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!"

 

[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 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.

 

[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 whispered in its vox.

"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.