Like Moths to a Lantern

As soon as her alarm came to life, she jumped out of bed, got herself ready and
immediately walked out to her destination, her pace almost turning into a run.

“Finally!” She spoke out-loud in the empty corridors, a smile across her face. Today was
the day. Her first deployment, her first mission.

Fourteen Hours Earlier:

“This is Palantina, civilized world of the Urualio System, home to approximately 16 Billion,
and an important hub for interstellar trade in this corner of the sector.” Phoebe spoke
carefully and clearly as she walked beside the holographic display. “54 cycles ago
Inquisitor Iral of Ordo Xenos was sent to investigate what appeared to be an emergence in
Necron activity, his suspicions were conirmed as the presence of massive xeno tombs
were uncovered, all appearing to be in various stages of reawakening.”

Necrons? Zareen shuddered at the thought of those mechanical horrors, she had read
reports of how their weaponry would tear a man’s very molecules apart—to think of the
damage those could inlict on her Knight.

“Nine cycles ago all contact with Inquisitor Iral was lost—later conirmed was his death.
His inal report details how the entire Necron dynasty under the soil of Palantina is exiting
their slumber. Due to a lack of any other Ordo Xenos Inquisitors in the immediate area, I
was tasked with dealing with the issue.”

“Any entire dynasty? Are they mad?” exclaimed Gastel, bewildered by the scale of what
was happening on the unfortunate world.

“Currently only about 13% of the tomb has properly awoken but that number is rising
exponentially with each passing day, we are to act quickly if we wish to preserve the
world.” Continued Phoebe. “Bel you’re with Gastel, you will organize a foray party and
investigate a potential way of dealing with our problem without having to kill an entire
dynasty’s worth of xenos. Herculaar and Zareen, you will be tasked with aiding the local
guard regiments in defending key sectors. Sasin and Talleia, organize evacuation plans
should things turn the worse. I’m allowing the usage of the Knight because we’ll really
need the extra irepower, it might also give us invaluable data on its unique core.

Anyways Understood everyone?”

“Yes Lady Phoebe” they all spoke in unison

“We will arrive in about ifteen hours. And Zareen, go see Bel afterwards, you will need a
new suit.”

A suit? Unsure of what Phoebe meant, Zareen was instead too enthralled by the idea that
she was inally getting her irst taste of action in over a year. The room scattered, Bel’s
mechadendrite’s snapped at the pilot, catching her attention. “Follow / Important” he
spoke before skittering away towards the Prideful Warden’s hangar.

Once arrived, the Knight still stood proud in its cage of scaffoldings. Its colors though had
changed, no longer were its armor plates the gleaming blue and silver of traitor House
Valenmour – instead replaced with stellar gold accents and a mixture of black and red,
symbols of its new ‘House’, the Inquisition. Only its left knee plate differentiated itself
through the addition of pure white, the color of Onerth, her old home. The old emblems
had been scrapped off and replaced with icons of the Inquisition, added was a hawk
bearing a sword in its claws: Sasin had drafted it to symbolize Zareen, the avian her
newborn freedom, and the sword her determined ferocity aimed at the Archenemy. The
young pilot found the gesture touching and gladly accepted her new insignia.

Now all that remained was its name.

Being a machine of war reborn, it needed a new name, a name itting for its crusade
across the stars.

“Enter Knight when ready / Systems = operational” was all Bel spoke. Zareen walked
towards the metal giant, at its foot by the ladder that lead to the throne she found that the
suit she’d been wearing this entire time, covered in neural interface nodes had been
replaced with a proper Knight pilot’s suit, with its armor mimicking the Knight’s new
colors. Atop it was a small paper with “For your irst mission, you deserve to wear a
Knight’s armor. – Phoebe.” Written on it.

Zareen couldn’t help but smile, it felt like everything she’d been working towards this past
year and a half was inally coming to fruition. She felt ready like never before.
After adorning the armor, the suit’s black carapace clung to her like a second skin, its
crimson piping throbbing in time with the Knight’s reactor. The gold pauldrons bore the
Inquisition’s sigil—a weight she now carried willingly. She jumped up the ladder at
blistering speed—walked onto the thick adamantium carapace and fell through the
already opened hatch. She sat in the throne, taking a second to adjust to her new attire—
things inally felt right. The mechadendrite jumped out of its sheath and pierced into
Zareen’s implant, carefully connecting thousands of mechanical nerve endings, she
crisped slightly at the intrusion, even after so many times, getting used to it was
impossible. As her world began to take the familiar shape of the hangar, she addressed the
ancestors directly:

“Good morning men and woman of ages eon past. I come bearing good news: Tomorrow
we will be deploying for our irst battle together.”

“Oh how we have ached for battle once again!” spoke one of the ethereal voices

“Crush the enemy under out feet, inally we can!” exclaimed another.

The ancestor’s choir was ecstatic of inally leaving the dull hangar and cutting apart foes
once more. However one voice kept apart, it was that commanding voice that brought
suspicion in Zareen’s heart. “That is indeed good news but I must ask, why change our
colors, why replace our lineage, what purpose have you in mind to come here on the eve
of battle?”

She thought carefully before answering, the fully ledged pilot did not wish to risk another
incident

“Have you ever heard stories of the mythical Phoenix? A undying avian made of pure
lame, should it fall in battle—it will be reborn anew. That is what we are, a Knight reborn,
leaving behind the weights of our tarnished legacy and embracing a new path.”

“A path as dogs of the Inquisition?” spiked the odd voice.

“As a Knight in the service of the God Emperor.” She answered with gravitas in her chest, if
the ancestors and this entity were to accept a new legacy, she had show utmost
conidence. “But that is not all—with our rebirth we will need a new name, one that will
symbolize our newfound purpose, one that will strike fear the hearts of our enemies.

“You want to swear fealty the Inquisition and change our name given to us by our
creator? Have you lost your mind? Snarled one voice.

“This is sacrilege!” roared another, a battle-scarred ancestor. “The Archmagos himself
blessed our name!”

“The only ones who’ve lost their mind is you two, we are a broken sword that needs
reforging.” Countered another.

This was entirely unexpected and incredibly rare for a Knight, to change names meant
reworking the very core of the machina. The ethereal choir assaulted the pilot with
questions, some found it insanity, others understood the need, but who truly mattered
was Ag’Drelir. It showed the ability to lead the others, if Zareen could convince it, then
surely the others would follow.

She continued “I have already thought about this, I’ve searched long and wide for
something that would it our new chapter.” She took one long deep breath before the
grand revelation.

“I propose Alekto, named after a mythological igure from ancient Terra. This furie as they
were called was the physical manifestation of unending retribution, forever on the hunt of
those that deserved it. For us, it will be the enemies of the Throne.”

Once Zareen was inished, the ancestors remained quiet, thinking amongst themselves.
Ag’Drelir broke the silence “Alekto… I am not familiar with this myth—but its story is
beitting. You are our pilot Zareen and we trust in your decisions, if you believe this pact
with the Inquisition to be it of a Knight then I have no reason to disagree.”

“I trust Inquisitor Phoebe with my life, in her service we will serve the Imperium as
Knights of old ages, with honor and pride!” Continued Zareen.

It appeared that her speech and Ag’Dresil’s approval swayed the remaining ancestors,
now one after another they swore themselves to their new legacy.

“I like Alekto, it has a good ring to it. I Theodrius Batal swear fealty to our new path.”
“Accepted, Alekto shall be our new name, I Estelle Batal swear fealty to Alekto”

On and on it went, for the entire lineage of Batals, even her father’s memory had joined
“I Gregor Batal, father to Zareen Batal, swear fealty to the greatest knight of our
generation.”

She knew it was only a relection of him during his time as a pilot but it still brought a tear
to her eye to hear him again. By hour ive, it was complete. The Knight was reborn, its
throne humming with life like never before, ready to hunt.

Now all she needed was to wait for the hour of deployment.

Nine Hours Later:

As she happily skipped through the halls, she arrived at the hangar, this time the
scaffoldings were gone, all that remained was Alekto and its ladder. She had already put
on her armor now that she could keep it, she was ready. Zareen ran up the ladder and
jumped onto the throne, then linked herself to the Phoenix and spotted the large
transport vessel by the port side.

Bel’s mechanical voice boomed over the vox “[Starting Deployment Protocols] Proceed to
Transport”

This was it. Soon Palantina’s surface would be beneath her feet, she would inally face the
enemy.

She checked her diagnostics, conirming that she was ready to go “Copy that, Alekto
moving to transport.” Her joy barely contained by the Knight’s cockpit.

“Watch me, Father.” she whispered, gripping the throne. “Today, I earn my name.”

---

Endless bolter casings littered the stone loor, between them a river of blood inding its
path as it descended the steps of the once great plaza at the heart Palantina. Hundreds of
bodies lay cold and motionless, part of them having been dematerialized by gauss ire,
while others sported lacerations or punctures. The air soured with ozone and ionized
lesh, undercut by the hollow scent of air where living matter used to be, mixed in was an
aftertaste of static-laced dust from the incessant ire from the unnatural Necron weapons.
Their numbers were endless, out of the gaping maw that was the tomb entrance that had
erupted in the plaza they came. For every warrior that fell, if it were not interrupted then
its reanimation protocols would mend back the necrodermis that composed the cold shell
of the Necron; And even if the defenders made sure the warrior would not return, it was
just as easily replaced by the hundreds that came after, weapons ready to spit anew.

All that remained were ifty-six souls of the 142nd Octius Oathsworn, they had been 546.
Zareen and Herculaar had been sent to aid them two hours into their now seven hour
deployment.

“Kark, my ammo just reached below 10%. Where the frag are our reinforcements!” Swore
Zareen, they had been ighting for hours on end with no help in sight. Without
reinforcement her barrels would run dry soon, even with her meticulous ire, making sure
to only use it on targets out of reach of her blade.

“Calm yourself warrior, focus on the task at hand.” The Salamander’s voice came in
through cockpit’s vox. Herculaar had perched himself on the second loor of a building
that gave a perfect overview of the plaza, carefully removing priority targets with his
stalker bolter. Despite his statement, he too saw his worries grow, to his left the crate once
illed with bolter ammo now only had three magazines left, by his calculations he only had
114 rounds left counting those in his rifle.

The Knight clashed with the sea of warriors, using its Tempest Blade in wide swings to
catch as many as possible. The incessant ire meant Zareen had to orient her ion shield
perfectly, should a single stray gauss beam hit her frame, the Knight’s disintegrating
machinery would just as quickly buckle. This created a massive strain for the ledgling
pilot, constantly reorienting her defenses should a Lokhust Destroyer or a pair Tomb
Blades ind an opening. She trusted the Astartes would deal with stragglers but their
numbers were simply too great, the Necrons had managed some hits: the left pauldron
was almost entirely gone, and hanging by a thread was the bolt cannon’s shield, thankfully
the mechanism themselves were unharmed.

Using the Knight’s shields, Zareen had tried her damnedest to protect the guardsmen
beside her, even at the cost of those painful hits.

“Sector Gamma retreating! We’ve lost both tanks!” ‘Another?!’ She muttered to herself. The
only communications they’ve had with the outside world were calls for a retreat. One after
another, different sections of the city fell, without a single sign of reinforcements in sight.

“Beta has fallen! I repeat Beta has fa—“ the vox cutoff early, another soul fallen in the
name of the God Emperor. Beta was a sector barely a few hundred meters away, if they
had lost control then they were about to be overrun at any moment.

A new voice erupted on the vox, Zareen easily recognized it as Phoebe, her voice showed
no emotion: “Alpha proceed to section 15b, you have 15 minutes.”

“15 minutes? Is she insane?” yelled the pilot.

“Orders are orders Batal, we move at once.” Answered Herculaar.

“The guardsmen don’t appear to be reacting, did they not hear the message? We have to
move now!”

“The signal was on our inquisitorial frequency only. I believe Lady Phoebe intends to—”

“Frag that!” Zareen lipped her vox settings so that all around her could hear “To anyone
still breathing, move to section 15b at once!”

The Astartes voiced his support “I agree, we cannot abandon these warriors, I shall
marshal them in the correct direction. We must reach the rendez-vous ASAP.”

“I’ll cover you then!”

One after another the guardsmen ran out of cover and joined the green armor-clad space
marine as he voxed evacuation orders to them. Zareen positioned herself carefully, back
towards the militarum soldiers as she emptied emptied the last of her bolt rounds into the
Necron hydra.

“Ready to move, we don’t have much time.”

“Copy that Herculaar!” With the now empty bolt cannon, she pushed the burned wreck of
a Leman Russ into the way of the incoming foe, hoping to slow their approach if only
slightly. Then the armored giant leapt into the opposite direction, ion shield glistening at
its back as gauss ire slammed into it.

The guardsmen were exhausted, they had been ighting for hours on end, and they had
seen their comrades torn apart as their atoms were pulled away. All this lead to a sluggish
pace, the Salamander estimated that at their current speed, they would reach their
destination at least 8 minutes late.

“I know what you’re thinking Salamander but I’m not accepting it!” voxed Zareen, she
swapped her settings back so that only Herculaar could hear her.

52 remained, 52 guardsmen that had seen into the maws of death itself, 52 men and
women that she would not abandon.

The Astartes grit his teeth, he too would not leave them behind – but they were running
out of time “Lady Phoebe, we will not reach the rendez-vous in time, we require more
time.”

The vox remained eerily silent for several long seconds as they continued on their run,
both retinue members could feel the Inquisitor’s oppressive disappointment.

“Extra time given.” Was all Lilith spoke, her tone like frozen daggers.

Behind them, four of the faster Lokhust destroyers had caught up, and began their
assault. Three guardsmen were caught in their opening volley, disintegrating almost
instantly as their screams echoed throughout the desolate city. Herculaar spun around,
drawing his gun and with a burst of well aimed shots, took out one of the abominations.

Zareen felt powerless, her blade carved empty air—every swing a prayer against physics,
every miss another guard’s death warrant. All she could do was keep them at arm’s length
from the exhausted and defenseless guardsmen. Eventually one of the Xenos bit more
than it could chew, tempting fate as it lew under the lying warblade towards Zareen. Not
wanting to let the opportunity go, Zareen quickly lung Alekto’s left foot into the Necron.
As it impacted against the shin’s armor plate, the destroyer’s weapon overloaded and
detonated, creating a large lash of uncontrolled energy that tore into the Knight’s leg. The
xenos had evaporated from the explosion, leaving only the smell of ozone and burnt
circuitry.

Zareen felt her shin burn so hot that it momentarily cut her link to the Knight. She cursed
and grit her teeth, opening diagnostics with a single thought. The schematics lared
crimson—hydraulics fused like candle wax beneath a magnifying glass. Every step would
now be agony shared between woman and machine.

“Continue to the site Zareen! I’ll take care of them.” Herculaar’s voice crackled through the
vox, she had to accept her limits and run with the rest of the 142nd.

Only two hundred meters remained, beyond the buildings at the end of the road the
landing pad came into sight.

“Almost there, we can make it.” Muttered Zareen to herself, the Knight now resembled the
guardsmen it guarded, limping and damaged with no ammunition to spare.

She looked behind briely, spotting Herculaar detonating a melta charge he’d picked up to
bring down a large statue of a hero long forgotten, catching one of the Necron
Abominations and blocking the path to the endless legions following them. However
victory was short lived as more xenos lew above, deadly Tomb Blades that thirsted for
the Astartes’ blood. The Tomb Blades’ targeting runes lared green—not at the retreating
humans, but at the lone Salamander whose bio-signature burned brighter than a plasma
reactor.

‘He’s got this, he’s a karking space marine.’ She thought to herself, looking forward once
more and marching with each painful step towards salvation.

Their savior came into view, a transport large enough for a company of Leman Russes,
sporting the Inquisition’s red and black colors, with its engines ready to depart at any
moment. The turrets on either side spitting las ire at the Necron’s lying machina.

She spotted a igure by the ramp, Gastel stood, lasgun in one hand, vox in another which
he brought to his mouth, and spoke intelligibly.

The guardsmen ran their inal few meters up the ramp before collapsing onto the cold
steel loor of the ship. Their boots left bloody prints on the ramp—the last marks their
regiment would ever make on Palantina. They took off their lak vests, helmets and
lasri les, some prayed to the Emperor while others simply lay there in silence.

Zareen limped into the transport, carefully avoiding the bodies she had sworn to protect
below. She set the Knight against the starboard wall in a kneeling position, severed the link
and ran out back towards the ramp. She stopped next to Gastel who was looking out into
the street, searching…

“Do you see Herculaar?! He was right behind us!” she screamed at him.

“Nothing, nothing, nothing, I see nothing but those karking robots!”

“I’ll go! I still have my laspistol.” She ran out before being grabbed by the arm and thrown
back by Gastel.

“Absolutely not.” His grip was iron—the same hand that had pulled her from training
servitors now held her from certain death. “You think I want this?” he snarled, veins
standing on his neck. “We don’t get heroic deaths, we have to live to continue his war.”

The streets had begun to lood with Necron warriors, legions upon legions marched in
unison as Tomb Blades zipped above them.

“Kark kark kark! We have to do something!”

Gastel’s vox crackled to life “Extract now or be left behind.” It was Lilith’s ever cold tone.
This was it, they couldn’t wait any longer.

“To hell with that heartless witch, we can’t leave him behind!”

Gastel was silent, he had no other choice. Still holding Zareen’s arm, he dragged her
inside, hitting the ramp’s switch. The Transport’s maw closed slowly as the ramp lifted up.
The alarm screamed periodically, and the destroyed buildings of Palantina disappeared
behind the cold adamantium ramp.

“No no no no! You can’t do this! Let me go!” Zareen thrashed around as she tried to free
herself from the man’s grip, pounding his carapace like her Knight’s failing actuators
desperate, asymmetrical, human.

He finally let her go once the ramp’s alarm ceased to blare. The already red hot thrusters
spun to full power, lifting the massive transport off the pad and propelling it into the open
sky. The pilot ran for the switch, pressing it as if she could reverse the events unfolding
but nothing happened.

“He’s still out there! We can’t – Please. We can’t leave him—“ Her voice crackling as her
chest boomed with anguish, tears streaming down her face. The truth settled in her gut,
Herculaar was lost.

Gastel took his vox and spoke one last time: “Transport Delta – 2 is on route, Zareen is
aboard.” He paused before continuing “Herculaar is MIA.”

“Understood.”

---

The return trip stretched into a wound—time clotting around Zareen’s grief as she curled
against the ramp, sitting like a unborn fetus. Gastel had left for the transport’s bridge, his
face a gloom sight. The other guardsmen spoke lightly to each other, some praised the
Emperor’s protection, others made crude jokes at each other’s expense to lighten the
mood, and the rest sat silent. Those with injuries had been taken to a makeshift medical
bay, the bare minimum before they arrived at the cruiser. The odor in the room was tinted
with the lasting smell of lasire, superheated particles of air that had yet to cool fully,
mixed it was the sweat, everyone’s after having ran as fast as they could to their
evacuation—but they made it and they were alive, all but one.

Her face was mix of sweat and tears, she was no longer wailing but instead silently trying
to grasp what had occurred. She should have stayed with him, she should have been
smarter, she should have been better – those thoughts swirled in her mind like raging
storms. What could have happened if only she made different decisions.

Suddenly the entire ship rocked, the sound of docking clamps. The vox came to life
“Docking successful.” The ramp beside her shrieked and croaked as machinery spun,
lowering the massive door and revealing the familiar hangars of their voidship. “Lets go
kiddo.” Spoke Gastel right beside as she sat on the loor, his hand extending towards her.
With the deafening roar of the ramp she failed to hear him walk up to her.

Zareen briely wiped her tears away and grabbed onto the man’s hand, lifting herself up.
“What now?” she said, voice crackling with sadness.

“We keep moving forward, its what he would’ve wanted.” Gastel tried to appear strong for
the broken woman but his hands betrayed him, shaking ever so slightly.

Sasin stood there, with an army of medical personnel ready to take over for the crude
transport’s medical bay. The guardsmen walked out, those healthy enough carried the
wounded before sending them off to the techpriest’s crew.

Gastel and Zareen stood there by the maw, they spotted Phoebe overlooking the hangar in
the distance. Bel suddenly appeared “Knight / Will take of” was all the mechanicum priest
said, his binaric speech sounded hollow – even he felt grief, in his own mechanical manner.

Finally both of them walked out, without any words for each other they both knew their
destination.

Once arrived, the observation deck shined with the cold embrace of stars light-years away,
Talleia was already present, siting on the bench by the armored viewing glass, a bottle of
amasec in her hands.

“What’s the quote? Sadness loves company?” the captain spoke as they entered the room.

“Misery loves company but close enough.” Answered the militarum man.

Zareen moved to sit by her closest conidant and simply lay her head on the woman’s
shoulder. Tears streaming once again. “I’ll take a sip of amasec if you’re offering.” Spoke
Gastel.

“Be my guest, today’s… special.” She handed him the bottle, he took a long sip and gave the
poison back.

For several silent minutes, they all simply watched the outside universe, Palantina could
be seen below. Suddenly the surface of the planet sparked sporadically, massive
mushroom clouds like funeral lowers erupted across the globe.

“Exterminatus…” Talleia spoke, the devastation contrasting the silence in the room.

“Expected, we lost control and it seemed like the entire planet was waking up down there.”

“Quite a view from above —if you overlook what’s happening.”

Zareen remained silent, exterminatus meant any shred of possibility for Herculaar’s
survival had now been obliterated. Sensing her misery growing with each explosion,
Talleia grabbed the pilot’s hand and held it tightly.

The door hissed open like a tomb unsealing. Phoebe stood framed in the threshold, her
rosette catching the starlight.

“Come to sip amasec with us Inquisitor?” asked the militarum man.

“Drinking on the job is an offense—that I will overlook for today.” Gastel expired air,
showing his frustration with the cold Inquisitor. She continued “I need to talk to Zareen—
Privately.”

Not wanting to create a scene, both him and Talleia followed their orders and left the
room, leaving Zareen in the clutches of the witch.

“Are you here to admonish me for disobeying a direct order?” the young pilot braced
herself for Lilith’s wrath. Instead all the witch did was sit by Zareen, staring into the dark
emptiness of space.

“I was nine when he pulled me from a cultist’s altar. Baarneas would’ve fed me to the
Golden Throne. Herculaar… argued otherwise. Without him I would’ve died a several
dozen extra times by the time I reached thirty. They call Space Marines angels, hardly
fitting in many cases—but Herculaar, he was a real angel, descended from the Emperor
himself to protect Humanity. I owe him my life.

“I- I’m sorry, I shou—“

“No. Regardless of what you would have done, Herculaar would never abandon brave
citizens of the Imperium. It was his nature as a Salamander, his kindness was his greatest
strength—and weakness. The blame is mine, I oversaw your deployments. I failed him.”
Her voice was beginning to fracture, her last words heaviest of them all.

Words curdled in Zareen’s throat. What could language do against a universe that
devoured angels? For Phoebe to relect like this was unheard of, instead she put her hand
over Lilith’s, hoping the psyker could sense her emotions. The Inquisitor’s hand was an
almost icy cold, with her pale skin she almost appeared as a corpse. And yet Zareen could
feel Lilith’s pain, she felt the dagger that had been Gastel’s ‘MIA’ message, she felt her
desire to go look for Herculaar that had been crushed by her obligation as an Inquisitor.
She felt sorrow and regret.

This time it was Phoebe who’s tears fell. Zareen was shocked to witness such a display of
vulnerability from the Inquisitor who’s mental walls rivaled those of the Emperor’s palace.
Her tears were like the purest streams of water on Onerth, crystals relected light giving
them a sparkling effect, she had never seen someone taken by grief appear so beautiful.
One fell onto their clasped hands—a tiny prism that shattered silently against their
intertwined ingers. Phoebe moved her hand, instead taking a grip on Zareen’s, she held it
tightly as more crystalline tears fell.

The young pilot understood silent grief was needed and thus they remained side by side,
looking at stars that raged against the dying of the light, just as they all did.

In this cruel universe we were all ighting for each breath we took—thrashing against the
dark like moths against a lantern—drawn to light that only burns.

For Herculaar, that darkness finally caught up with him.

---

The scent of burning incense and candlelight permeated throughout the chamber, the
smoke twirled above, dancing against amongst air currents as they entered the ventilation
shafts. The Chapel had rarely seen such an attendance, however today was not a moment
of reverence for the God Emperor of Mankind but instead for one of his children, a child
who fought till the bitter end to protect the Imperium’s beating heart: its people.

“His ferocity in battle was only rivaled by his gentle nature and faith in Humanity. Calling
him an Angel is far from the full picture, Herculaar was so much more: A fearless warrior,
a brilliant forge master, and most importantly a caring friend. The stars will shine dimmer
without you my dear friend Herculaar.” Sasin’s mechadendrite’s remained silent, her
human heart had taken over in place of her mechanicum circuit-enhanced brain. Even
behind the green lenses that hid Sasin’s enhanced eyes, her grief was as clear as white
morning snow.

Sasin took a moment, bowing before the sarcophagus that had been expeditiously made in
Herculaar’s honor. Lacking a body, they had instead illed it with his belongings, few as
they were: spare weaponry, tools of forgery, and trinkets of eras past. Bellegymere had
spent the previous night crafting a beautiful exterior, mixing techniques of the
Mechanicum of Mars and the Forge Masters of Nocturne to create a spectacular decor
that rivaled even the most grandiose artworks found in the Imperial Palace. The Magos
Errant had refused to speak at the funeral, preferring to keep his mechanical persona
intact—but reality had betrayed him, the dedication and care he had put into his work was
inspiring.

Next was Zareen. Translating her grief had torn her heart asunder, she struggled to ind
the words— instead resorting to recounting the time she had spent with the gentle giant:
sparring in the arena at the expense of her bones, studying Alekto’s forging to better
understand the Knight and her connection to it, and most heart breaking for the young
woman—the times they shared stories. She spoke of one adventure the Salamander had
shared with her that exempli ied him as an unforgettable, incorruptible, and unbreakable.
Tears streaked her face with every word she spoke, losing a member of her newfound
family had shaken her, a brutal reminder that anyone could be taken away at any moment.
Her eulogy inished, Zareen could not bring herself to leave, her tears like anchors.
Gastel walked up to her, wiped her tears away with a handkerchief, and took her hand. “Its
okay Zareen, this time you’re not alone.” The man whispered to her, bringing her back to
their pew.

Finally was Phoebe, her every step brought a chill to the room. She did not speak, instead
placing her naked hand on the sarcophagus and closing her eyes. Ice crystals formed
around the Inquisitor, covering her coat in a faint layer of ice, a touch of ozone reached
the spectators’ noses as the temperature dropped slightly. The room remained silent safe
for the hum of the ship’s engines, she remained still for a full three minutes before
removing her hand and returning back to her seat, leaving the ship’s priest to conclude
the ceremony.

“A psychic farewell? She could at least spare a word instead of making it a performance.”
whispered Talleia, sitting right next to Zareen and Gastel.

“She’s grieving in her own way—Herculaar meant a lot to her.” Replied Zareen, noticing
the tremors in Phoebe’s hands as she walked by her.

As the priest’s benediction echoed, the candles guttered—one by one—as if the ship itself
mourned.

For the first time in over a century, the ship’s forges fell silent that night.

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