Shadows in the Sand (Warhammer 40k, story)

[Talon88.1]

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!"