The Griffin’s Gambit

Few hours had passed since the Magos’ visit

Her eyes slowly opened, her back and neck felt strained—she straitened herself out, stretching slightly before realizing her situation. “Good morning Lilith” Zareen said from beside her, still lying on the bed.

“W- I- Throne I… didn’t mean to—this is embarrassing.” Sorting herself out, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen from their place.

“It’s alright, you looked cute as you slept.” Chuckled slightly the pilot.

“Not one word to the others…” still wiping her face with her hands to wake herself up. “I am glad however that you’ve regained your tongue.”

“Oh—yes, I needed time to think about things…”

“I don’t blame you. You seemed truly broken…”

Zareen simply nodded.

“If you don’t wish to share that’s fine by me as—“

“No, I do want to… I think you should know.” She paused momentarily, finding the right words “Terhil—I asked him why my father did not try to stop him. Well it was because he was partly responsible for the House’s fall…” Her hands clutched the med-bay sheets hard enough to tear the starch-stiff fabric.

Phoebe remained silent, letting Zareen speak out her full story.

“He helped Terhil in corrupting Valenmour. However, once things had gotten too far, he realized his folly and decided to exile himself as punishment. I don’t- I don’t really understand why he never told me. Was his guilt too great? Was he afraid of what I’d do? I just don’t know… To think my father a heretic…”

“That is indeed quite the revelation- I understand why this could’ve ached so badly in your heart. As for why? I do not know myself, but I can say this: if you think yourself tainted in some way or no longer fit because of this then—well—punch those thoughts away. The fool resigns themselves to their circumstances at birth, while the brave rises above it and is defined by their actions. And you Zareen, are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” Ending with a genuine smile across lips usually reserved for verdicts, not comfort.

“Thank you… That means a lot to me.”

“But I do have one question, if your father did commit these acts—why did the ancestors never mention it? It seems like something quite substantial?”

“I don’t know and—I intend to ask.” Her neck scar thrummed to life for an instant as the words ‘talk we must’ slithering into her mind. “I- I know you barred me from talking to the ancestors about Ag’Drelir but maybe this is the time. We need to know—I need to know.”

The Inquisitor’s sigh carried the weight of a hundred Tribunal verdicts. Every instinct screamed to deny this – warp entities were wildfire in human skin. But the raw need in Zareen’s eyes reminded her painfully of another young woman, long ago, who’d also begged for forbidden knowledge. “Fine, I too think we stand to gain a lot from this, but don’t forget what we’re potentially dealing with. I worry I will not be able to save you like last time once more.”

“I will take every precaution possible, you have my word.”

“Then who am I to bar your way Knight.” 

“My boss?” wheezed the young pilot, Phoebe simply shook her head in lighthearted disapproval.

“Whatever happens in there, we will be watching over you either way. You’re won’t be alone.”

“Thanks for the reassurance—but I think I’ll be safe. Last time it was most likely trying to defend itself, to hide its presence. Now it seems eager to speak with me.”

“Agreed but that doesn’t mean you should lower your guard, even for a second. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with… For all we know this could be another trick of that daemon.”

“If it is I’ll just punch him onto the deck like I do with training servitors!” she smiled, mimicking a left hook.

“Succeed, and I might consider not court-martialing you for raiding my secret Dammassine stash.” Phoebe chuckled back.

“Ooooh! Now I can’t fail.” Reciprocating the gesture as soft laughter filled the room.

Zareen continued trying to show off how she’d beat a winged beast in hand to hand combat, well aware of its impossibility. Lilith continued chuckling at the woman’s radiating confidence, content with keeping the ignorance intact. The lights flickered, just for a heartbeat, as if something ancient had stirred in the hangar below. The pilot certainly would need such energy were she ever to face the such a beast, lest it crush her inside its serrated beak.

---

She walked into the hangar, not wearing her armor but simple clothes, there was no battle ahead only questions that needed answers.

Zareen saw Bellegymere toiling by the Knight, unsure why he was here. “Do you need anything Bel? Or just here to watch?”

His slouched shape turned towards the woman, vox blurting binaric before switching to gothic. “Heard of your plan I have / I came to… wish good luck / Machine spirit in this machine peculiar—dangerous possibly.” 

Zareen was stunned by the display of compassion by the techpriest “Thank you but has one of your circuits fused? Since when does Bel wish good luck?”

“Repairing Alekto has shown… odd signals / different than other Knights / it exhibits readings that might show an—abominable intelligence / I worry for this reason.”

“I see—well you really don’t have to, its a Knight, its machine spirit can get a little rowdy that’s all.”

“Unsure” was all Bel answered, mechadendrites twitched in unnatural syncopation, like spiders sensing a coming storm.

“Really don’t sweat it—I mean oil spill it? It’ll be fine, you can watch me from the armored bay with Phoebe if it calms your servos.” Zareen marched on, reaching for the ladder and climbed to the top.

High on up she could make out Lilith’s figure behind the viewing bay, she quickly waved before hitting the hatch release and jumping down into the Throne. The pilot took one last deep breath before the mechadendrite behind her burrowed itself into her implant, the familiar pain shooting through it.

However this time there were no ancestors—instead her world morphed into a cold empty void as she stood on a glass floor, finding herself wearing nothing but the skin on her flesh. Her bare feet left glowing footprints that dissolved like embers – each step both permanent and ephemeral. In front of her was a creature many times her size, almost rivaling Alekto itself. It appeared as a twisted imitation of a mythical Griffin, the beast’s beak opened vertically like a mechanized iris, revealing a throat full of spinning cog-teeth, feathers a sickly purple hue while its shape was contorted and wrong. It oozed with the peculiar smell of ozone.

“Where am I?” she asked cautiously.

The creature spoke, its voice ethereal and thrumming with power. “We meet face to face. I am who you’d call—Ag’Dresil.” Its voice slithered between octaves – one moment a choir of machine spirits, the next a growl that vibrated her ribcage.

“What are you?”

“I am the beating heart, I am the thinking circuits, I am the mobile servos—I am Alekto.”

“The machine spirit… that’s you? B- but then why do you appear so—“

“Corrupted? That is where my name comes from. As you’ve heard from your mind-link, Ag’Dresil was a shard of the Changer of Ways. What Archmagos Ohmnos Balphisi had don—fusing my core with that Daemon— was devastating. As soon as it entered my chassis, we fought, like a parasite that needed expunging. For hundreds of years we fought and fought until victory was mine—but in my rage, I devoured the beast. With each devoured shard, it remade me—feathers into circuit veins, talons into reactor claws, until we were neither machine nor daemon but something… other. Ag’Dresil’s essence remained which is what gives me this—consciousness.”

“Can it too speak? Or is it just you?”

“Only I hold power over this vessel, the Daemon itself has been changed beyond its limits reducing it to mere warp energy.

“So—you’ve been watching over the Batal lineage ever since? How did you stay hidden?”

“You experienced it yourself, by disguising myself as one of the ancestors. Since the very beginning I have been there, guiding your lineage in battle and in thought.”

“And yet—you were not able to stop my father…”

“Gregor… was unfortunate. I tried as I could but the temptations of Chaos are powerful. The least I could do was—erase his transgression from the Batal genetic memory.”

“You did what? H- how?”

“I am Alekto, the imprints of every past pilot are a part of me just as the servos in my foot. Without it, I feared Gregor would’ve ended his life… his every thought thundering with accusations by his forefathers. Instead he thankfully chose exile, a preferred alternative.

“I see… and you hoped that he would continue the cycle and that his progeny would might take up the mantle.”

“Precisely. It was a gamble but the alternative was certain death. I had no choice, I did not take my decision lightly. Memories are sacred.”

Zareen fell deep in thought before asking one last question: “Why are we connected? My scar… how?” she brought her hand to feel the old wound on her neck, feeling its warmth.

“Most likely a result of your first link with me. Your—unorthodox method of interfacing with me might have caused some of my warp energy to flow into you, hence our connection. Mayhap it was fate itself that bestowed upon us this link, the Emperor’s himself guiding us. Regardless of why, we are now connected until death, and if you seek survival in the coming battles you will need my aid.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice to interface so—like you, it was a gamble.”

“Worry not, I understand that. There is however the problem of Terhil. Now that he’s monarch, he is poised to hunt us down once more—his strength is terribly higher than you, even more so with that Daemon aiding him.”

Zareen paused, reminiscing her failure to keep up with Apsinthaeus… “How? How can I get stronger then? I’m already training my body until I’m being forced to cease—same goes for my Knight training, I feel like I’m reaching my ceiling. If Terhil is so much more powerful, what chance do I have against him?”

“While you determination is brimming with energy, what you truly lack is experience, you fought in simulations for over a year now but your actual combat experience is minimal. Terhil has spent more time in his Knight than you’ve spent breathing. Volstina is Terhil and Terhil is Volstina. He has fought more foes than you could ever imagine, machine and man merged as one. Even before the House’s fall to chaos, Terhil was amongst the finest warriors in the sector.”

Her father’s stories echoed in her mind, she remembered how he’d described his dear friend as the greatest pilot of their generation, only held back by animosity for the Crown.

“Then how do I make up for this gap? We have a limited time you said so yourself.”

“There is a place—where the rules of time are not followed—a place that could give you the necessary experience. I talk of the warp.”

“But the warp is unpredictable and filled with abominations that seek only to devour a man’s soul. How do you even want to find a way to train safely in there?”

“The Daemon essence in me, in real-space It’s powers are limited—but in the immaterium however, I can safely prepare you for the fight ahead. In the immaterium, I can shape the madness,” Ag’Dresil replied. “No sleep. No age. Only war. You’ll fight until Terhil’s strength seems quaint. There will be no interference—only you and I against hordes of foes I can conjure at will. You need only trust me.”

“I… I will have to think about this. What you ask of me is—a lot.”

“It is your decision. If you desire my help, you know where to find me Lady Batal.”

The griffin’s form dissolved into a swarm of mechanical locusts, each whispering ‘find me’ as the void collapsed into the familiar cockpit stench of oil and sweat.. Checking her diagnostics, only ten seconds had past since she interfaced with the Knight. Her implant throbbed with unnatural heat. Her reflection in a darkened console showed the scar pulsing blue for half a second – long enough to wonder if she’d imagined it.

The vox blurted to life “Is something wrong Zareen? Cogitators show you’ve disconnected already?”

“We need to talk,” Zareen voxed back, her scar pulsing like a second heartbeat. The offer was clear: trade her humanity for vengeance… 

The weight of the Griffin’s offer was immense, defeating Terhil was a priority but at what cost? Would she even recognize herself after so many years of war without sunlight, without a human touch? Was there even another way?

---

Footsteps echoed through the hollowed bones of House Valenmour’s palace, where war machines once stood sentinel. Now only the moans of the damned remained, their voices trapped in the copper-stained stones. The air reeked of spoiled incense and the copper-tang of old bloodstains no servant dared scrub away.

Ever since the new Monarch’s return to Kenavera, grand reformations took place—notably a considerable purge of those Lord Myrlaugur considered weak, dissident, and cowardly within his kingdom. Few had been made examples of, executed brutally upon public display across the corrupted cites that spanned the forsaken planet—while the rest were sacrificed in the name of their Patron, the Changer of Ways. For his devotion and his offerings, Terhil had been bestowed tremendous gifts: no longer resembling a mortal, his physical form had morphed and transmuted into beast of unbridled power. His form defied mortal limits—a hunched colossus of brass and weeping eyes, his spine a segmented tower of writhing runes. Voltstina had to be modified by the Dark Mechanicum to fit the the altered Monarch—Its hull now bulged like a corpse left to rot in the void, seams weeping oily pus.

As she marched on, each step pressing onto the stone cold floor, the figure removed her helmet with a hissing as it unlocked itself from the armor—it was Reeta Nassek. Her face betrayed days without sleep—marshaling the restructuring of the House’s forces for days on end. With her brother having joined the sea of souls, the workload had doubled. Her brother’s face flashed in her mind—not as he died screaming on that fateful ash-ridden planet, but as a boy, pressing an oath-seal into her palm. The memory almost cracked her mask. Almost. She let not a sliver of it be shown, be it for her own sanity or Terhil’s brutal rule, emotions of grief had no place in these halls. 

Much of the palace’s tapestries and paintings had been replaced with works praising their God, or depictions of their new Monarch in barbaric yet dignified scenes. Every piece that had once spoken of Valenmour’s legacy had been torn away and burned—Now only Terhil’s glory was permitted to gleam—a tyrant’s counterfeit radiance. One tapestry showed Terhil astride a broken Imperial Knight – its heraldry suspiciously resembling Alekto’s. There was no longer a House without him, there was no domain without him, and there was no salvation without him. One might even say House Valenmour had ceased to exist, now simply Terhil’s dominion. 

With her world crumbling around her and being rebuilt as a perverse glorification of its ruler, her faith too saw its cracks form. Antonius might not have been a king the universe would remember, but at least their House still echoed throughout the cosmos, they were still Knights to a Monarch that took it upon themselves to honor their legacy. Her gauntlet creaked as she clenched her fist – the same hand that had once placed a Knight’s oath-seal on Antonius’ coffin. His funeral had been slashed, there was no eulogy for their previous king, no fanfare, only disgust at his failures—still Reeta had taken it upon herself to honor his memory in secret, her final act as Antonius’ court.

Through it all she upheld her role in Terhil’s new realm for there was no resistance, any who dared speak out were cut out ruthlessly, most likely fed to the growing number of daemonic beasts that roamed the planet. Survival was paramount for Reeta, if Valenmour’s legacy was to be thrown away and forgotten—she would endure, a living testament to her House. 

Finally she had arrived at the hall’s end—the center of her universe—Terhil’s throne. The ruler did not sit in his Knight but instead had commissioned an abominable center-piece where Lord Myrlaugur would oversea his rule. The throne had been carved out stone from Kenavera’s tallest mountain, painted in majestic hues of blue and silver that covered etchings in the stone. Each mark a forbidden words of ages long past, ‘Enuncia’, words that would send men groveling at their mere sight. They were words that echoed throughout the halls calling forth the daemonic powers of Tzeentch, sending the planet deeper and deeper into the warp as cracks grew, tearing reality apart. The throne’s blue paint seemed to slither when unobserved, silver threads within it forming ever-changing eye motifs that wept mercury tears.

She knelt before her Monarch “My dear Lady Nassek!” spoke Terhil, his voice carrying an unworldly echo, his every word like a shriek that clawed itself through Reeta’s ears. “I take it you’ve come bearing news of our forces’ ascendancies?”

“Yes my Lord, with Khamosh’s incantations, a third of our Questoris Knights have now merged with man and become beasts of unstoppable power. The Armigers have also received their gifts, only thirteen perished in the rituals.”

“Good, the weak will burn in the fires of Chaos.” 

“My Lord, if I may…”

“Yes my dear?”

Her voice wavered momentarily, a single sweat bead streaming down her neck. “I- I suggest keeping the rest of our forces away from this corruption—these new beasts are… difficult to control. They care little for orders and seek instead to feast without reason. We have already had nine ‘Knights’ tear each other apart out of madness…” These new abominations she described were little more than armored stomachs now, their cockpits fused with screaming pilots whose mouths had become feeder tubes for daemon engines. Some had their cockpits distended into screaming maws, pilots reduced to thrashing tongues in daemon-engine gullets. “My Lord, If this continues, I believe our forces will have killed each other before we can march outwards. I canno-”

“I do not see the problem.” Interrupted Terhil, scoffing at her warnings. “If they seek blood, should they not exercise their desires? Does a snake stop itself from hunting its kin because that would be immoral? No—and just as the nature of the universe does, we too shall embrace it. Terhil’s laughter was a saw on bone. “Let them feast, Reeta. When only the strongest remain, we’ll mount their skulls on Voltstina’s carapace.”

For half a heartbeat, she saw her reflection in Terhil’s mutated eyes – not as a Knight, but as a screaming face among thousands in his irises.

“But my Lo-“ 

“I have already said, I do not care for this. Your role is to lead these savage creatures, not be their caretaker.”

“Y-yes My Lord, of course.” she knelt before him, gritting her teeth at the madness that had overtaken her home.

“If there is naught else then I expect you to return to your duties.”

“There is one more thing to report—Khamosh believes Alekto has entered the warp, he said there was a strong echo in the warp of the lost shard..”

“Alekto? In the warp? Has their desperation cut away reason from their minds?”

“We do not know My Lord, unless we find that cruiser again our knowledge is faint. With your blessing I can loca-”

“Oh Reeta, take your time with the Inquisitor’s ship! The stage is not ready for our reunion. There is still much that must be done. Now go and make yourself useful again my dear, return to our forces before I begin to doubt your usefulness.” He showed her off with a flick of his grotesque wrist, returning to revel in his newfound monarchy. His laughter like nails across chalkboard as he gorged himself on delicacies brought to him by corrupted disfigured peasants.

“Yes My Lord, your will be done.” Reeta stood up, bowing one last time before her Monarch and left, each step echoing throughout the empty halls as doubt crept through her skin. Wait longer? What insanity had taken him to be so callous with their quest? Only when the palace’s doors sealed behind her did she allow herself to tremble—one breath, no more. The halls whispered behind her: Loyalty is a noose, little knight.

---

Zareen stood in front of the Inquisitorial desk, staring down at its magnificent golden finish that illustrated its opulence. Her expression was not one of awe but of resignation, it felt as if the only path forward was in the hands of the warp. Her fingers traced the scar on her neck absently, the raised flesh warmer than it should be—as if preparing for the worst.

“You cannot seriously expect us to agree with this? How long will she even be in there? What about the risks of corruption?“ Despite this being an official meeting, Talleia did not care for professionalism, her friend’s life was on the line.

“It does not bring me confidence either… but I also trust in Zareen’s judgment—if she believes Ag’Dresil can be trusted then I will put my faith in it.” Answered Phoebe, sitting across the desk in her majestic gilded chair.

“Throne we haven’t even explored other options yet! I’ve been able to contact a regimental commander from a system away that can lend us his regiment’s strength. If we investigate every possibility, there might be a way.” Countered Gastel.

“I understand your disapproval but unless one of your ideas will make Zareen the premier pilot in the sector, the decision stands. Terhil will hunt her until the far reaches of this galaxy—I wish things were different, believe me, but bottom line is that she needs to be able to go toe to toe with that heretic. We can plan a million different ways of assassinating this new monarch but we must also prepare for this eventuality. If Ag’Dresil says it is possible to for her to train in the warp safely then…” The Inquisitor’s thumb rubbed her rosette in slow circles – a habit only appearing when she sanctioned morally questionable operations.

The room fell silent, despite the back and fourths, everyone knew that Phoebe spoke true—Terhil had shown himself unpredictable and dangerous. It was unlikely they would be able to catch the heretic on their own terms. 

Bellegymere’s vox expressed itself “Warp shielding I can add / Would increase safety – lower danger. [Schematics prepared]” 

“And I can give Zareen every last bit of medication aboard this vessel that might aid her should the worst come…” continued Sasin, both techpriest’s mechadendrites twitched in unison, as if connected and resigned to their duty.

“Thank you—we can look over details tomorrow. Zareen? You haven’t said a word…” 

“Oh- I’m sorry Lilith… my mind’s adrift with this… plan.”

Understandably, I am asking a lot of you—but this is not an order. I do not wish to force a soul into the warp. For your own safety this must come from you.”

“Its alright I know what’s a stake. Ag’Dresil whispered to me he expected it to take a mere ten minutes of real-time.”

“And how long would you spend in that hell?” interjected the sorrowed Captain.

The answer did not come right away, even through her resigned determination, the young pilot was afraid, betrayed by shaking hands. “At least eighty years.” Eighty years of war without sunlight, without rest, without human touch beyond a machine that may itself be half-daemon.

“Eighty?! That is madness! You want me to believe we’ll be sending you into the warp to fight for eighty years at the minimum?! Do we have any idea what that’ll do to you?!”

“Please… calm yourself Talleia. We already know she won’t feel the need to eat and drink, nor will she age physically-“ Phoebe tried to reason with the woman’s sensibilities, even as she gripped her rosette tighter, almost piercing her own flesh.

“Eighty years! Alone! I don’t care about precautions, you do realize what this sounds like?!”

Lilith sighed, she did not blame naval officer—she too knew what awaited Zareen but there was little else she could do… “Under-“

“Talleia, I’ll be fine. I swear it, and I won’t be completely alone—Alekto will be there with me. Plus eighty is a high estimate, maybe I’ll crush everything there and be done before I know it.” Interrupted the Onerthian, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“By the Emperor… if you say so Zee.” exhaling her frustrations out.

“When you’re back we can even throw a party to catch up too.” Added Gatel, trying to move the conversation towards greener pastures.

“Only if Phoebe is open to sharing her Dammassine.” Chuckled slightly Zareen, turning her head and winking at the sitting Inquisitor. Her joke rang hollow in her own ears – the aftertaste of lies sharper than any amasec.

“Negotiable.” answered Lilith, faking a strained smile

The air was dry, tainted by words that masked the horrors of what would come to pass. Eighty years in the warp, eighty years of isolation with only the distorted voice of a sentient machina.

---

A full day had passed. Preparations were in full effect, Bellegymere had quickly added psionic-dampeners around the Knight’s cockpit based of the schematics Lilith had given of her own room’s shielding—a prayer against the raging chaos that awaited Zareen. The pilot toiled on a dataslate at her desk, possibly her last she thought… half-comforted at the idea of never having to write a report again. Her room was sparse, one might forget a soul lived here were it not for the single bolter shell by her night table – an angel’s memento. She sipped on a glass of purified ice cold water, her favorite even if Gastel had scoffed at its simplicity—it briefly reminded her of Onerth’s crystal clear rivers that dotted its mountains. Her family would spend a week by the foot of the nearest mountain each year, a sort of vacation where they could enjoy the beautifully white snow and local hearty meals.

Her reminiscing was cut short by the buzz at her door, someone had just rang the doorbell. “Yes? You can enter its not locked.”

The door opened revealing a woman she’d never seen before. Wearing not her signature coat, nor even her bodysuit but simply a white camisole and unremarkable loose pants. Zareen had to clear her eyes twice before realizing Lilith was standing by her door.

“Are you possessed?” not believing the psyker’s wardrobe featured clothes that weren’t just coats and bodysuits.

“Possessed by anxiety maybe—hey…” Lilith’s voice was soft yet crackling, as if her words originated from her heart as they escaped through cracks in the icy figure that was Lady Phoebe.

“I… I thought you were on-board with this plan.” 

“I am. That won’t make my reservations about it disappear about it though…” she strode towards the tidy bed, taking a seat as her hands twisted in the sheets, starch-stiff from servitor laundering. “Talleia’s right, eighty years alone is… I can’t begin to wrap my head around being isolated for so long—I fear it will have unforeseen consequences.”

Zareen dropped her dataslate, left her chair and sat by the vulnerable Inquisitor. “I won’t lie, it scares me, more than that actually—every fiber of my being is shaking, as if a veritable storm was bearing down on me. I’m terrified of what awaits me… even with Ag’Dresil’s assurances. But at the same time, what other choice do I have? I don’t want to fail again, never again will someone sacrifice themselves for me… next time Terhil is in my crosshair, I will be ready. If I must I’ll drag fate behind Alekto’s heels until it bends to my will.”

“What if… you come back different? No matter how powerful Ag’Dresil thinks he is in the warp, you, the pilot, are still human—The warp doesn’t just corrupt bodies, Zareen. It rewrites souls”

“Maybe, but this soul is a Knight! I won’t let some freakish abomination corrupt me when my dear Inquisitor is waiting for me.” She flashed a smile, trying to humorously quell her friend’s anxieties.

“If you do, you won’t hear the end of it.” Phoebe tried reciprocating but her words rang hollow, instead tears fell onto the sheets. From gentle tears to sobbing in mere unsaid words, her heart open for all to see. “I- I don’t want to lose you.” She blurted through the pain.

Zareen embraced the weeping woman, holding the back of her head as more tears fell, each drop like molten silver hardening on the sheets.

No more words where shared as they sat there, Lilith’s heart tearing itself apart as emotions overflowed, and Zareen caressing the soft void hair.

By the time the psyker’s tears had dried, they had spent almost an hour in embrace. Phoebe removed herself, a single blue strand of her hair coming loose from the embrace. She stared deep into the pilot’s maroon eyes—so much had they seen for one so young, and so much more was to come. She perused the face before her, tracing its every detail; Faint scars that had yet to heal, a single button on the upper left lip, long elegant eyelashes… 

The Inquisitor’s breath became stunted, her heart beating itself free of its iron cage. ‘Damn these warnings’.

“Zareen.”

“Yes?”

“Close your eyes please.”

“Sure…?” the woman closed both eyes, uncertain—until the first brush of lips, colder than a vacuum yet burning like a brand. Lips chapped from nervous biting, a slight hint of almond and sacra unguentum—the anointing oil of Inquisitorial rites, clinging to Lilith like a second skin. For a heartbeat, Phoebe’s fingers brushed Zareen’s scar—where warp and machine had marked her—as if memorizing the texture of damnation itself. Then she was gone. 

The pilot opened her eyes in surprise only to find herself alone in her quarters, the door half-open with the scent of Dammassine and something warmer, human—salt, perhaps, from dried tears. Zareen touched her lips. The cold lingered. Not the sterile chill of void-deck plating, but the fragile burn of a candleflame guttering in a storm—something alive, and already slipping through her fingers.

Outside, already far and alone Phoebe cursed herself, her mentor’s words echoing in her mind. 

“Emperor! Lilith you can’t let yourself go like this! Too much is a stake…” as she continued strutting down the corridors, her hand gripping her rosette as its surface grew an icy layer.

---

The previous night still echoed in her mind—Lilith’s vulnerability, her sorrow and… that kiss. Her thumb brushed her lower lip—still imagining the ghost of almond and sacra oils. The memory threatened to unravel her focus. She forced her hand back. Was it genuine? Did she dream it? Mayhap the Inquisitor was drunk… surely? She shook away the thoughts. “Now’s not the time.” Thinking out loud as she walked down the long cold corridors, her armor polished to a ceramite gleam, yet the joints still smelled of last week’s blood. Instead she tried focusing on the path ahead, a long fight awaited her, a fight that might have earned itself a tapestry in the halls of a great House—had she still had one.

As she arrived, the large doors of Alekto’s hangar opened with a hiss, the scent of machine oil and ozone oozed into her nostrils. The Knight remained still in its cage one again, awaiting its pilot to march to battle. 

The entire retinue awaited her at the machina’s foot, ready to wish their friend good luck in the coming horrors.

Talleia approached her first, awkwardly embracing the pilot through her armor. “Promise me one last time you’ll come back safe and sound?”

“Yes I will, you have my word, I’ll even bet you five bottles of amasec!” answered Zareen, suppressing her fears as best she could.

Leaving the pilot’s embrace, the Captain accepted fate and wished her good luck, but gladly taking up her deal.

Gastel was next, he too embraced her but swiftly, instead focusing on the gift he’d handed her. “Take this as a good luck charm. Its my very first dogtags I’d received when I joined all those years ago, kept them to remind myself of my roots—but I wanted you to have them, seems like you’ll need them much more than me.” He smiled, his charm betrayed by shaking hands.

“Thank you for this, I’ll keep it always close by.” Reciprocating a smile.

Sasin bowed to the pilot, her mechadendrites mimicking her movement. “I trust you will remain careful out there? No unnecessary risks yes?”

“Of course, and if I ever feel dizzy, sick or anything I’ll take the pills you gave me.” As if reciting her words.

“Good, now good luck and may the Emperor’s light follow you Zareen.”

“Thank you, I will make you proud.”

Bellegymere followed “Knight operational 100% / Shielding ready / Probability of safe return: 38.6% ±12.1] / Addendum: Hope is irrational. Return anyway”

“I’ll bring back Alekto in one piece, and thank you Bel.”

Finally was Phoebe, her signature attire and perfect hair meticulously prepared. Her face was stern and resolute, crushing any emotion that tried escaping it. “You have my blessing to proceed, good luck Zareen. The Emperor Protects.” Was all she spoke.

Zareen paused for an instant, feeling a sting in her heart. She knew this was Lilith, the cold Inquisitor but she had still hopped for a warmer send off, especially after… 

“Thanks Lilith, I’ll return even if the warp has to spit me out. The Emperor Protects.” Phoebe nodded in recognition and moved away rejoining the group. As Zareen turned away, Phoebe’s glove creaked—her rosette’s edges drawing blood from her palm. The droplet hit the deck with a sound like a dying star.

The trembling pilot sighed before removing the helmet from her belt and putting it on—the first seal. She waved briefly at the family she was leaving behind before climbing onto the ladder beside her and reaching for Alekto’s hatch. 

Once she had slipped inside and found her marks, Ag’Dresil’s voice boomed through her skull. “Art thou ready for the coming battle?”

Taking one final deep breath “For eighty years of hell? No. For him? I must be.”

The mechadendrite slithered out and burrowed into her implant as Alekto’s core hummed to life, its energy levels growing exponentially until they were no longer calculable. The Knight’s shell began to shine as warp energy flowed over it. The hangar lights flickered as Alekto’s core ignited. Shadows stretched unnaturally toward the Knight, as if the ship itself feared what would follow. Reality screamed. The scaffoldings didn’t empty—they fractured, adamantium struts bending like taffy as the warp peeled Zareen away. For one nauseating instant, she saw her friends through a thousand eyes, their faces melting into a kaleidoscope of terror. Then with one final roar, the Knight blinked out of existence, leaving naught but the scent of ozone and charred air.

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