fix up your usual. You're headed his way, right?"

Elissa blinked, pausing mid-step. "…You know, it's kinda creepy how fast you've picked up little things like that."

Sasha let out a soft laugh, light and easy. "Apologies, darlin'. Old habit of mine—paying attention to details, you know? I'll dial it back a notch or two, promise."

Shaking her head, Elissa allowed herself a small smirk as she headed for the mess hall. "You do that."

"Sleep well, sugar," Sasha murmured, her voice as soft as a lullaby. "I'll keep the town safe for you."

Elissa had barely taken four steps outside when Sasha's voice crackled over the vox, sharper now. "Elissa, we have an incoming transmission on an open frequency."

Tapping her vox, Elissa adjusted the signal, and a deep, gravelly voice filled her ears, laced with authority.

"Hailing the settlement of Dusthaven, this is Sergeant Vulkanis Kade of the Salamanders, requesting permission to land. How copy?"

Elissa froze mid-step, the color draining from her face as the words sank in. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. "By the Emperor," she whispered, her heart pounding. "His Angels… here?"

Before she could fully process the enormity of the moment, Sasha's voice cut back in, low but edged with urgency. "Elissa, listen to me carefully. You cannot tell them about Koron. Or me."

Her brow furrowed as she slowed to a halt. "Sasha, what are you talki—"

"Elissa, please!" Sasha's tone cracked, desperation threading through her usually steady, honeyed voice. "If they find out about Koron, they'll either kill him outright or drag him away—to imprison him, to dissect him. You don't understand what's at stake. I'm begging you—keep him secret. Just until he can speak for himself. Just until he can decide his own fate."

The weight of Sasha's plea hung heavy in the air, and Elissa felt the knot of uncertainty tighten in her chest. Her fingers hovered near her vox as her mind raced. This was no small ask—hiding something from the Emperor's Angels was heresy by any measure. But the sheer fear in Sasha's voice made her pause.

For now, she simply said, "Alright," her voice quiet but firm, though her thoughts churned with questions she wasn't sure she wanted answers to.

-

The Thunderhawk's engines thrummed with latent power, their deep hum resonating through the air as they began to wind down. A dozen guardsmen, their postures stiff with unease, stood rigidly in place, their eyes fixed on the towering wall ahead. Wet sand clung to their boots, a reminder of the relentless storms that had battered the planet for months. Yet now, finally, the storm had begun to ebb.

Amidst the same sand that had swallowed him up to his mid-calf, the Astartes stood utterly still. Like a statue hewn from stone, he was an immovable force in the desolate landscape. His oversized bolter rested in his hands, the underbarrel weapon adding a heavy, menacing weight to the firearm. At his sides hung a bolt pistol, a chainsword, and a collection of magazines, grenades, and various other pieces of equipment—many of which Elissa couldn't even begin to name. Yet it wasn't the weaponry that held her attention; it was the intricate markings and subtle details etched into his battle-worn armor.

The towering figure was clad in emerald-green power armor, its surface scratched and scorched by countless battles. Draped across his shoulders was a mantle of black-scaled drakeskin, a grim trophy that shifted with his every movement. A skull, stark and unyielding, was emblazoned on the forehead of his helm—a chilling symbol of death and judgment. His left gauntlet bore the unmistakable sigil of the Promethean Cult, and a single crimson visor slit on his helmet glowed faintly, pulsing like the ember of a dying fire.

Each pauldron told its own story. One was painted deep black, bearing the image of a red drake, its mouth agape with razor teeth. The other was similarly black but adorned with a yellow flame that licked skyward, vivid and alive despite its static form.

It was the smaller details, though, that captured Elissa's curiosity. Painted flames rose from his boots, climbing the greaves of his legs. On the right, the artwork was immaculate—neat, precise, and deliberate, executed with the care of a practiced hand. But on the left, the flames were crude, uneven, and jagged, as though drawn by a child with an unsteady grip. The stark contrast between the two designs struck her like a discordant note in an otherwise meticulously orchestrated symphony.

Before she could dwell on the implications of the mismatched artwork, the marine's voice shattered the stillness around them. Deep and resonant, it carried the weight of centuries of battle and duty, commanding attention as it echoed across the barren sands.

"Hearken to me, sons and daughters of the Emperor! Step forth, that we may speak in His name!"

Elissa cleared her throat, silently relieved that her voice didn't crack as she addressed an Angel of Death. "Welcome and well met, my lord!" she called out, her tone as steady as she could manage. "Apologies for the delay; we're clearing the extra barricades on the gate."

Below, the townsfolk worked with frantic efficiency, hauling away the hastily added plates and beams that reinforced the gate. The crude reinforcements clattered as they were removed, leaving the way clear just as Elissa, flanked by Doc, stepped forward to greet the towering Astartes. As the gates groaned open, the marine strode inside, his presence immediately demanding attention.

For a moment, Elissa was struck by just how small she felt. At five foot five, she had long learned to weaponize her unassuming stature, using others' underestimations of her to her advantage. But here, standing before this armored titan forged for war, she felt like a child standing before her father.

The moment was broken by Doc, who stepped forward and gave the marine a respectful nod. "Welcome, Sergeant. I am Interrogator Malinov. What brings you here, so far from the battlelines?"

The marine's crimson visor shifted to regard Doc, and his reply came in a measured, booming tone. "Greetings, Interrogator. Our scans revealed that this location is being deliberately bypassed by Necron forces—"

Elissa's sharp grunt of disbelief cut him off before she realized what she was doing. She met his gaze, her voice rising in challenge. "Bypassed? I have seven dead, a dozen wounded, and a breached reactor core that refutes that claim. They started going around us two days ago, but they have attacked us."

Doc quickly interjected, her tone placating. "This is Elissa Brandt, the mayor of this town. She has been coordinating our defenses against the xenos, alongside myself and our security team leader, Milo." She gestured toward the guard tower, where the gleaming barrel of a lascannon protruded, scanning the horizon.

The marine— Vulkanis Kade, if Elissa recalled correctly from his transmission—gave her a slight nod. "As you say, Mayor. Regardless, their new movements drew the attention of our Mechanicus allies, and I volunteered to reconnoiter the area. Truthfully, I expected to find this settlement wiped from existence. I am pleased to be proven wrong." His tone softened slightly, though the metallic edge of his helmet's vox still rang clear. "You mentioned attacks. Please, explain what has happened."

Elissa nodded, motioning for him to follow. "Come on, then. It's a bit of a story."

-

"Your people have had a difficult time of things," Kade said, seated atop a metal crate that served as his makeshift chair. His pitch-black skin, in stark contrast to the warm green of his armor, framed his crimson eyes as they met Elissa's emerald gaze. "But I must admit, I find it surprising that you dealt with a dozen melee-focused Necrons so easily."

Elissa's lips tightened into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she assessed him. "I wouldn't exactly call it easy," she replied, her voice edged with restraint. "But for whatever reason, they've been ignoring us for the time being. With the non-combatants already in Anaxis, we're planning on leaving as soon as the wounded are stable enough to travel."

Kade nodded. "If you wish, I'll gladly carry your people aboard my shuttle. It should be able to accommodate the majority of your citizens," he offered, his voice low but steady. The tiny cup of gritroot tea at his side sat undisturbed, a quiet symbol of the soldier's stoic nature. "That said, I'll be conducting a sweep of the town. I was sent here to investigate, to find out what's truly happening."

Elissa gave a measured nod, her gaze steady as she met the towering Astartes' crimson gaze. "Completely understandable. Take as much time as you need. We still have at least another day before the most critically wounded are fit to move. Would you like a guide, then, or are you good on your own?"

"I would. Do you have someone in mind?" he asked, straightening to his full, imposing height. The faint creak of metal echoed from his power armor as he shifted, the sound a constant reminder of the war machine encasing him.

"If you like, my daughter Tara could accompany you," Elissa offered, her tone practical. "She has some technical knowledge and might be able to answer some of your more advanced questions. I'd have Milo or Doc do it, but... well, they've got other priorities."

"Understandable." Kade gave her a polite nod, his movements measured and deliberate. "I'll start at the wall, if you don't mind. Have your child meet me there." Without waiting for further discussion, he turned and ducked through the doorway, the soft hiss of hydraulics accompanying his departure.

Elissa exhaled slowly, counting silently under her breath—one, two, three, four, five—before muttering, "Well? What do you think, Sasha?"

The reply came immediately, a smooth, honeyed voice crackling to life from the comm system embedded in her wrist. "Oh, sugar, I've got plenty to say about that fellow. Especially about that man's augments. But for now? Thank you. I'll make sure you don't regret sticking your neck out for him."

Elissa arched an eyebrow, glancing at the comm as Sasha continued, her tone shifting to one of bright satisfaction. "By the way, I've already notified Tara. She's on her way to meet him now, and excited as all hell."

Elissa's expression tightened, her jaw setting as frustration flickered across her face. "You owe me an explanation, Sasha," she said, her voice low and firm. "No bullshit. If I'm risking my life—and the lives of everyone here—for you two, then you're going to tell me the truth."

There was a brief pause, and when Sasha spoke again, her voice was softer, edged with guilt. "...That's fair. Will you wait until Koron's awake, though? There are…parts of this story that aren't mine to tell."

Elissa hesitated, her fingers flexing as though she were holding back a sharp retort. Finally, she exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly. "...Fine," she said at last, her tone clipped.

"Thank you," Sasha murmured, her voice warm but subdued. "For what it's worth, I'm grateful. We both are."

Elissa turned toward the open door, her gaze drifting to the distant wall where the Astartes' towering form had already disappeared from view. Beyond, the storm-battered sands stretched endlessly, their shifting dunes glowing faintly under a pale sun. The storm had passed for now, but Elissa knew the calm was only temporary.

She didn't reply to Sasha. She didn't need to. The silence that followed was answer enough.

-

Tara kept pace with the towering Salamander, though it was mostly due to his deliberate shortening of his stride to avoid forcing her to jog. Her boots crunched lightly against the sand as she glanced up at the massive figure beside her. "So, what are you scanning for anyway? There's not much here except, well… sand." Her voice was bright, her green eyes practically glowing with curiosity. Despite the grim setting, she seemed completely at ease, staring up at Kade's imposing features without a hint of fear. "And is that your vox unit? It's so much smaller than the ones we use! Where's its power supply?"

Kade glanced down at the diminutive woman walking beside him, his crimson eyes briefly flickering with what might have been amusement, helmet tapping on his belt. "You are… unusually fearless," he said, his deep voice resonating with a tempered rumble. "Most mortals react to me with awe, or fear. Have you met an Astartes before?"

Tara shook her head, her hip-length hair swaying slightly with the movement. "Nope! You're the first one ever! But since this might be the only chance I have to talk to someone like you, I figured I might as well ask a few questions." She grinned, her enthusiasm infectious. "Besides, Mom told me to help you out however I could, and a conversation seems like a good start, don't you think, Mr. Kade?"

The Salamander let out a low snort, the sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. The corners of his lips tugged upward in a fleeting grin, though it was quickly swallowed by his usual stoic demeanor. "Mr. Kade… I have not been called that in a long, long time." His tone softened for a moment, as if the words stirred some far-off memory. Shaking his head, he refocused and reached down, handing Tara the oversized auspex scanner.

"Tell me, Miss Brandt, what do you see?"

Tara took the bulky device with both hands, her lithe fingers dancing over its controls as she adjusted to the weight. "Please, just Tara. Miss Brandt is my mom. I'm only twenty." She gave him a sheepish smile before turning her attention to the auspex. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she studied the readouts. "Let's see… hmm… looks like a standardized scanning algorithm? You're looking for unusual energy readings, material compositions, and stuff like that, right? Emperor, this thing is leagues ahead of the auspex units I've worked on before. Everything's so crisp!"

Kade tilted his head, observing her with a quiet curiosity. Despite her relative inexperience, she carried herself with a sense of eagerness and earnestness that was rare among those he encountered. He had expected awkward silence or stammered awe—but instead, he was met with genuine interest.

"You have a keen eye," he said after a pause, his tone approving. "Most of your kind wouldn't even think to identify the algorithm, let alone remark on its clarity. Perhaps there is more to you than first meets the eye, Tara."

The compliment brought a slight flush to her cheeks, though she quickly masked it with a grin. "Well, I've had a bit of practice tinkering with machines—Koron's been teaching me a lot. Still, this is next-level tech. It makes me wonder what else you've got hidden in that armor of yours."

His lips twitched slightly, almost forming another smile. "Perhaps, if you prove to be as resourceful as you seem, I may show you."

Tara looked up at him, her grin widening. "You've got yourself a deal, Mr. Kade."

"And Koron? Your mentor?" He asked, watching her work the scanner with a surprisingly deft touch.

"Yeah, he's one of the wounded, the worst one off. He's the one that turned the reactor core breach off after those little bug machines ripped it open. Nearly died doing it too." She replied, fingers pausing for a moment as she composed herself.

"A brave man then. Not many would willingly go into deaths jaws." He replied. "I hope the emperors light comes upon him."

"Me too." She softly replied before shaking off the thoughts. "A-anyway, mom said you're looking for reasons why the machines are leaving us alone, right? I don't know why, but if you have questions feel free to ask!"

Nodding, he holds out his hand, retaking the scanner. "Can you tell me what happened the first time they came?"

"Oh, sure!" Tara began, her voice animated despite the tension in her eyes. She gestured toward the wall. "We had about a dozen of the skeleton men making their way toward the gate. Spotted them from a ways off—always have someone in the watchtower." Her hand waved toward the lascannon emplacement, where the weapon's metal glinted faintly in the sun. "They weren't exactly trying to hide, you know? Picked them off quick with that gun."

Her expression shifted, the light in her eyes dimming. "Then two days later, those…" Her voice faltered, and a visible shudder rippled through her frame. "The skin-covered ones showed up. They attacked the town and—" Tara stopped mid-sentence, her breath catching. She clenched her fists at her sides, taking a long, steadying breath before continuing. "Sorry. I'm still… dealing with all of that."

Kade inclined his head, his expression softening. He said nothing, giving her the space to regain her composure.

"The militia handled most of them," she finally continued, her voice quieter now. "Mom, me, and the staff gunned down three that jumped us. Koron… he took care of the ones that got into the reactor." She swallowed hard, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know how many there were in there, but it was a close thing. Too close."

Kade reached out, his massive hand resting lightly on her shoulder—a gesture of both reassurance and recognition. His deep voice carried a weight that spoke of shared loss and the resilience forged in hardship. "Be proud, Tara Brandt. Your people have survived where few others would have. That's no small feat."

Her lips twitched into a faint, hesitant smile, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "Thanks, Mr. Kade. That… means a lot."

"Shall we continue?" he asked, his tone gentle but purposeful.

"Yes, please!" she said quickly, her voice brightening as she seized the opportunity to leave the grim memories behind.

As they walked, Kade's measured voice broke the brief silence. "Does the town have any unique landmarks, ancient ruins, or structures that stand out? Anything old that predates the colony itself?"

Tara frowned thoughtfully, shaking her head. "Not that I know of? But to be fair, I'm young, and it never really occurred to me to ask. If you're looking for that kind of thing, the old folks we evacuated to the city would probably know better."

Kade gave a slow, deliberate nod, as though mentally checking something off a list. "What resources exist in or beneath the town? Minerals, aquifers, energy nodes?"

"We've got an aquifer—that's where all our water comes from—but no mines or anything like that," Tara answered, her tone growing curious. "And energy nodes? What would those even look like?"

"Think concentrated energy points," Kade explained, gesturing with a gauntleted hand as if sketching the concept in the air. "Anomalous readings, high energy outputs. It could be natural or artificial."

"Oh, then no, definitely not. If we had something like that, we'd be way better off. Before Koron fixed the reactor, we were barely scraping by. The old thing was running on a trickle charge—just enough to keep the rechargers going."

Kade grunted softly, as if in understanding. "What about the town's spiritual practices?" he asked after a moment. "Are there relics or icons blessed by the Emperor? Any rituals that might hold unknown protective properties?"

Tara's brows furrowed, and she tilted her head slightly. "Not… really?" Her tone was uncertain. "Doc made sure we kept up with our prayers—always said we needed to stay strong in faith. But protective rituals? Nothing jumps out to me. Do you have an example of what you mean?"

"Icons, relics, or even particular rites tied to the Emperor's will. Sometimes blessings are hidden in plain sight," Kade replied, his tone calm but probing.

Tara thought for a moment before shaking her head again. "No, nothing like that. Honestly, if we had anything blessed, it's probably just the fact we've managed to hold on this long. Feels like a miracle some days."

Kade hummed thoughtfully, his glowing red eyes turning onto Tara, as though measuring the weight of her words. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice low and contemplative. "Miracles take many forms… Hm." He paused, glancing toward the horizon before returning his attention to her. "Could you take me to the aquifer? I'd like to investigate something."

"Follow me!" she chirped, spinning on her heel and bounding forward. But she stopped abruptly after only three steps, turning to glance back at him with a skeptical expression, her head tilted slightly. She studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes flicking from his broad shoulders to the top of his towering frame, as though silently judging his odds against the cramped spaces below. "Mr. Kade, I don't think you're going to fit," she finally said, her tone frank. "The halls aren't really built for someone as… tall as you."

Kade's stern features softened, and for just a heartbeat, a grin crept up his face—nearly splitting his stoic demeanor before he quickly schooled his expression back into something neutral. "A fair point," he admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Then would you be so kind as to retrieve a sample of the water, and some of the silt, for me?"

Tara nodded, her loose strands of auburn hair swaying as she flashed him a wide, confident grin. "Sure thing! Be right back!" she said, her voice light with excitement. Without hesitation, she turned and bolted toward the back of the hill, her boots kicking up small puffs of dust as she disappeared.

Kade watched her go, his expression unreadable. Once she was out of sight, he shifted his attention to the weathered wall at the entrance to the town, its surface pockmarked with years of makeshift repairs and scorches from past battles. With a deliberate motion, he keyed his vox.

"Sergeant Merran," Kade said, his voice cutting crisply through the channel, "status?"

A burst of static was followed by a familiar voice, the raucous laughter that carried faintly over the comms in the background. "Yes, m'lord. So far, all the scans you requested are coming back negative. We've been discreet, just like you ordered, so I don't think the locals suspect anything. However…" The laughter on the other end died down, replaced by a hint of seriousness. "There are two things of note, sir."

Kade's brow furrowed beneath his helm. "What are they?"

"The wall," Merran began, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's got these… small balls embedded all over it. Tech I've never seen before. We recorded everything; the data's been added to your video buffer for review. The second thing? Their lasguns."

Kade arched an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "What about their lasguns?"

"Well, we made some bets with the locals," Merran said "Wanted to see what kind of training they had. Turns out, they're good shots—real good, sir. Clearly used to fighting, which isn't surprising out here with the orks and raiders. But their weapons…" He hesitated, as though trying to find the right words. "M'lord, their lasguns put ours to shame. Night and day difference."

"Explain," Kade pressed, his voice tightening.

"We asked around—got a few drinks into them," Merran admitted with a low chuckle. "Turns out, someone named Koron upgraded them. He's their tech-savvy man, from what I gathered."

"Koron…" Kade's voice trailed off as he mulled over the name, filing it away for further consideration, this being the third time he was mentioned. "I see. Excellent work, Sergeant. Continue as ordered and report back if anything else arises."

"Yes, sir!" Merran's reply came crisp and assured before the vox clicked off.

Kade lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon where Tara had disappeared. The wind whispered through the wet sand, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of the settlement's defenses and the distant echo of human resilience. Something about this town and its people gnawed at the edge of his thoughts. There was more here—he was certain of it. He would find the answers, even if they were buried deep beneath the surface.

 

[Talon88.1]

So this is the last chapter of my backlog for the story, so updates are gonna be more sporadic. Let me know what you think or have questions, always happy to answer them (Aside from spoilers that is ;P )

Thanks for sticking with me so far, I hope its been fun!

-

Chapter Eleven

-

Looking up from the microscope, Doc shook her head. "I'm not seeing anything unusual. Are you sure about the readings?"

Kade held out the auspex, its screen blinking with diagnostic data. "I am certain. Trace amounts of blackstone in your settlement's water supply—likely from deep below the aquifer."

Elissa glanced between them; arms crossed. "Alright, for those of us without a fancy education—what the hell is blackstone?"

Doc exhaled, rubbing her temple before answering. "It's a material the Necrons use to build their structures." She turned to Kade, handing back the auspex. "You think that's why the xenos are avoiding us? To keep from damaging the blackstone ore?"

Kade's massive pauldrons creaked as he shifted his weight. "I do not know. If they wanted the blackstone, they would have marched in here and put you all to the sword. None of this makes sense."

Elissa spun the end of her braid between her fingers, her brow furrowed. "Alright, so we've got a lot of theories and no real answers. At this point, I don't care why they're ignoring us—I just want to get out of here." She turned to Doc. "I hate to say it, but we can't wait for Koron to stabilize. We need to leave. Tonight."

Doc's gaze flickered toward the shielded curtain where Koron lay. After a long pause, she sighed and nodded. "I hate to agree, but you're right. We can't hold everyone back for one man. My recommendation? Evacuate the bulk of the settlement in the Thunderhawk. The rest can take the Lighter. I'll have Koron on board since he'll take up the most space with the medical equipment."

Elissa gave a sharp nod and stood, adjusting her hat. "Good. I'll spread the word. We leave in an hour. That acceptable, m'lord?"

Kade inclined his head. "Indeed. My men will assist."

"Appreciated."

-

Evacuations were usually a mess—panic-stricken civilians scrambling to hoard their belongings, slowing everything down in the process.

Not here.

Dusthaven's people had long prepared for this moment, whether it meant fleeing or fighting. They moved with practiced efficiency, marching into the Thunderhawk with their gear secured and their minds set.

Elissa settled into her seat, fastening the harness tight across her chest. Tara and Kala flanked her, their expressions tense but steady. Outside, Doc directed the wounded into the Lighter, Koron the last to be loaded, still unconscious on a stretcher.

Kala reached over, gripping Elissa's hand. Her fingers were cold.

The engines roared to life, vibrations thrumming through the hull as the Thunderhawk lifted off the ground. The heavy inertia pressed them into their seats—

Then came the shot.

A deafening crack split the air, and the ship lurched violently, alarms shrieking as Elissa was slammed back into her harness, pain blooming like fire on the back of her head. Her stomach dropped as the aircraft spun, metal groaning under the sudden loss of stability.

Another impact.

The Thunderhawk spiraled sideways, a fiery explosion rippling across the right engine. They barely cleared the ground before the damaged transport slammed back down, skidding hard across the dirt before grinding to a halt.

The moment the world stopped spinning, Kade's voice boomed down the corridor. "Unstrap and move! Now!"

Elissa's vision blurred, pain radiating down her spine as she fumbled with her harness. Hands grabbed at her, hauling her upright as heat washed over her face. The far wall flickered with firelight, smoke billowing as the air filled with shouted orders and panicked breathing.

She stumbled out of the wreckage, head pounding. The moment her eyes adjusted; her stomach turned to ice.

The Thunderhawk's right engine was ablaze, spewing thick, black smoke into the night. Twin holes had been punched clean through the fuselage, the metal edges glowing an eerie neon green.

She barely had time to process before Kade thundered past, an unconscious man over his shoulder. He handed the body off to waiting hands before whirling toward the assembled settlers, voice like a war drum.

"To arms!" He roared, pointing toward the outskirts of town and the shifting darkness beyond.

"The enemy is upon us!"

-

Thundering footsteps carried Kade to the wall, the militia scrambling behind him as green energy beams streaked overhead. For the average soldier, the battlements provided ample cover—rifles thrust through the firing ports, pouring a mix of crimson and white lasfire into the night.

For Kade, however, the walls barely reached his chest. He was forced to duck with a curse as several gauss blasts speared toward his exposed frame, hissing as they passed inches from his armor. That brief glimpse beyond the barricade, however, told him everything he needed to know.

High above, the crescent silhouette of a Night Scythe hovered, its sleek form wreathed in shimmering green light. The swirling energies of its deployment gate pulsed in steady rhythm, warriors spilling forth in crackling displays of Necron translocation. Already, sixty of the skeletal foot soldiers had been deployed, their eerie, metallic bodies illuminated by the emerald glow of their weapons. Each blast gouged deep scars into the fortress walls, the armor plating blackening under the withering fire.

But it was not the warriors that commanded Kade's attention.

A trio of Destroyers skittered across the sand, their hunched, predatory forms advancing with terrifying speed. Nightmarish, their arms bore hyperphase weapons that shimmered with disruptive energy, forming crude, ad-hoc shields against the incoming fire. Their multi-jointed legs scrambled against the wet sand, slowed but relentless, closing the distance toward the gate.

Kade's bolter roared, each shot reverberating through his armor as explosive rounds found their mark. But against these monstrosities, the damage was minimal—superficial wounds that barely slowed them. The Destroyers absorbed the impacts, their arms protecting their vital components as they slammed into the gate.

Metal shrieked as their blades carved into the adamantine doors. Sparks flew as the phase-shifted weapons bypassed conventional matter, cutting into the thick plates, eager to reach the reinforced hinges. Thankfully, the gate had been built to withstand raiders, Orks, and the various horrors of the desert sea—but even still, it would not hold long.

Worse, the Destroyers' proximity to the wall created a new problem. From their elevated positions, the militia could not fire down without exposing themselves to the Necron warriors beyond. Kade knew hesitation would cost them everything.

"Stand fast!" he barked, before leaping from the battlements down into the town, racing towards the gate. Sand kicked up around his boots, but he was already moving, bolter raised.

Above him, the militia poured fire into the Necron ranks, their lasbolts striking true. Warriors crumpled, their bodies convulsing as the augmented firepower burned out the eldritch energy animating them. Yet for every one that fell, two more emerged from the Night Scythe's eerie green gate.

A gauss beam sliced through one of the fortress plates. Then another. The searing green energy didn't simply melt the metal—it ripped its atoms apart, disintegrating layers of the fortress like parchment.

Still, the defenders held.

Whatever had triggered this assault, it was no longer a matter of caution. The Necrons were done observing. They had come to erase them.

-

Deep within his blackened sanctum, Orykhal observed the battle through cascading data-streams, his consciousness divided across a thousand battlefronts.

The slow, inevitable march of the machine eroded the weakness of flesh. Even with the Astartes' intervention, their numbers were too few to be anything more than a minor obstacle. They fought, they adapted, they delayed. But that was all it was—a delay.

Every time the Salamanders committed their strength to one area, Orykhal shifted his assault to another, exploiting gaps, forcing the humans into an endless defensive spiral. For all their vaunted resilience, they were still organic.

They would tire.
They would bleed.
They would fail.

And all the while, his legions continued to grind down their feeble human armies.

Yet, one obstacle remained: the Titans.

Massive, over-engineered behemoths, their weapons sheared through entire Necron phalanxes, melting legions of warriors into slag. Inefficient as they were, their firepower was undeniable, their mere presence a thorn in his otherwise flawless campaign.

But time was on his side. His energy cores were nearing full reactivation—sooner than the humans suspected.

As he orchestrated the battle, a flicker of data—nothing more than a stray notification—demanded a fraction of his vast intellect.

Escape attempt detected.

Orykhal's glowing optics pulsed.

"Escape?" he echoed, his voice a cold mechanical whisper, the barest hint of amusement. "No no, not until I see more. Show me anomalies, what other secrets you hold."

Data without completion was worthless. A half-finished experiment, a hypothesis untested. Their value was not in fleeing, but in understanding.

With a mere flicker of thought, he sent out the command.

The sky would burn before they left this world.

And then, he returned his attention to the war at large.

-

A sharp sting bit into Elissa's thigh as Doc jabbed her with a hypo, the cold rush of the drug flooding her system. Within seconds, the fog clouding her mind began to lift. Before she could fully steady herself, Doc seized her bicep and hauled her to her feet, pressing her rifle into her hands.

"Girls, get your mom into cover and keep her down!" Doc ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. "She'll need another minute to recover!"

Tara and Kala moved immediately, guiding Elissa toward the nearest barricade as the Sister of Battle turned back to the fight, slipping into position near the gate. Her silver-plated armor gleamed under the flickering firelight as she raised her bolter, keeping her sights locked on the breach.

The Destroyers tore into the gate with mechanical precision, their jade-hued blades carving deep into the adamantine layers. Sparks flared as the militia poured suppressive fire on the Necron warriors beyond, desperately holding the tide at bay. But it wouldn't last. The gate was failing.

Then, the breach.

A segmented limb punched through the shattered plating, its hyperphase blade lashing wildly. Doc fired immediately, bolter rounds hammering into the exposed limb. The first few rounds deflected harmlessly off the shimmering energy field surrounding the blade, but a lucky shot struck the Destroyer's shoulder, cracking the necrodermis and sending a pulse of emerald light flickering from the wound. The xenos machine barely faltered.

"Do you have any explosives?" Kade's voice cut through the chaos, calm but edged with tension.

"Only four frags!" Doc called back, shifting position for a clearer shot. "You have any kraks?"

"Two, the rest are frags." Kade replied from his cover behind a collapsed wall.

Kala's voice crackled over the vox. "We still have the old mining charges! Only four, but—"

"Get them!" Doc snapped. "And hurry!"

Kala hesitated only long enough to squeeze her mother's hand. "Take care of her, I'll be right back." Then she was gone, sprinting toward the storage shed repurposed as an ammo cache.

Tara's grip tightened around her rifle as she knelt beside Elissa, torn between watching the gate and glancing toward the direction Kala had disappeared. Jaw clenched, she forced herself to focus. Her fingers moved automatically as she muttered the clearing sequence Koron had drilled into her—step by step, breath by breath.

The gate groaned under the relentless assault. Time was running out.

Seconds dragged by, punctuated by the crack of lasfire and the thunderous retorts of bolters. They poured everything they had into the enemy, chipping away at the advancing Destroyers inch by inch. Yet, with each sweep of their phase blades, the Necrons peeled back more of the gate, carving through adamantine as if it were mere scrap.

The breach widened. Warped metal groaned under the weight of the cybernetic monstrosities as they slammed into it, their segmented limbs ramming the plates inward. Their gleaming blades cut in wide, defensive arcs, deflecting the incoming barrage as they forced their way through.

Doc's fingers tightened around a grenade at her belt. She tracked their movement, waiting for the perfect moment—the second they clustered together just beyond the breach.

"Doc!"

Kala's voice rang out over the chaos, cutting through the staccato rhythm of gunfire and the sickening hum of gauss weaponry. Sprinting down the street, she clutched four bricks of explosives, detcord dangling.

Doc snatched them from her outstretched hands without hesitation, already working to set the charges. Her fingers moved with practiced efficiency, wrapping detonation cords with the muscle memory of years in the field.

"How long?" Kade's voice rumbled over the din, his bolter still firing in disciplined bursts, every round striking true but barely slowing the relentless advance.

"Twenty seconds!" Doc shouted back, not looking up from her work.

"Unlikely," Kade replied, ejecting a spent magazine and slamming in another. "But I shall try."

He turned back to the breach, bracing himself as the final layers of the gate began to give way.

With a flick of his wrist, a frag grenade sailed through the opening. His bolter barked, the round striking midair just as the explosive cleared the threshold. The blast rocked the Destroyers, shrapnel pinging off their bodies in a shower of warped metal.

For a few precious seconds, they hesitated—wary of yet more traps.

But self-preservation was not much of a factor in their cold, mechanical calculations. They existed only to purge, to exterminate.

As one, the three slammed into the gates, the metal at last giving way with a tortured shriek.

They were met by a lump of grey clay, the detonators blinking twice before the charges blew.

A fireball ripped through the wreckage, kinetic force warping the Destroyers' bodies as cracks raced through their frames. Before the dust had even settled, everyone opened fire, bolter rounds and lasfire slamming into the reeling machines.

The centermost Destroyer crumbled under the barrage, its chassis rupturing as explosive rounds shredded its carapace. But the remaining two surged forward, undeterred. One split off toward Kade, its optics locking onto him with lethal intent, while the other leapt toward Doc and Kala, phase blades raised high.

-

Without missing a beat, Kade strafed right, drawing the three-legged monstrosity away from the others. His bolter snapped off a controlled burst, but the Destroyer was faster. Its left arm swung in a sharp, lethal arc, aimed to cleave him in two.

Kade flung himself forward into a tight roll, feeling the back of his armored boot shear away as the hyperphase blade passed a fraction too close. Coming up on one knee, he braced his bolter against his thigh and squeezed the trigger.

The Destroyer raised its arm to shield itself, but the real strike had already landed—behind it, a grenade Kade had dropped mid-roll detonated with a concussive crack.

The machine staggered, its rear leg, already damaged from the mining charges, blasted away in a mess of shattered necrodermis. It struggled to recalibrate, arms waving to compensate, but in doing so, left its chest exposed. Kade didn't hesitate. His bolter roared, each shot punching deeper until the Destroyer crumpled.

It twitched once.

Kade put a round through its skull. Just in case.

-

Doc threw herself through a doorway in a shower of splintered wood, half a second ahead of the jade blade that carved through the air where she'd been standing. The Destroyer crashed onto the roof, metallic feet tap-tap-tapping as it pursued, punching through the structure with terrifying ease.

Scrambling to her feet, she sprinted for the back door, but her lead bled away as the Necron smashed through the walls, carving a direct path. The narrow hallway bottlenecked its movements, but it was cutting through fast.

Doc didn't stop. A window shattered as she put her augmented boot through it, muttering an apology to whoever's home she was wrecking before vaulting into the dusty street.

Keying her vox, she barked, "Could use some help here! This bastard's still on my tail!"

A moment later, the wall behind her exploded in a shower of ferrocrete, the Necron howling something in its alien tongue as it charged.

A trio of white-hot lasbolts slammed into its flank from across the street—Tara, Kala and Elissa, weapons locked in full-auto. The Destroyer reeled, its ribcage cracking under the onslaught. Doc's bolter thundered in concert, punching deep into its failing necrodermis.

Gasping for breath, Doc twitched as Elissa fired three more shots into its gaping chest. The last lights in its optics flickered, then died. Its body began to dissolve, vanishing into nothing.

Doc groaned as she stood. "Thanks, ladies."

Elissa ejected her spent cell, slapping in a fresh one with a practiced hand. "Fights not over." She gestured to the shattered gate. "They're still coming."

-

The wall held firm, even with the gate torn asunder. From the battlements, the defenders unleashed an ocean of fire, cutting down the advancing Necron warriors in tangled heaps of metal and glowing circuitry. Again and again, they fell, but the relentless tide did not break. Each pulse of jade energy from the return fire carved glowing scars into the armored plates, metal sizzling as it weakened under the onslaught.

One by one, the plates began to buckle.

Elissa pushed through the haze of lingering pain, forcing herself to ignore the throbbing ache in her skull as she and her daughters followed closely behind Doc. The four sprinted toward the front line, the thundering steps of Kade closing in from the flank. Her fingers fumbled at her vox, ready to rally what remained of her people—

Then, a shadow fell over them.

A black crescent, sleek and ominous, cut through the dust-choked sky.

Elissa barely had time to react before the Night Scythe's guns fired.

Twin beams of searing emerald light crashed into the wall, lingering for a heartbeat—one second, two, three—before the armor gave way. Ferrocrete vaporized in an instant, the plates melting into slag beneath the withering energy. Jagged arcs of electric discharge coursed outward, tendrils of lightning lashing hungrily across stone and flesh alike.

In another time, another place, it might have been beautiful.

The lattice of energy spread like a living thing, reducing everything it touched to nothing. Adamantine liquefied, ferrocrete crumbled to dust, and her soldiers—her people—were unmade, scattered to the wind before they could even scream.

Dust and smoke swallowed the world.

Elissa stumbled, coughing as the acrid air burned her lungs. She staggered blindly, reaching out, searching—before a massive, armored hand closed around her arm and yanked her back.

Blinking away the stinging grit, she turned, gasping, only to see the Night Scythe pivot in the sky, its guns angling downward—toward her and Kade.

Time slowed.

She couldn't run. She couldn't fight. There was no cover, no hope.

Elissa closed her eyes.

Emperor, watch over my children in my stead.

The world exploded with light—

—but she felt nothing.

No agony. No searing heat.

Only the rush of wind and the deep, rumbling voice of the Astartes beside her.

"What in the name of Vulkan…?"

The awe in Kade's voice made her open her eyes.

The Night Scythe's terrible lightning crackled through the air—but it never touched them. The lethal energy dispersed into nothing, scattering in thin arcs of harmless static across a faint blue field that hung in midair.

And then she saw them—

The tiny, pulsing orbs embedded in the shattered wall, each glowing with a pale, flickering blue.

Her gaze followed the power cables snaking across the sand, trailing toward—

Koron.

Coated in sand and dust, clad in nothing but a thin hospital shift now soaked in blood, he lay on his stomach, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His right hand clutched the severed cables, the exposed wiring wrapped tightly around his fingers, sparks dancing along his metal flesh. His right eye was swollen shut, his face pale with strain, but still, he turned his head just enough to meet her gaze.

Then he shouted.

"Marine! The orange cable up the street! Get it to me, now!"

Kade didn't hesitate. He turned and sprinted, sand showering in his wake as he barreled toward the network of power lines they had laid to reinforce the fortifications.

The Night Scythe fired again.

The shimmering blue field flared, drinking in the lethal attack—but Elissa saw the toll it was taking.

Koron convulsed, his muscles locking up as smoke curled from his cybernetic arms and spinal plate. His breath hitched, his body twitching as the strain of whatever he was doing burned through him, yet still, he held on.

Elissa clenched her fists, her heart pounding as she tore her eyes from him and up to the sky.

The Necron craft hovered, circling like a predator seeking an opening.

They had only moments before it struck again.

-

For all his size, Kade was quick on his feet, but quicker still was his mind. His mental map of the battlefield was precise, he had seen the cables running from the dead reactor to the wall's fortifications, their paths burned into his memory.

His gaze locked onto the tangled mess of wires snaking along the street, the bright orange cable standing out like a beacon. Seizing it in one powerful hand, he traced its length, realization dawning in his blood-red eyes. With a sharp yank, he ripped it free, feeling the resistance as it tore away from its moorings.

He turned just in time to see the Necron flyer unleash another barrage. The protective field still held, but it flickered, its once-solid glow pulsing erratically.

No time.

Kade hurled himself down the street, his body shifting into an all-out sprint, every fiber of muscle—both organic and cybernetic—driving toward a singular purpose. Get the cable to the stranger.

Overhead, the flyer fired again. This time, the energy field failed to fully absorb the attack. Stray bolts of jade lightning lashed out wildly, searing through the air and charring everything they touched.

The barrier wouldn't last another hit.

Lasfire erupted from the surviving militia, white-hot beams streaking skyward as they raked the ship with everything they had. The Necron craft endured the assault with impassive resilience, its armored hull shrugging off the futile resistance. But the distraction was enough to momentarily delay its wrath.

That moment was all it needed.

With a high-pitched whine, the flyer's cannons powered up once more. The field shattered in a blinding explosion of crackling blue energy, the blast ripping through the exposed defenders.

Men died mid-scream, their bodies disintegrated in an instant, reduced to mere ghosts of ash.

Kade roared in defiance, pushing harder, his armored boots gouging the sand as he sprinted. He called out to his father, to Vulkan, for just a fraction more speed. If he could save even one life—just one—he would take the pain, the fire in his lungs, the ache in his limbs, a thousandfold if needed.

Another burst of Necron fire tore through the village, raking across rooftops and walls. Buildings crumbled beneath the onslaught, their ferrocrete shells splintering apart in jagged ruin.

Kade rounded the last corner.

Against the wall of a shattered building, Koron lay broken and smoking, half-conscious but still gripping the power conduits in metal hands. The four women huddled beside him in cover, their weapons raised in defiance, despite the hopelessness.

Kade wasted no words. He slammed the severed cable into Koron's hands.

The man barely blinked before lightning cascaded between the exposed wires, energy crackling wildly. He convulsed, eyes flying open as raw power surged through his battered body.

He drew in a single, ragged breath. And then—

"MILO!"

The desperate scream rang out across the battlefield.

High above, perched in the skeletal remains of the watchtower, Milo moved.

His right hand was shattered, fingers twisted and swollen. His left was missing two fingers, bleeding sluggishly onto the control panel.

But it was enough.

The lascannon's barrel exploded, metal and crystal shards detonating outward in a shower of destruction. The overcharged beam—normally a deep purple with a white-hot core—burst forth in a brilliant nova of pure white light, its energy tearing through the air like a vengeful comet.

The Necron pilot had only a fraction of a second to react.

It wasn't enough.

The beam punched through the heart of the craft, melting through its blackened hull like wax before a flame. The immortal within was slagged, its skeletal body disintegrated in an instant as molten metal poured from the wound.

The ship lurched, its systems failing all at once, trailing fire as it spiraled downward.

Then—impact.

The crash sent a shockwave through the sand, a plume of dust and wreckage rising like a funeral pyre.

The Necron guns at last fell silent.

 

[Talon88.1]

Chapter Twelve

-

Slumped against the shattered remains of a wall, Elissa fought to steady her breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that refused to settle.

Nearby, Tara tilted a canteen toward Koron's lips. More water spilled down his chest than into his mouth as he gasped for air, the scent of burnt flesh and scorched metal still clinging to him. Wisps of smoke curled from his arms, remnants of the battle they had barely survived.

Kade, Doc, and Kala had dispersed in search of survivors—Doc heading toward the watchtower to retrieve Milo. Kade had offered, but Doc, not unkindly, pointed out that his sheer bulk might bring the whole structure crashing down.

One by one, the remaining townspeople trickled in, huddling together in the thin shade of the ruined settlement. Dust and dried blood clung to them, their silence heavier than any words could be.

Too soon, Kade returned, shaking his head.

"I'm not picking up any more lifesigns," he muttered, lowering himself onto one knee before Elissa. "Aside from us… there are twenty-four survivors in total."

The words landed like a hammer to the gut.

Twenty-four. Out of a hundred and ten.

Elissa's fingers curled into her palms, nails biting into flesh. The weight of the number pressed on her chest, cold and suffocating. She tilted her face upward toward the cavern ceiling, blinking hard. She wouldn't break. Not here. Not now.

Several seconds passed before she forced her hands open, barely noticing the thin smears of blood on her stubby fingernails.

"Okay… okay." Her voice wavered, but she pushed through it. "We—uh—we need to get out of here. Can your ship still fly?"

Kade gave a short nod. "Yes. I'll get it started." Without another word, he rose and strode toward the askew Thunderhawk.

Elissa curled inward, pressing her forehead against her knees. A tremor ran through her shoulders—just once, just enough to let the weight of it all settle before she shoved it down.

A warmth pressed against her side, soft and steady.

Tara leaned into her, resting her head on her mother's shoulder.

Elissa exhaled, wrapping an arm around her daughter, pulling her close. They sat in silence, bound by exhaustion, grief, and the unspoken promise of moving forward.

The distant whine of the Thunderhawk's engines spiraling to life pulled her back to the moment.

Elissa squeezed Tara's shoulder once before pushing herself to her feet. The others were watching, waiting. They needed certainty, not doubt. She straightened, forcing steel into her spine and swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Let's go."

Slowly, the survivors stirred, helping one another to their feet as they moved toward the ship. The Thunderhawk's passenger bay, once overcrowded and suffocating, now felt vast and empty. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, too few for what had once been a bustling settlement.

Her daughters moved through the cabin, checking restraints, offering quiet reassurances. Elissa stood at the ramp as it began to close, the engines kicking up a storm of sand, dust… and the dead.

Her braid whipped in the wind as she took one final look at what remained of her home.

Her fingers clenched at her sides. "I'm sorry," she whispered. The ashes of Dusthaven swirled in the ship's wake, the remnants of a life turned to ruin. She swallowed hard against the grief clawing at her throat. "We'll make this right. I swear it."

Taking a steadying breath, she turned and strapped herself in. The ship angled upward, breaching the sky, leaving Dusthaven behind.

-

As the Thunderhawk climbed through the upper layers of the atmosphere, it fell into formation with the Lighter, the looming forge-city of Anaxis growing larger in the distance. Beneath Elissa's boots, the ship's hull thrummed, turbulence rattling through the cabin like distant thunder.

Her gaze drifted across the bay, settling on Koron.

Even battered and bruised, his one unswollen eye found hers. He lifted a hand to give a tired wave before offering a thumbs-up.

She keyed her vox to a private channel, keeping her voice low. "How you doing?"

"I think I should be asking you that." His voice was rough, jagged, like glass ground over steel. "But I'm okay. Sasha filled me in. I'm sorry… I wasn't able to help."

A ghost of a smile flickered at the edge of her lips. "You were half-dead from stopping a reactor meltdown at the time."

A short laugh escaped him, only to collapse into a pained cough. He pressed a hand to his ribs, grimacing. "Yeah… would've looked bad on my work history if I let that happen."

The moment of levity passed too quickly, replaced by the crushing weight of reality.

"Hey." His voice was steady despite the pain. "I won't give you some empty platitude. But you were in an impossible situation. And people got out because of you."

Elissa's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled around the seat's harness as a flare of white-hot anger surged through her gut.

"It's also my fault they're dead." The words escaped on a breath, raw and unforgiving. "If I had—" Her throat tightened. "I should have done better. Left earlier. Gotten more out sooner."

"Maybe." His reply was maddeningly calm. "Or maybe the bastards would've attacked the moment we started moving. We don't know why they waited. Why they let us be as long as they did."

His gaze never wavered.

"Don't take the blame for something you couldn't have known."

Elissa inhaled sharply, held it, then let it go. "Koron, I appreciate it, but can we just not talk about this right now?"

Koron sighed, shifting against the bulkhead. "Sure thing, El." His voice was quiet—understanding, but unshaken. She turned away, eyes fixed on the floor, but the weight of his words lingered.

Silence settled between them, thick, but not oppressive. After a long pause, Elissa finally spoke, her voice quieter than before. "Speaking of Sasha—where was she? I thought she was running overwatch. How did the bastards manage to slip past her?"

"They hit her first," Koron said, his tone edged with something unreadable. "Tracked her somehow and hit her hard. From what she told me, she spent most of that fight locked in her own battle—and it wasn't easy."

A faint burst of static preceded Sasha's voice crackling over the vox. "I'm sorry, sugar. I ain't what I used to be. Today… made that painfully clear."

Elissa's frown deepened, unease curling in her stomach. "Not what you used to be? Sasha, what happened?"

Sasha hesitated for a fraction too long. "It's part of the story we owe you," she said at last. "I haven't forgotten. We'll explain everything once we have some time."

Elissa exhaled, frustration flickering across her face. "You mean like right now?"

A soft chuckle tinged Sasha's reply, but there was no humor in it. "Darlin', we're gonna need more than fifteen minutes to tell this story."

Elissa sighed, rubbing at her temples before glancing at her side. Kala's small hand rested in hers, the girl's breath slow and even as she slept, the steady roar of the Thunderhawk masking the sound of her soft snores. Elissa gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, giving herself a moment.

"All the same," she murmured, "thank you. You saved us."

Koron's voice came quiet but steady. "No," he corrected. "We saved each other. That's what matters."

-

Kade observed the familiar spectacle of survivors reuniting—grief-stricken embraces, the anguished cries of those who had lost loved ones. No matter the epoch or the species, the emotions of loss and mourning remained constant.

The Salamanders, as a Chapter, had long internalized this truth. Unlike many other Astartes, who had distanced themselves from the weight of mortality, they carried the burden of empathy as both a strength and a curse.

Nearby, the Interrogator conferred quietly with senior Magi, disentangling the bureaucratic complications that had arisen in their absence. Kade paid them little heed, his attention fixed on the vox as his battle-brothers relayed reports from the ongoing skirmishes against the xenos.

The Necrons had not deployed their full strength. Instead, they conducted a war of attrition—hit-and-run strikes, utilizing teleportation grids and Night Scythes to evade direct engagements. It was a strategy of patience, one designed to bleed their foes dry before striking decisively.

As Kade processed the reports, movement at the crowd's periphery caught his attention. The techmonger was returning, his stride uneven, a residual limp betraying his injuries. Despite the damage to his carapace armor, its craftsmanship remained apparent, the pale blue plating stark against the muted browns and grays of the gathered survivors.

Kade stepped forward, his heavy tread deliberate. Even among ordinary men, Koron was imposing. Yet compared to an Astartes, he was merely chest-high. The crimson glow of Kade's visor locked onto Koron's opaque helmet.

"Well met," Kade intoned. "I've heard much about you, Koron."

Koron paused before responding, his voice measured. "Well met, Marine. You have me at a disadvantage—what is your name?"

"Sergeant Vulkanis Kade." The greeting was perfunctory, bereft of warmth. "I will be direct. I have questions regarding the technology employed in the defense of your settlement—specifically, the field emitter and the lasrifles."

Kade had faced the great drakes of Nocturne. He knew this moment well—the quiet recognition between predator and prey, the sharpening of reality as violence loomed just beneath the surface. It was an exchange not of words, but of presence.

Predators did not always announce themselves. They did not roar or charge blindly. Instead, they waited—still, coiled, a force barely restrained. The absence of movement was, itself, the warning.

That same presence now settled over Koron.

He had not shifted, had not braced himself, had not exhibited even the subtlest signs of tension.

Yet Kade felt it.

Like the first trace of heat before an inferno, the breathless moment before a strike.

Something within Koron had switched on.

Not as an act of defense. Not as an act of aggression.

Simply complete, utter focus.

Kade's muscles tensed instinctively. His fingers curled, his breath slowed. This was the reaction to something inherently dangerous taking him seriously.

Koron's posture remained carefully neutral. That was the problem. The stillness was unnatural, deliberate.

Not hesitation. Not uncertainty.

Calculation.

The man was injured, weary, still bearing the weight of battle. But beneath that exterior, Kade sensed something tempered. Something cold.

A certainty lodged itself in Kade's gut.

Koron was not grasping for explanations.

He was not grasping at all.

He had already seized control of the conversation before it had begun.

And Kade was uncertain when that had happened.

But the Salamanders were known for many things—unyielding resolve foremost among them.

Kade exhaled slowly, centering himself. "The lasrifles used by your militia—where did you acquire them?"

Koron answered immediately, his tone smooth. "They were already in Dusthaven's armory when I arrived. I assumed Elissa sourced them through trade or salvage. The town has a long history—I doubt even she knows the origin of everything in its stockpile."

Beneath his helmet, Kade frowned. "And the field emitter? That was of Imperial origin?"

"As far as I know," Koron replied evenly. "I received the components from a Magos named Ferral-Ka when Doc and I first arrived to warn them of the Necron threat."

Kade's skepticism could have smothered a sun. "A Magos entrusted you with Necron-resistant field technology?"

Koron's expression remained concealed, his voice unwavering. "I was just as surprised as you are. But he seemed eager to observe its performance. I assumed it was an experimental design, and given the circumstances, I had no reason to refuse it."

Kade filed the name away for further scrutiny. "You identify as a techmonger, not a soldier. Where did you receive your training with the Mechanicus?"

Koron did not hesitate. "Here and there. I had mentors, but no formal education. Just learning what was necessary to survive."

Kade stepped forward, the sheer weight of his presence casting a shadow over Koron, dwarfing him further.

"What are you withholding?" Kade pressed.

Koron's opaque visor betrayed nothing.

"I apologize, Sergeant," he replied smoothly. "But I do not understand your meaning. Have I not answered every question posed to me?"

"You have." Kade let the words linger. "Precisely, in fact."

"Then if there is something further you wish to ask, I remain at your disposal."

A long pause.

"The men of your settlement claimed you modified their weaponry. Did you?"

"If by 'modified' you mean repaired them from near-useless to functional, then yes."

"And you made no other alterations?"

"Not in any meaningful way."

Silence stretched between them. Kade's instincts screamed that something was being omitted. Yet instinct alone was insufficient.

At last, he gave a slow nod. "Very well. Thank you for your time."

Koron inclined his head slightly. "Of course, Sergeant."

Kade turned on his heel, striding back toward the Interrogator. The conversation replayed itself in his mind, a puzzle demanding deconstruction.

He was no diplomat, no wordsmith.

But he was no fool either.

He would sift through the ashes of Koron's words.

Somewhere within them, the truth lay smoldering.

-

Doc's argent visor reflected the dim sunlight filtering through the thick pollution, casting an eerie glow beneath the sickly green Necron-infused clouds. She stood firm, arms crossed, her tone edged with steel. "Frankly, Magos, I don't particularly care if you consider them menials, low priority, or anything else. They are few enough in number to be no burden, and you have more pressing concerns than harassing me about my personnel."

"With all due respect, Interrogator, the Omnissiah's sacred works take precedence over the works of flesh," the Magos intoned. "The forge world's data-racks are of far greater importance and should be evacuated first."

Before Doc could respond with a scathing retort -one informing the Magos exactly where he could put his data-racks- a piercing alert chirped in her headset. The same signal echoed through Kade's comms and those of the surrounding tech-priests. A cold, mechanical voice followed, devoid of emotion:

Warning. Xenos spacecraft detected.

A ripple of disbelief coursed through the gathered crowd, their heads tilting skyward in unison. The air thickened, crackling with the weight of impending catastrophe.

Doc's pulse quickened as her visor adjusted to the blinding emerald glow above. A crescent-shaped hull loomed in the sky, sleek and predatory, slicing through the darkness like an executioner's blade, the long thin body protruding behind, while three fins extended from its center to form a perfect triangle.

She knew that silhouette all too well.

A Harvest Ship.

A vessel designed for a singular purpose—to strip entire worlds of life.

It took battlecruisers to bring down ships of that magnitude.

And the strongest Imperial vessel above them was only a battle-barge.

Doc didn't glance at Kade. She didn't dare take her eyes off the lances of jade energy ripping through the Imperial fleet, the sickly beams carving through void shields and armor alike. The Salamander ships bore the brunt of the assault, enduring as they always did—but even they could not last forever.

Slowly, deliberately, she removed her helmet. The silver helm slipped from her fingers as she sank onto a nearby crate, pressing her hands to her face.

The murmurs of the crowd escalated into frantic whispers, then half-shouted demands for answers.

A hand settled on her shoulder.

"Doc, what's wrong? What's happening?" Elissa's voice was steady, though Doc could hear the fear beneath it.

She couldn't bring herself to respond.

Kade did.

"A capital-class enemy ship. One my brothers above will not be able to defeat." His voice carried the weary weight of a man who had seen too many battles end in failure. "They will be forced to choose—die here or abandon us below. Captain Tavos will hold as long as possible, but once the outcome is certain, he will withdraw."

His armored helm turned toward Elissa, unreadable.

"We have an hour at most before he is forced to retreat. When he does, the city will burn in his wake, denying the xenos their prize."

Elissa's heart pounded. She swallowed, her throat dry. "Is… is there any chance we can still escape to them?"

A metallic voice rasped from behind her, its cadence like a saw grating against metal.

"Xenos fighter craft are swarming the fleet. Probability of successful docking with the Forge Tender is at… seven-point-three percent."

Elissa's stomach twisted. She turned, scanning the faces around her, desperate for an alternative.

"So that's it? Nothing we can do? Won't we even try? Seven percent isn't zero—we can still make it!"

Kade studied her for a long moment before inclining his head.

"Your resolve… is worthy of a Salamander." He reached up, removing his helmet. "If you truly wish to make the attempt, I will carry you and your people."

Before Elissa could respond, a sharp crack rang out—metal against metal.

Her head snapped toward the sound.

It came from the nearby shipping containers. A dull, echoing boom followed. Then another.

She rounded the corner alongside Kade—

And froze.

Koron stood rigid before the battered plating, his fists hammering into the dented metal with relentless force. Each strike sent a dull reverberation through the air, his breathing ragged, uneven. Every exhale carried the weight of something unspoken, something festering just beneath the surface. His movements, erratic and uncoordinated, bore no resemblance to the deliberate, calculated precision Elissa had come to expect from him. The space around him felt charged, as if the very air held its breath, waiting for him to shatter.

Another strike. Another. The steel bore the evidence of his fury—deep indentations where knuckles met metal.

"Koron!" Elissa's voice sliced through the thick silence. "What's wrong?"

He froze mid-motion, shoulders rising and falling in heavy, uneven bursts. His fists remained pressed against the plating, fingers curled inward as though bracing for something unseen.

His helmet turned toward her, the visor dark, unreadable.

"Nothing," he rasped.

A feeble, transparent lie.

Elissa took a step closer, but he remained rooted in place, his grip tightening against the plating. She could see the tremor in his fingers, the way his shoulders locked as though he were holding himself together through sheer force of will. He inhaled sharply, but the breath stuttered—fraying at the edges before exhaling in a slow, unsteady release.

"Just—"

A new voice cut through the moment, sharp as broken glass.

"Sugar, if you don't tell them, I will."

Koron stiffened, his entire frame going rigid.

"Sasha—"

"No, darlin'." Sasha's voice was firm, almost gentle, but it brooked no argument. "We don't have a choice anymore. We got maybe forty minutes before that bastard rips those ships outta the black."

She let the words settle, heavy and inescapable.

"And you know what we need to do."

Koron's breath hitched. His fists clenched so tightly the servos let out a strained whine.

"We don't even know if it still works!" His voice was raw, unraveling at the edges. "The damage is spread across every system!"

Sasha didn't flinch.

"Then what's your plan? A seven percent chance? You wanna gamble everything on that bitch rolling the dice in our favor?"

Silence stretched between them.

Then, softer now:

"We need to deal with the capital ship, sugar. And she's our best shot."

Koron trembled.

He stood there, motionless, suspended in the weight of an impossible decision—

Then, suddenly—

His fist struck the container once more, but the force was gone.

"I can't—" The words caught in his throat. His shoulders tensed, his breath shuddering. "I won't go back into that ship."

His voice broke.

The rage bled from him, draining away like water slipping through fractured steel.

Slumping against the wall, his shoulders quaking. His fingers dug into the metal floor, as though clinging to something just out of reach.

Then—

A whisper.

"Please…"

One word.

Small.

Fractured.

Human.

It twisted in Elissa's chest, sharp, cruel.

Kade stepped forward, lips parting.

She placed a hand on his arm, met his gaze, and shook her head. A silent plea.

Kade hesitated, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to step in. But after a long moment, he relented. With a slow nod, he stepped back, his armored boots making a soft, deliberate retreat. The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance.

Elissa turned back to Koron.

She had no words.

How could she?

How could she reach someone unraveling before her, someone being swallowed by a weight she couldn't see but could feel in every ragged breath he took?

And then—

It was so simple.

She almost laughed at herself for not realizing it sooner.

She stepped forward.

Took his hands in hers—cool metal against warm skin. The contrast sent a shiver up her spine.

Her thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over the plating, a gentle touch.

"Koron?" she murmured.

No response.

She squeezed his fingers, just slightly.

"Stand up," she said softly. "I want to show you something."

For a long moment, he didn't move.

Then, slowly, hesitantly—

He let her pull him upright.

His hands trembled.

She reached up, unlatched his helmet, and let it drop. The dull thud as it met the ground felt final, like shedding a weight he'd carried for too long.

She cupped his face in her hands.

And pulled him into a hug.

The contrast was almost absurd. Koron had to bend nearly in half to meet Elissa's embrace, his body initially rigid, unyielding, caught in the last grips of whatever war raged inside him.

Then—

The tension ebbed, like a breath he had been holding finally exhaled.

His hands hovered, fingers twitching as if resisting—then, with slow inevitability, they wrapped around her.

He held on.

Just held on.

A voice broke the moment.

"Sasha said you needed—oh!"

Kala.

She and Tara rounded the corner, their eyes wide with surprise.

They didn't hesitate.

They rushed forward, their arms wrapping around both of them, pressing their warmth into Koron's side. The impact forced a breath from him—shaky, uneven. His arms instinctively tightened, pulling them closer.

A slow, shuddering breath escaped him.

A small, wry smile flickered at the corner of his lips.

"You're not playin' fair, Sasha," he mumbled, half his face buried in Elissa's hair.

A warm chuckle crackled through the vox.

"Never do, sugar."

Elissa exhaled and stepped back, her hands lingering just a moment longer before she let go. She bent down, retrieving his helmet, and held it out to him.

"Feel better?"

Koron didn't answer immediately.

His gaze flicked to the twins still holding onto him. Their faces were streaked with ash, their eyes dark with exhaustion.

But warmth remained.

Life remained.

He took the helmet from Elissa's hands and nodded.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Just… needed a reminder."

Tara pulled away first, gently guiding Kala back with her. "A reminder of what?"

Koron turned the helmet over in his hands, his fingers running over its worn edges, tracing something unseen.

Then, with a sharp click, he locked it back into place.

When he spoke again, his voice was steady.

"That the living come before the dead."

Kala hesitated. "What does that mean?"

Koron lifted his gaze to the sky.

To the massive, obsidian crescent looming above.

To the ship that would bring silence to this world.

"It means we're going to kill that ship."