Day time... Night time!

Fingers dig into soil as the tension in the air holds fast. 

Left, Right, Straight, Left…

Eyes flick beneath lids, tracing along earthen walls in a creeping slow march.  “Sight” in this state is limited, like a beetle pressed tight to the trunk of a tree, scuttling along, flicking antenna and scurrying to the next safe place. 

Right…Straight…Turn left…then Wait. 

“Concentration. Discipline. Perseverance.” Otran intones before lullaby as he watches you. 

Patient

Observant

A posture refined over years of practice, battle and meditation. 

You aren't meditating.  

The scent of incense wrinkles at your nose. You force it away. Focus on your eyes, though to anyone outside they look closed. 

Back to scuttling, turn a corner and freeze. 

A shape. 

A soul that glows with a psychic bloom. It stands out against the more muted colors of the environment.  

Icy blue. 

Thressl.

Anxiety…

He can't catch a scent like this. But he can suss out the fibers if they trail too close. You pull back slowly to the previous corner. Trying to force the mental fibers across the gap would be foolish. But perhaps this maneuver is too. 

If any of the psykers catch the crawlers, you have to start over. You've already had to twice. But no venture is wasted, as might be obvious by how swiftly the maze is navigated.  

So close to victory now…

More sweat beads on your brow. You push that away too. 

Otran continues to observe. Circling. Examining. Cataloging. His body moving through the incense vapors like a silent ghost. 

A different path wasn't possible. The maze with its prize on the other side only had one exit. Seems Thressl had the right idea to always have be posted near there. 

(!) A twinge in the mind causes you to flinch for a moment. You crack one eye open on reflex. 

Otran has already begun to lean forward, but you simply shake your head wordlessly. 

He pauses for a moment, before nodding and pulling back. 

Focus returns to the exercise, and the far side of the maze. Instead of forward,  shuffle sideways, down a different hallway, a dead end.

But even dead ends can be useful.

Awareness is skated across the wall, feeling and prodding until you find it. 

A chunk of loose earth. 

You twist your power around it, weaving and moving energy until it falls free from the wall with a soft but audible- 

ClUnk…

Thressl perks up, you pull your fibers back, crowding up against the near wall as the space wolf Primaris cautiously swivels his sharp eyes back and forth. He zeroes in on the source. 

Come on…Come on…

He slowly makes his way down the guarded corridor, turning to check the adjacent one. 

He passes close, you have to pull tight to keep small stray fibers from reaching towards his aura and giving you away. It's an even greater strain with the distance, and you almost consider tapping out. 

Concentration…

Discipline…

Perserverence…

No. 

You move quickly despite the pain, pushing your fibers along the floor to the exit.

Finally finally you breach the gap, your mycelium stretched to its current max and yet still you push further until…

“Ah…there you Are.” 

Mental and physical relief washes across your mind as it meets Khopesh's. His bond energy even soothes the strain from your stretching. 

Joy and relief floods your mind and you cry with triumph. “Yes!” 

You end up dropping the connection like a heavy weight after a new personal best. 

Which this is. Of a sort. 

But the pain doesn't completely ebb and you sway a bit, even still sitting as you are. 

Otran comes to your side, immediately examining you for psychic bleed. When he deems you healthy besides the exhaustion, he smiles. 

“You've done well.” He praises, handing you a hydration ration. 

You smile back shakily, wiping the sweat from your brow as you take the offered drink. “I'm getting there. New record for distance?” 

“Approximately 37.29 meters taking into account the turns of the maze you navigated.” He relays brightly. “You've also improved in not tipping your hand too soon with your fibers.” The Blood Raven psycher chuffs. 

“Aye, couldn't manage to sniff ya out this time litle scrapper.” 

You turn to see Thressl and Khopesh exiting the maze, and greet them with a wide smile. 

“Eh, maybe you'll manage to catch me out nine out of the next ten times, instead of four out of five.” You remark dryly. Your previous runs had been…frustrating to say the least. 

But! No venture is wasted. Especially when you got to spend a training day with your Khopesh, who leans down to press a purring kiss to your still slightly achy forehead. You swear, you feel the warp exhaustion fading already! 

“I'm just glad this exercise didn't come with anyone falling through the floor this time.” Oriole chuckles melodically, having observed the maze runs from up high. 

Thressl sighs dramatically. “Ya will never let me live that down ya nasty bird brains.”

You chuckle too. “Hey to be Fair. I Told you I was weakening that patch of floor. And it worked!” 

Khopesh cackles. “Indeed it did ... speaking of working. How goes the acquisition for the technology we might use in future trainings?” 

Otran's expression dips a little, becoming more annoyed. Not by Khopesh but by outside factors. “We've managed to collect a good amount of raw material. Malkos is doing a fine job assembling that which we've gathered, the main issue is the more…technical side of things. Namely that training droids and servo hounds require ram and other rare components so they can be programmed.”

“And finding those has been like trying to find needles on a planet made entirely of grassland.” Finch grouses, shaking his head as he emerges from a nearby shadow. “Even your Hydra allies are having a time of it. What little they've managed to scrounge is going to the first training droid. But it will still take more time to assemble.”

Khopesh hums, tapping his long nails on his chin. “I see. So what is our focus until then?” 

Otran hums in consideration. “I believe in the meantime the best course of action is to experiment more with distance and terrain variation. That way you will already be adept at moving your awareness through different battlefields. Not to mention more practice mind walking with various partners, and cataloging what occurs with them.” 

“That makes sense…ah also…” You posit, mulling over the idea you'd been thinking about bringing up for a while. “Is there any chance I could start learning how to use  Runic Arrays?”

Runic arrays were a common tool in many a psyker's arsenal, and you'd first been exposed to them through Xerxes. 

...

“Watch closely little one…see…how the earth hears…and replies…” He breathed tracing simple but odd shapes in the soil.

There had been seven in total, and the once wilted bloom from your mother's garden slowly perked up with every new symbol, until at last it returned to full glory and color. 

This was before you knew about your abilities. Your fractured, and transformed bond. But you still watched in awe. 

“Can anybody learn to do that?” You'd asked. 

Xerxes had laughed, low and slow. “Technically…but the Alliance…would kill us both…if I were to teach you…”

You'd balked at that before quickly replying with a “Nevermind!”

And after your awakening, as Anrir had called it, you'd asked about them again. 

“What are those lines of symbols some marines draw out. Are they spell circles?”

Anrir had chuckled at that. “Indeed, Although their proper names are Runic Arrays. They are…hmm…how to say it. Like instructions for the warp to follow.”

“Instructions?”

“Yes. You see, each array is unique and Very specific. One wrong motion or symbol could cause the entire spell to either fizzle out or well…Backfire.” Anrir explains. 

“So its almost like…trying to channel lightning into your house to power your water heater, but if you give the lightning the wrong instructions it either does nothing, sends it to the stove or just kills you?”

Anrir had chuckled at that too. “That is…a fairly apt metaphor. Yes.”

“Do you think…I'll even be able to use them?” You'd asked. “You know since my psychery is…a little weird.”

“...All psychery is weird, my child. But regardless…I think it best we wait on such things until we understand your abilities better.” He'd hummed before asking pointedly. “Do you understand?” 

“...Okay, I understand.” You'd agreed, knowing he meant that you wouldn't go seek out the knowledge yourself. 

But honestly you're more sure than ever that you want to learn. It could help you gain better control, better understanding, better variety in your kit of abilities!

It could help you and your loved ones  Survive. 

Otran is thinking. But based on the look on his face…you can feel a preemptive disappointment coming. 

Thressl chimes in. “Ah come on Lad. What's the harm in starting them out? Space Wolves learn their first runes as Neophytes for Throne's sake!”

Otran doesn't reply to that. But he does see your shoulders slump a bit. “I am not saying No.” He assures you, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Ah come on ya git!” Thressl protests. 

Otran gives him a look and Thressl rolls his eyes with a huff. Khopesh snickers a bit but otherwise waits and listens. 

He himself is not a psyker. Or at least has no gifts present enough to use even with runic arrays. 

He is…out of his element slightly. And both wishes to let you learn…but also wishes to keep you safe. 

“You are saying not Yet.” You point out.

“I'm afraid I must. In truth it would bring me great joy to teach you the spells of dampening and slight feet.” He chuffs. “But…your other teachers insist we wait. And I do feel I need to catch up, as I have only recently been able to witness your abilities in action. But know this.” He emphasizes his words by kneeling down to your level.  “The moment I think you are ready I will be the first in line, to show you the way.”

Despite the lingering disappointment. You do…feel better, and it shows in the smile on your face. 

Grggle.....

Nobody responds to that for a moment, but you know where it came from. 

Khopesh smiles cheekily. “I think the next thing Someone might wish to mind walk with, is a nice Lunch.”

“Pfft! Lunches don't have minds…and if they did I think we'd have a bigger problem on our hands than even a Custodes.” You retort with a laugh. 

The gathered marines all chuckle or laugh at that. 

“Would you like to join us for our coming meal? It will be served in about thirty minutes.” Oriole offers with a smile. 

“Oooh I don't know Birdie! I think this one's liable to take a chunk out the next warm body they see!” Thressl barks. 

“Oh you Hush!” You bark back, no venom in your tone. “Ah we'd love to, but we'll be needed at Stone Flame. I've gotta be on call from twelve thirty to four in case there's a bond issue.”

Thressl nods as well, more sullen for a moment. “Aye…and I've got training scheduled with that Thousand Son they've stuck me with.” He huffs, blowing some of his red hair from his face. 

Otran smiles regardless. “Another time then. Let's get you back to the train station. We wouldn't want our resident healers to be late.”

“Thressl is the real healer. I just treat bonds. I don't know if that counts.” 

Otran's eyes soften. “It counts more than you will ever know, little melodic medic.” 

As you walk back through The Nest you pass familiar faces who are simply going about their days and duties. Some give a nod or a pleasant smile. You see the Black Templar you'd helped before. 

He doesn't smile…well to be fair you can't see if he does since he's wearing a helmet, but he doesn't turn away or move with aggression. He simply nods when you pass. 

You smile and nod back. 

Back in Gannet Point…

“So how goes the inking Lil Scrapper?” Thressl asks as you all make your way to The Cheese Wheel. 

It's a pizza shop that boasts the Fastest delivery times in the city. And that tracks as it's staffed almost entirely by White Scars. 

It's damn good pizza too. And an excellent place to get something quick when needed. 

You blush slightly, but reply. “We're still working on finding an artist who can do the design I have in mind. For now I'm taking those blood supplements that taste like death and are supposed to help the tattoo not fall off your skin and die.” Khopesh snorts at that. “Speaking of which.”

You rummage around in your bag, and find the bottle Anrir had given you. You want to make sure it's easy to access once you've got food on your stomach. 

Back to Anrir, he'd been almost…Too cheerful about extracting Khopesh's blood and processing it into these but Hey that's your father in law for you. 

And Khopesh had been almost Too excited about giving that blood. Your boy was practically vibrating in his seat while Anrir growled at him to hold still so he could find a vein. 

But was it really Too special for such a meaningful event in Nightlord Culture? Honestly you could feel your own stomach twisting with nervous excitement too!

You'd never gotten a tattoo before. Especially not one so…meaningful! A literal promise on skin. I am yours and you are mine. It was such a precious sentiment and it felt Finally, like you could give that to Khopesh. 

Because you were no longer just content to eventually lay down in front of a threat and die. 

You were going to Live. For him, and for you. 

Khopesh purrs and pulls you close as you walk. “I too am excited for our marks, my love. I have also been considering a few designs.”

“Oh? Like what sort?” Thressl asks as you walk into the shop. The bell above the door twinkling brightly as you do. 

“Well I was originally going to keep it traditional, but something that involves music seems too appropriate to pass up…” Khopesh continues his description for Thressl but you find your eyes drawn elsewhere. 

Your recognition pings a familiar face sitting in a booth a little ways up. “Cedric! Is that you?” You hustle up to the table in question. “Hey it's good to see you-”

Only to freeze the moment you catch sight of what the Marine you now realize is Not Cedric is wearing. 

Silver, You hadn't noticed it because the back of the booth blocked it from your sight. 

That kind of silver. 

You feel sweat bead on your brow, and suddenly have to suppress the urge to bolt backwards. 

The Grey Knight doesn't seem particularly fussed by your presence though he is confused. “Oh Hello little Human. I am sorry I am not who you are looking for. I am Hasier, what is your name?”

He asked your name. You should respond. No You should Run. He hasn't Done anything yet…Why does he look so much like Cedric? WHO FUCKING CARES JUST DO SOMETHING OH MY GOD! 

“Here's our order, Hasier, it's hot so be careful. Oh! Hello Lullaby, it is good to see you.” A blessedly familiar voice cuts in and places down two Astartes Size pizzas on the table.  

Hasier snorts. “I'm not a neophyte. I know how to not burn myself- Ow!” He hisses when he tries to pick up the first piping hot slice. He quickly slips his scalded fingertip into his mouth with a slight pout. 

You…stand there. Blinking but at least you're not as panicked as you were before. 

“Cedric…Not Cedric…” You mutter while still processing what you're seeing. “I'm…Confused.”

Hasier seems to pause for a moment, before (carefully) picking up another slice of pizza. “...Would a slice of pizza help?”

You blink. “I think…it wouldn't, Hurt, the situation…” 

“Oi what's going on over Woah…” Thressl asks as he and Khopesh catch up. You shake the last of your stupor off as they walk up. 

And are now facing the same confusion you faced not two seconds ago. 

“Cedric…did Hura finally snap and make a clone of you?” Khopesh asks, utterly befuddled by the resemblance. 

Cedric doesn't frown but he does give a pointed look. “No, thankfully I can say he has not tried to do that…yet. But to answer your other question, this is Hasier, he's newly arrived and I'm treating him to a meal.”

“Hel-ow.” Hasier greets from around a mouthful of barely cooled pizza that's spreading sauce all around his mouth. 

He almost looks…like a small child. A small child wearing killer space warrior armor but a child none the less. 

And you actually let out an amused, if incredulous huff. “Ah well…Hello to you too. Welcome to M3. I'm Lullaby, by the way.” 

Okay…so he doesn't seem to be like…the Other one. God just thinking about the literal murderous rage you felt and then nearly getting mind fried…You shudder. 

Hasier looks back at you and nods. “Ah yes! Cedric told me about you.” He then leans down and whispers more closely. “And don't worry, he also told me about the…thing.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Well fuck there goes your calm. 

“What?!” Khopesh and Thressl speak at the same time, one hissed in anger the other nearly barked in disbelief. 

“Shhh!” Cedric hushes motioning for everyone to keep it down. “Yes but look I had my reasons.” He insists.

You cross your arms tightly. “Explain.”

“Now.” Khopesh adds with a growl. 

Cedric sighs. “Hasier is a very strong psychic tracker. I worried that he might…find things out on his own and jump to conclusions. So…I acted accordingly to assure him Lullaby is acting in the best interests of preserving the Alliance and the lives of Battle Brothers and eventually will do the same for the Imperium.” 

You almost press him on that last part, said as quickly as it was, but you're still somewhat dumbfounded. He just told your secret to a random…

Well actually Hasier may not be so random considering the resemblance…and the psychic tracker thing might be prudent considering what happened the last time you had to face a Grey Knight. 

And you're still mad about your cake! Entire night of baking only for his dumbass to crash the party, and make it so No One got to have a slice! Fuckin Bullshit that's what that is. 

But! You wait…You Breathe. And you recalibrate. 

“Okay…that, Does sound like a fair enough reason. Just…maybe warn us next time?” You ask simply. 

“You know…before we end up walking right into someone knowing something so…delicate.” Khopesh huffs, pulling you close.

Cedric fumbles with his hands a bit. Embarrassed. “Well I didn't expect to just meet you all here. But anyway…what brings all of you here?” Cedric eventually asks maybe, subtly trying to get into more…pleasant subjects. 

Thressl rolls his shoulders. “Ah, just pickin up an order before my healer training.”

“Lunch before Medbay Duty around twelve thirty.”

“Supervising their Medbay Duty…and also getting lunch. Our orders should be coming out fairly soon…” Khopesh says, taking a peak as if he could zero in on the food in the kitchen from where he's currently standing. 

Hasier nods. “And what were you doing before coming here?”

Lullaby, Khopesh and Thressl all look at Cedric. 

“...What?”

“Does he already know about the…Other Thing?”

“Which one?”

“...”

Khopesh asks next. “Are you saying that because you have told him more things or because you Haven't told him more things?”

Cedric…looks the other direction for a moment. 

You want to face palm….!!!! 

Wait! Breathe! … Recalibrate... “Precious face we are gonna have a Talk about this later but let's say…the metallic thing.”

“Oh you mean the Custodes. Yeah those guys can really get under your skin.” Hasier quietly agrees as he continues to eat. 

Okay well that answers your question. You blow out a sigh before nodding. “Yes, that one.” You speak low, luckily the restaurant is empty at this time of day. Lunch rush doesn't start for about another hour. All the staff seems to be in the back prepping for that, and maybe the dinner service too. 

Thressl, having now gotten past his shock, smiles and claps you on the shoulder. “This one's been trainin hard. All have honestly. Gotta have their abilities in top form when the day comes, and we're gonna make sure tha happens!” He says boisterously, but still quietly. 

Hasier nods again. “If you want to discuss this further I think there's something I can do to help. Here, sit down.” He instructs. 

You each do so, luckily the booth is large enough. 

Hasier takes a moment, and seems to be fumbling with the ice cubes from his drink. Eventually he pulls one out, examines it carefully, and nods. 

You feel…something brewing, you don't know what but you're transfixed. 

Hasier takes the piece of ice; and begins drawing…something in different places on the table in a circle. His movements flow like cursive despite the fact the drops left behind look like nothing special. 

Just dapples of condensation like from any other glass. 

But that isn't how it Feels. 

There is a low but steadily growing hum. Thressl clearly feels it. Cedric seems aware too. Khopesh seems the one who's most disconnected from it, but even he can sense something is being made. 

Or rather, shaped.

As Hasier continues his eyes seem to take on a certain glow. You gather your fibers to your eyes and what you see…

Amazes you. 

Power flows from Hasier's soul, down his arm, and into the ice cube still held in his grasp. The path it traces shows a runic array. 

Did this count as learning about them? Well you weren't the one making it, and you hadn't the faintest clue what this particular circle meant. But you would soon. 

The air feels almost like it dampers and softens. Like cotton gently pressed around you. Until the circle finishes and it's then you realize Hasier has been whispering this whole time. 

He finishes his work and suddenly the glow is gone. Like water that has stopped flowing. 

Even stranger you realize Hasier's aura doesn't really glow or burn like others, the only flame like aspect had been when he was casting. It's more…muted, spherical almost. Like a ball of fog rather than flame. 

And speaking of fog, there seems to be a very thin sphere of that around your booth. And only your booth from what you can tell. 

“What did you do?” You ask, still keeping your voice down. 

Hasier smiles at your wonder. “I used an array of verbal scrambling combined with another array to dampen our voices.” He explains. “To anyone outside it they'll just hear muffled chatter. Gibberish they can't understand. But we can talk at FULL VOLUME!” He shouts. 

You flinch but…it doesn't rattle or echo like it would normally given the acoustics of the building. The staff don't come out to see what the noise was. 

Because they hadn't even been able to hear it. Even the Astartes had no idea! 

“That's incredible.” 

“It is useful when needing to exchange information in a place where you might be watched.” Hasier agrees. “The individual arrays actually are not very complicated. I could teach you if you like?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh I mean! I'm flattered! But…” You sigh with disappointment. “Anrir doesn't want me to get too ahead of myself. My abilities are already weird even by psyker standards. I mean like…I just learned I can mind walk, but I still can't make my powers push further than a few inches if I try to move them through open air. But they travel Really well through the ground and kinda okay through water or other liquids. And I can make a Dome that can affect things in the air by doing that and this all Started because I had a bond that got broken in a Really awful way so I can affect those which No One else seems to be able to like I can and it's…” You push your fingers to your forehead. 

Khopesh wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze. He also plants a kiss on your hairline. “Weird?”

You smile tiredly. “Yeah…”

Hasier studied you thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. “Your training is broad. But unfocused.” He hums thoughtfully. “If you are not yet permitted to learn Runic Arrays I think it may be useful for you to study the use of psychic focuses.”

You blinked.

“A focus?” You echoed.

“A proper psychic conduit.” He tapped two fingers lightly against the table. “A staff would stabilize projection consistency considerably.”

Such things weren’t used like that by the Grey Knights- but he’s been trained to go without one- or to channel through his primary non-bolter weapon. Something … easier to channel through would do them good for training- then- perhaps- a weapon they helped make- would be a better attuned - always would be- since it’s their ability- their sweat and blood and tears- and strength- and the focus that they make themself that would work the best to channel. But- that also came with pros and cons- benefits and drawbacks. “I believe there are sufficient materials here. I could make one.” Hasier affirms. 

Both you and Khopesh stared at him.

“You’d make one?” you asked carefully.

“Yes.” Hasier affirms with a nod.

Khopesh narrowed his eyes immediately. “That’s a very generous offer.”

Cedric looked amused. “He’s like this sometimes.”

Hasier ignored him. “You require control more than raw force. A focus would help.”

You exchanged a glance with Khopesh. Suspicion still lingered in him, but not enough to override Cedric’s judgment. And honestly… The possibility of becoming more stable sounded wonderful.

“I’d appreciate it,” you admitted softly.

Hasier nodded once, before placing his food down, wiping his face, and steepling his hands. “I am glad to do it. But I do have another issue I must bring up.”

Khopesh tilts his head slightly. “So it is a favor for the favor then?”

But Hasier shakes his head with a smile. “No. The staff will be made regardless. I consider it part of my duty to ensure a young psyker has the proper materials to learn. This is another of those Things I have been informed of.”

You all turn to look at Cedric.

“What? Okay look I Swear I did not tell him Anything else.”

“And he did not. This I have learned through ah…looking for myself. As Cedric put it.” He leans in now, suddenly serious. “I have made psychic contact with one of my Battle Brothers, he is currently being held against his will.”

Uh-oh. You don't like where this is going…

“When our minds met be used some…colorful descriptions for what had occurred to him, to lead him into his current…predicament.”

“And then the blasted scouts swooped down on me like fucking Vultures! Vultures I tell you! And they disobedient brats pinned me down while that witch stole my psychery!”

“If they stole it, how would we be speaking right now?” Hasier replied dryly. 

“It regenerated you oaf!! And now I'm stuck down here in this wretched Chaos Base having to listen and smell that obscene crime against the Imperium known as a Death Guard. The damn scouts have clearly either lost their minds or had them tampered with because there is No Way in Throne's name they are That Stupid to trust a walking pox like him! And another thing-!”

“How did a Death Guard manage to get you in chains…exactly?”

“...”

“...”

“That is Not pertinent to what happened!”

“Oh I think it very much is given where you're sitting now Draco. So please. Enlighten Me.”

“And then he proceeded to tell me how he'd been caught off guard when he'd tried to ‘rescue’ a clutch of wayward scouts via insisting that they follow him…and then he clarified that he exerted a perfectly ‘reasonable’ amount of psychic pressure to accomplish that goal.”

Khopesh growls. “That lying Viper.” 

Thressl huffs. “Typical.”

You snort. “Viper implies an attempt to be clandestine, my love. Our unwanted guest is anything but that.” 

“He is…a sometimes difficult individual to work with.” Hasier concedes. “But he is still my brother. And I must insist on being taken to where he is.”

No one replies to that for a moment.

“You…you realize he got thrown in the clanker for attacking us right?” Lullaby asks. 

Hasier nods. “Yes, I am aware.”

Thressl's no longer smiling. Khopesh is actually starting to glare. 

“Okay okay. And are you aware that when I helped My loved ones defend themselves I was literally able to feel how much he wanted to kill me?” You ask Hasier bluntly. 

Who…looks slightly uncomfortable. “He may have said some…unkind things about a so-called Heretical Witch.”

Cedric gives him a look.

Hasier sighs. “...And he called you a wicked spell spinning whore who spreads their legs for traitorous skin peelers.”

You feel your eye twitch. Khopesh's fist on the table clenches, and he has to restrain himself from stress kneading his claws into his palm. Thressl spits a low curse out. 

“And why exactly do you need to be brought to him? Grey Knight?” He asks, low and pointed. 

Hasier sits back up. “It is as I said. He is my battle brother. No matter how frustrating he may be. And he is currently being held in the confinement and torture chambers of Chaos Marines.” He exhales, fists on his lap. “I understand the need to maintain the Alliance in order to prevent the destruction of Terra. But I cannot abide by one of my brother's being held by the enemy.”

“They're your enemy. Not ours.” You reply firmly. 

The table's atmosphere suddenly feels colder. Thressl and Cedric glance between Hasier and You nervously. 

Hasier doesn't have an immediate reply for that. “I see…” His eyes become harder. No child remains. Only one of the Imperium's most dangerous soldiers. “Given your experience I suppose…I cannot blame you for holding those views.”

Ah right…He got the run down about that part too. You run your fingers over your neck. Khopesh moves his hand to your waist, pulling you just slightly closer. 

Comforting you. 

“Regardless, I'm afraid I must insist,” The dampening dome is definitely colder. Or maybe the air pressure has increased. Hasier sits up to his full height, and despite still sitting at the table with the rest of you it feels like he's towering above. “That I will be brought to see my brother. If I am not permitted to see him. I will simply have to force my way to him.” 

It's then you notice, you really notice, the handle that juts out above his back. The air seems to crackle, as the pressure increases. 

After the picnic fiasco, you remember Hura and Anrir's words about Grey Knight magics and armaments. Literally a hard counter to any Chaos Marine, able to basically melt through them like piranha solution melts through flesh.  

If Hasier were to go on the offensive…You look at Khopesh. Who glances at you, before flicking his eyes back to Hasier. 

He doesn't have an answer. At least not one that avoids Hasier's demands. 

Thressl and Cedric wait with baited breath. 

You sigh heavily, you supposed you'll be the one to say it. “We…will bring you to him.”

Hasier relaxes slightly, seemingly…relieved by your agreement. He smiles slightly. “Thank you.”

But you're not done. “But If he tries to pull anything like he did before I will fry his fucking brains. And not you, not the so-called Dark Powers, not even the damn Emperor of Mankind Himself, will be able to stop me.”

Cedric and Thressl both have tensed up again, waiting in Hasier's reply. 

But Hasier doesn't scowl, or threaten, or even frown. He actually smiles more warmly and his eyes soften. “You won't have to worry about that. Honestly had his jailers been Loyalists I wouldn't mind letting him sit for a while. Perhaps it would improve his attitude.”

You look at him with an almost comedic incredulity. 

Cedric actually looks displeased. “You really think Loyalists would've done more than a slap on the wrist?”

“Well I would hope they'd do a bit more than that. Such a punishment as that wouldn't even bruise an Astartes.” Hasier hums, picking up his next slice of pizza. “And even if thay wonmt-Mm. I'll make sure he doesn't do anything foolish." He assures, while stuffing his face again. 

You…really don't know how to feel about this. And when your eyes meet Khopesh's. 

Yeah he's just as fuckin bewildered and unsure. 

You take his hand, and give it a squeeze. 

‘Together we're strong.’ You nod at him. 

A moment, then, a weary but hopeful smile comes to his face. He nods as well. 

And it just so happens the Moment, that occurs your order gets called. It actually hadn't been that long since placing it, time stretches when you're stressed out of your mind. 

But at least you've all got pizza now and it's good to see the…nerve wracking conversation isn't impeding Khopesh or Thressl as they dig in. 

You look at your own pizza, feeling the nerves twist in your stomach. 

Not quite nausea. Not quite settled. 

You pick up a slice. 

You bring it to your mouth, feeling the just cooled enough heat on the roof of your mouth. 

You take a bite, chew and swallow without issue. The hunger wins out. 

And Throne knows you're gonna need it for what's to come. 

At Rotbone…

Draco shifts in his chains - the cell he’s trapped in under the fetid stink of Rot and decay that is Rot Bone Base feels… colder than usual. They did that some times- change the temperature in his rooms- too hot, too cold, too dark, too bright- to mess with him. Chaos Bastards- they would pay for this. Some day, some way, some how.

‘Perhaps-’ a voice muses in his head- and he knows it’s his own voice- his own mind- not someone or thing daring to mimic himself to plant the seeds of doubt or heresy within him. Grey Knights die- but they do not Corrupt, not like any of the weaker astartes. Draco’s eyes narrow as he seems someone new enter the room. ‘They might be more lenient if you told them why you were taking them- after all. Who knows what the mechanicus would do to those Poor Primaris without the aegis of your protection? You know what they did to the ones without your protection and you know some of them have… that.’

He’d die a thousand agonizing deaths- remain locked and rotting in this cell then tell heretics such a secret. He has no reason to believe that any of the Primaris have told any of Them of the … genetic experimentation and-’

He cuts off his thoughts and thinks of a training rite. Of a training mantra. Secrets are best kept when not thought of. Who knows if they have a way to peer or record his thoughts without him knowing? It’s likely they do in some capacity…. Or at least he wouldn’t put it past them to Try.

A young Psyker Astartes- a Grey Knight- he can feel it but dimly- suppressed as he is- he can sense what the other is. He blinks and tilts his head. This young one looks awfully familiar. A blend of one of his scummier brothers and- well. One of the Primaris Apothecaries. He knows that the - that program had some successes. He has trained some of those successes too.

“Wonderful,” he said flatly. “Another lecture.”

Hasier ignored the hostility entirely. Instead, he discussed possibilities. Parole.  Supervised release.  Conditional freedom.

You watch Hura and Anrir exchange deeply reluctant expressions as Hasier outlined practical benefits. Another trained fighter. Another ally against the Custodes. Another experienced battle brother available if conflict escalated further. 

Draco looked like he hated every second of it.

And Anrir and Hura probably were not far behind. You wince, feeling guilty about springing this on them. 

Then again you didn't really have a choice. At least Thressl got to scoot off to his Healer training to avoid this mess. 

But eventually—

“…Fine,” he growls once the…demands are agreed upon, feeling as if he was chewing ash when he said it. 

The restraints disengage and fall. 

He stands, rolling and cracking his sore body. He debates striking out anyway. Give the backstabbing traitors a taste of their own Medicine!

But No….no. He had agreed, to Play Nice. 

Curse him sideways he wants to spit. Especially when he catches sight of…them. 

“Witch Whore.” He breathes, annoyed. 

“Silver Shit Stick.” You return his sentiment right back from beside your paramour with a sneer. 

That paramour is also growling low and violent and all directed at Draco. 

Before he can escalate the verbal altercation, Hasier steps in. “Enough.” He says, firmly. “You have made a grand and proper fool of yourself Draco. Attempting to coerce scouts through force. Being captured for your hubris and worst of all…underestimating your Opponents.” 

Hasier sends an actually slightly impressed glance your way. But then he turns back to Draco and the stern expression is set.

“You have always been…dramatic. But this time you have crossed the line.” Hasier actually has some growl in his voice when he says that. 

Draco growls and looks away. He doesn't agree but he doesn't argue. 

Hasier nods. “You will effectively be my responsibility until further notice. So I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

Draco suppresses the urge to roll his eyes…mostly. 

You do not like this one bit. “And if he does misbehave we can put him in an even smaller box Right?” You ask. 

It sounds like a joke but it very much is not one. 

Draco bears his blunt teeth at you. “As if I'd ever let myself be bested by You again, Witch Whore!”

You don't even hesitate. “News Flash Ass Choke! You're only here because there's an even Bigger Asschoke we need beaten! If it wasn't for that I'd have let Khopesh either skin you into new leather boots or let your intense bond strangle your ass Then let him skin you for boots!” You snarl back. “You're welcome by the way! Fuckass.”

Draco seems insulted more by the idea he'd needed help. “I WOULD'VE REGAINED CONTROL SOONER IF YOU HADN'T GOTTEN IN THE WAY!”

“OH YEAH CAUSE YOU WERE SO CLOSE TO GETTING YOUR SHIT BACK TOGETHER AFTER LANA TOLD YOUR ROTTEN ASS SHE NEVER WANTED TO LAY EYES ON YOU AGAIN! YOU NEARLY KILLED HER TOO YOU DUMB STUBBORN BITCH!”

Hasier and Khopesh are both about to step in as sparks start zapping and flicking from the arguing pairs auras. Until…

🎶~“Now is the Time! To call the Doctor! This is a Serious Case!”~🎶

You both just stand there for a moment, awkwardly but still too angry to fully back down. 

🎶~“There's not much time! Now call the doctor! They love to watch him operate!”~🎶

Damn fuckin shit fuck! You pull out your phone and answer it, shutting off the custom ring tone. 

You aim a glare at Anrir. 

Who simply shrugs and closes his vox with a casual smile. 

Urggggggg! You rake your hand down your face with exasperation. 

Can This Day Get Any More Fucked?

Bring bring! Bring bring!

A more generic ringtone sounds on your phone, and you recognize it immediately. You don't even have to look at the notification, instead immediately turning to Anrir and Hura. 

“Bond Rejection. Khopesh pick me up!” You tell him already running toward the door. 

“At once.” He replies, shouldering it open and hustling out as the others either follow or get ahead. “What's the situation?”

You hiss reading the alert. “Not good. Even running we can't make it to Stone Flame that fast.”

“Then they must come here!” Anrir runs alongside you, speaking orders into his vox. “Alert Ambulance 226, divert course to RotBone at once! I repeat divert course to RotBone at once! Patient is suffering severe bond rejection. Immediate treatment is required!”

The ambulance driver responds with a “Understood ETA five minutes!”

Draco doesn't understand the sudden shift, until he hears that. Hasier runs right alongside him, keeping an eye on him as he promised. 

Draco wants to roll his eyes, so Badly. 

Though part of him cannot deny he's curious where this is all leading. 

RotBone Med Bay…

The Emergency Wing of the Medbay is a flurry as the Ambulance pulls up seemingly already rocking with more than just the force of driving. 

And that thought is proven true as the doors burst open, and a marine writhing in agony is rushed in. 

“Help Me! Argrh! BrOtherS! Help! I cannot! AaRHHRGRGAAA!” A flurry of sparks shoots from the Marine's bound hands and body, they crawl over the gurney he lashed too like writhing worms. And some of those pushing have to step back for a moment lest they be shocked. A stray bolt hits a light and breaks it sending glass shards raining down.

“Get him to Treatment Room B6 Stat!” Hura commands, firm but not panicked. 

Another intense bond ripping up the soul of its host. He's soaked through with sweat, his skin fluctuates in color and he switches between mumbling unintelligibly and shrieking in pain.  

You meet him in the private treatment room, only the other members of your group are present. Just outside the glass. And that's more because they'd followed you here in the first place not because it was standard protocol. 

You step up to the haggard marine. A Thousand Son? Maybe a Word Bearer? You can tell he's a psyker at the very least, and in soft clothing not armor. That makes this easier. 

You place your hands on the top of his arm. Feeling him tremble and shake. 

You take a deep, steady breath in. And then…

“Shhhhhh…” 

A whisper. The trembles lessen. The Marine seems to perk up, trying to find the source of the noise.

“W-ho's there? Brothers, is that you?” His voice is shaky. Unsure. 

He'd been blindfolded before you came in. 

Normally you wouldn't speak, but you felt unable to leave him completely in the dark. 

“Shhhhh…just breathe with me.” You make sure your next slow inhale is loud enough for him to hear. Then do the same with your exhale. 

In…

And Out….

You siphon down the bond. 

In…

And Out…

His shaking ebbs further, he starts to breathe more normally.

In…

And out…

His muscles uncoil their tension. He doesn't flop, but moreso, flattens. He's no longer holding himself taut like a bow string with nowhere to shoot. 

In… ... ... And Out.. 

You trim back the final vine, the bond withers to nothing. You feel your energy restored. 

And your patient's chest raises and falls with exhausted but painless breaths. He slips into what is hopefully a dreamless, stress free sleep.

“Well done my child.” Anrir praises as he begins to go through the post removal vitals check.

...and amnestic application.

You nod, and exit the room to meet the others in the Hallway. 

Khopesh greets you first, nuzzling and checking you over. “How are you feeling?” He purrs. 

You nuzzle back. “Better. Tired…but Better.” 

Once Khopesh has checked you. Hura places a hand upon your shoulder. “As usual you have performed splendidly.”

Hasier's eyes follow Hura's movements. Closely. But he does take a moment to nod as well. “That was quite a sight to behold! I am glad the Brothers here have you to help when needed.”

Draco watches you with troubled eyes. 

Hasier finally notices. “What?”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “That psyker is too dangerous to remain alive unsanctioned.”

The room instantly erupts. Khopesh snaps first, putting himself in front of you. You stiffen. Cedric swears under his breath.

But Hasier ends the argument with brutal simplicity. “There is no Emperor.”

Silence. Draco opens his mouth, then closes it. There is an utterly profound silence. The weight of that truth is heavy. And the lights in the room seem to dim slightly before returning to normal.

Hasier crossed his arms. “Explain precisely who would sanction them, then.”

Draco looked genuinely offended by the question. Which, unfortunately, only made the point stronger. One of his eyes twitches. He hates how right the younger marine is.

You smile as Draco stews in his frustration. It's like candy for the eyes. But wait… “Hang on, I thought I was already sanctioned?”

What erupts after that is more confusion and babbling until you explain that Ramiel already calls you a sanctioned psycher. 

Which then led to confirmation that No you are Not sanctioned currently it's more than a title. 

“So what is it then?” You ask. 

“Something I hope you will never learn.” Hura says simply, but grimly.

Hasier glares at him and Hura…Hura actually steps back slightly. Further than he already was, mind you. “They would make a fine psyker in the Emperor's Service…there just isn't an Emperor so it is a moot point.”

Hura seems like he wants to argue…but then decides not to. He stays at distance from Hasier, before being called back to one of his current patients. 

Cedric looks…uncomfortable.

“Cedric?” 

He doesn't answer for a moment.

"..."

“It's...better to leave that for now.” He eventually says, with an unconvincing weak smile.

You huff and roll your eyes. More secrets….Great.

Khopesh stays close to you. He knows a bit more about it but not much, given his time origin. He'll try to fill you in later with what little he has. Instead he puts his energy into kissing your ears, that always perks you up. 

“Ack! Khopesh!” Your noise is more surprise, not anger. There's even a slight ticklish snort on your tongue. 

“What?” He asks cheekily. “It always gets your lovely mind to stop spinning for a moment.”

You huff with a red face. “Yeah well! I just don't wanna be kissin in front of Him.” 

Draco glowers at you. “Trust me the feeling is mutual Whore.”

You flip him the bird. “Fuck off. Aluminum Shit Head.”

Before you can get too far back into a squabble Khopesh picks you up, and begins walking away. 

“Hey!”

“I think we need to separate for a bit.” He sighs. “You know…before you try to fight him.” 

“I could go for his eyes!” 

“You wouldn't reach them in time.”

“I could zap him.”

“He'd zap you back harder.”

You pout, crossing your arms and resigning yourself to being carried off. 

Khopesh kisses your cheek. “Come now, We've still got your medbay shift to get to. After all, there may be more brothers in need.”

You realize he's right about that. Your pout drops and you nod. “Okay, you're right.” You turn and wave at the others, minus Draco. 

“By guys! Take care! We'll see you later!” You call out. 

“And keep that rabid drake on a tight leash.” Khopesh adds, sardonic in tone. “Wouldn't want him to get sent back to the caves after all!” 

“Why you Impudent!” 

Hasier shakes his head, cutting Draco off. “If he has to be put in a cave I'll do it myself! You both have a good day.”

“Make sure to rest well. See you both tomorrow.” Cedric bids you both farewell too.

And then immediately turns back to Draco and Hasier as soon as you're both out of earshot.  “I agree about the Leash.” He focuses solely on Draco. 

“If I hear one word, One Word about you trying that Grox Shit again, the basements of RotBone will be the Least of your worries.” Cedric growls with a venom so potent, and promising even Slannesh would hesitate to touch it. 

Draco almost wants to scoff, but something about the Scout’s…aura? Energy? It's throwing him off. 

But still this scout is Threatening him!? Why he has half a mind to-

He sees the look on Hasier's face. 

…Dammit…

“I understand. Apothecary.” 

Cedric nods. “Good.” 

And that is that. 

For now…

Organ Supply Closet. 

Cedric thumbed through the transfer and receival records one more time. Matching each date, and specimen, everything in its place. 

That was good. 

A relief… considering. 

He senses Hasier before seeing him. 

I heard his footfalls. That's…not the same thing. He insists to himself, as he turns. 

“Working late?” Hasier asks, tentatively. 

Cedric smiles wryly. “You could say that I guess…” He turns back to the shelves. 

Hasier doesn't walk away. He can tell there's more. 

“I have received…concerning information.” Cedric eventually sighs, knowing Hasier is not going to leave it. 

“Oh?” 

Cedric nods. “Whispers in the Primaris Network…Organs of our fallen seemingly going missing.”

He looks at the preservation jars in front of him, matching the name and content to the ledger for the third time. 

Hasier's hands curl, and flex. “I see.”

A beat. Silence for a tense moment. 

“Will you keep me informed?” Hasier eventually asks. 

He's only known Cedric personally for a while, but he can tell he's the type to try and shield those he cares for. 

He lost out on shielding Hasier before, and the young Grey Knight fears he'll overcorrect. 

Cedric sighs again, unsure. But he eventually nods. 

“I will?”

Hasier inclines an eyebrow. “You swear.”

“You have my word.” Cedric swears, placing a curled fist over his hearts, a common imperial salute. 

Hasier waits for a moment, seemingly trying to read Cedric for dishonesty. 

He finds none, and relaxes with a relieved sigh. 

“Good…good.” He nods. 

Another beat passes, lighter now. 

“Also…do you happen to know what animals Mx.Lullaby likes?” Hasier eventually asks. 

Cedric turns to him quizzically. “They live with and are quite fond of horses? Why?”

Hasier shifts a bit with a somewhat…eager smile on his face. “Well after our recent conversation I went ahead and began scrounging up the material for their staff. And I think I've found the perfect wood, I've got the wards in mind and most of the spell components, ideas for the carving and design…” Hasier goes on. 

Cedric looks at him incredulously. “You’ve already found all that?? Where are your materials right now?”

“Oh Draco is holding them.” Hasier declares cheerfully. “He's just outside. I told him if he wanders or disturbs them I'll drag him to the woods and chain him to a tree overnight.” 

Cedric is stunned for a moment, before he lets out a loud “PFFFFFFT!” And starts laughing. 

Hasier beams at his cleverness, and at making Cedric laugh. 

Meanwhile Draco sits just outside the medbay, arms crossed, holding bags of materials in one crossed hand and large fuck off piece of wood in the other. Pouting and seething at being made to wait like an errand boy. 

People walk by even at this late hour. Nighttime staff, visitors to the medbay, astartes, humans, pairs, singles, groups, even some parents and children. They don't run to hide, but they do give the clearly sour marine space…

Which he does appreciate. He lets out a low grumbling sigh, and turns his head to look down the hallway. 

Still quiet but not dead. People avoid him, but are not…scared of him, per se.

…

…

It's…not terrible. 

…

…

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

It was a near constant mantra to the man, if he could be called that even - but he certainly felt more like it as of late. There was nothing that could wear a primarch out more than his own children. 

Two utterly devastating words: Superhuman toddlers.

Two even more devastating words: Triplet girls.

Not that he didn’t love them, or was disappointed - quite the contrary, but by the throne were they a handful for the generally reserved man.

Continual counting had become a daily part of life.

One, two, three.

One giggling in his left arm putting stickers on his respirator, two giggling in his right arm chattering about the upcoming tea party he was expected to attend along with Typhus and a handful of asorted astarted they’d taken a liking too, three giggling sat on his shoulders, putting a million tiny plaits in his hair that would be impossible to remove later.

He wouldn’t trade them for the galaxy.

It is most concerning, but not unexpected, when amidst the usual chaos the giggles die down there is a long beat of silence reserved for three three terrors ‘communicating’ - and if he deliberately ignored precisely how they were doing it then it was nobody's business, was it?

But more concerning because it usually meant they were going to gang up on him to achieve some nefarious goal: making their father pretend to be a horse for the afternoon, playing hide and seek through ventilation systems, and on one particularly notable occasion, recruiting warriors for what could only be described as extreme pillow fort building. 

He dreaded the coming blow. He could deny them nothing.

Right on que, three tiny voices speak up in what would have been adorable unison if it were not for such devious purpose, words interspersed with uncontrollable giggles, “Papa, papa, papa, you should dye your hair!”

He could deny them this.

Encouraging their play and creativity was one thing - letting them bloom in a way he never got to, but there were limits and hair dye was a level of ridicule he could not bear to his legion, let alone the galaxy at large

Still, there is no immediate denial, just a long, ragged sigh that reverberates through his respirator as they switched over to each playing with the dusty white locks that fell around him, quietly awaiting his response and looking between each other knowingly.

He ignores the feeling of stickers being plastered into his hair.

“…No.” 

It’s weary but decisive, inflicted with the painful thrum in his chest that burns with the denial of their laughter. He knew at some point he would have to put his foot down.

He knew at some point they would no longer want to put stickers in his hair. At some point they would grow out of begging to be carried in his arms everywhere.

He subconsciously grips them tighter as he feels them begin to wiggle and whine, a cacophony of complaint.

“But papa -“, “- imagine if you -“ “- not even just a little?”

All accompanied by tiny fists grasping at his robes and the widest puppy eyes he’d ever seen. The trio looked like little puffy moths with fluffy white hair that wobbled as they pouted up at him.

He feels his resolve slipping as tears brimmed up and threatened to escape. There was no where to escape either, everywhere he looked was a bombarding assault to his willpower more powerful than any artillery. 

Maybe, maybe he could deny them this.

“Not- not even just a little bit.”

It was too late. 

Why had he ever let Roboute babysit? Why had the man taught them advanced negotiation tactics?

Like tyranids to just about anything, they pounced on the split second of hesitation, of weakness. and of course he was weak for his little girls.

“Pleeaaasseeee!”

Whines and whimpers increase in fervour and pitch as he wavers.

“How about light pink ends?….just a little bit?”

He could always say no tomorrow.

“…a faint light green streak. In the back.”

“Not even blue?”

“Green.”

They look between each other once more, tear long forgotten as their eyes danced with victory.

In response, he lets out an overly loud, defeated huff as a smile tugs at his eyes, letting them jubilantly bounce around all over him and cheer in celebration. 

One, two, three. One, two -

WAIT.

One. Two.

One. Two.

Three?

He whirls around with sickening speed. 

She peers up at him from below the knee sheepishly, now almost miraculously quickly clutching a small brush and black bowl filled with suspiciously pink goop.

He raises a singular eyebrow. 

She shuffles slightly, mischief barely even attempted to be hidden on her face.

They did not interrogate him in the tide next to the body of the Watcher’s latest murder victim.

Siros would not allow it. “Too Open. Even if the Killer isn’t watching us- which they very well might be, we don’t want the baseline humans to stumble on this and make assumptions.”

Lati carried most of his weight, silent and inexorable, while Ghilus watched their rear like a coiled blade waiting for an excuse. Korio scouted ahead, never more than a shadow between rain-blurred rocks.

Atlas walked beside Siros.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” the Chaplain murmured without looking at him.

Atlas exhaled slowly. “He knew the trap. Or suspected it.”

“He suspected something,” Siros corrected. “That means he’s been learning. That makes him dangerous—but also predictable.”

They brought the Harvester to an abandoned boathouse perched just beyond the tide line. Its roof sagged, its walls warped by salt and years of neglect. Siros chose it precisely because it was unremarkable. No echoes. No dramatic silhouettes. Just damp wood, rope coils, and the sea breathing beyond the walls.

The Harvester was chained to a reinforced piling driven deep into the stone beneath the floorboards. When they finished, he sagged slightly—not in defeat, but calculation. They have him bound- having prepared to capture him or another more deadly Astartes as they chain him.

Siros removed his helm. That alone changed the room. The Harvester is bruised- but healing from his scuffle with them. His eyes are a dull grey, his skin color a deep tan, with close cropped tightly curled hair in box braids.

“Speak,” the Chaplain said calmly. “And you live.”

The Harvester laughed weakly. “Your kind always says that.”

Siros tilted his head. “And yet you still breathe.”

Silence stretched. Rain ticked against the roof. Somewhere outside, waves struck rock with patient inevitability. There is an undercurrent- violence, bloody, cruel torture could happen. Siros is silently pulling out a wrapped leather cloth back that he’d tucked away in this boat house. Slowly unravelling it and showing of the sharp implements of brutal torture. Ghilius looks at them and smirks as he grabs a boning knife and looks towards their captured target.

Atlas stepped forward, datapad already active. “You’ve been harvesting gene-seed along this coast for decades.”

Atlas knows that physical torture only works on those who would easily fold to such things. And pain is something that all Astartes have learned to endure. Otherwise they would have died as aspirants. He’s not- if torture is needed, he will step back and allow Siros and Ghilus to work their wretched art.

“Someone had to,” the Harvester rasped. “Waste offends me.”

Lati’s gauntlet tightened audibly.

“You did not kill them,” Atlas continued. “But you found them. Repeatedly. Often enough to establish a pattern.”

The Harvester’s eyes flicked to him at last. Sharp. Assessing. “And you think that makes me responsible.”

“No,” Atlas said, his voice deep, eyes a dark churning blue. “I think it makes you observant.”

Siros smiled faintly. Atlas- is not being entirely truthful with what he said. There is at least some culpability with the Harvester for his actions. For not reporting the pattern. For not stopping- trying to stop the Killer from slaying those unfortunate to get ensnared into the crosshairs of the brutal hunter.

The Harvester swallowed. “He kills for ritual,” he said at last. “I harvest because I must. Those are not the same sin.”

“You know where he hunts,” Atlas pressed.

“I know when,” the Harvester replied. “Winter. Storms. Transitional tides. When the sea erases witnesses and fear keeps others indoors.”

Ghilus leaned forward, claws scraping wood. “Names.”

The Harvester coughed. “No name that I know. He predates the habit. He doesn’t take trophies- well not many at least. He doesn’t announce allegiance. He kills because he has always killed.”

Siros’s voice dropped. “Legion?”

A pause.

“... I don’t know,” the Harvester said carefully. “Perhaps he once had a legion, but not any more.”

That landed harder than a confession.

“He watches you,” the Harvester continued, eyes lifting—not to Siros, but to Atlas. “You especially. You learn too quickly for someone this young.”

Atlas felt the weight of that scrutiny settle into his chest. He lifts his chin at that, he’s had the murderous intentions of First Born marines on him before. It’s a weight that he’s managed before. He … he can handle this.

“He’s already chosen his next correction,” the Harvester whispered.

Silence again.

Then Siros spoke. “Where.”

The Harvester smiled, blood on his teeth. “Somewhere one of you feels safe.”

Lati’s helm tilted minutely. A gesture so small it could have meant nothing. Harvester noticed anyway.

“You felt that,” Harvester murmured. His voice was weaker now, but sharper for it. “That moment where the answer almost formed on its own.”

Ghilus scoffed. “He’s stalling.”

“No,” Siros said quietly. “He’s teaching.”

Harvester’s gaze slid back to the Chaplain. “You asked where,” he said. “But where is only relevant if you intend to arrive after the event.”

Atlas stiffened. “Then tell us before.”

Harvester let out a breath that might have been a laugh in another life. “You already have,” he said. “You just don’t trust the conclusion.”

Atlas frowned. “Explain.”

“Why?” Harvester countered. “So you can decide whether it aligns with your doctrine? With your chain of command?” His eyes glinted. “You’ll act faster if you believe it was your idea.”

That landed. Not as insult. As method.

Siros folded his arms. “You assume too much.”

“I assume patterns,” Harvester replied. “And yours are obvious. You isolate threats. You sanctify response. You believe clarity comes from hierarchy.”

He shifted against the chains, metal groaning. “He believes clarity comes from conflict.”

Atlas felt something cold trace his spine. “You speak as if you’ve studied him.”

“I speak as if I’ve studied myself,” Harvester said softly.

The room went very still. Rain pattered against warped planks. The sea breathed.

“You don’t warn authorities,” Atlas said slowly. “You don’t intervene. You don’t confront him. You recover what’s left and disappear.”

“Yes.”

“Because you believe—” Atlas hesitated, then pushed on, “—that interference would disrupt a larger outcome.”

Harvester’s smile was thin. Satisfied.

“Careful,” he said. “You’re thinking like it’s contagious.”

Ghilus snarled. “Enough riddles.”

Harvester’s eyes flicked to him. “You rush,” he observed. “You’d make a fine blunt instrument. Someone else would decide where you struck.”

Ghilus bristled, claws flexing.

“And you,” Harvester continued, turning his head toward Lati, “wait. You endure. You bear the weight others cannot. You would hold a line even if you didn’t know why it mattered.”

Lati did not move.

“That is not flattery,” Harvester added. “It is classification.”

Atlas felt it then—the creeping sense that this was not an interrogation anymore, but an audit.

“You still haven’t told us where,” Siros said.

Harvester’s eyes returned to him. “I told you when. I told you how. And I told you why he will succeed.”

He leaned back against the chains, breath hitching. “The rest is a variable you must supply.”

Siros’s gaze hardened. “And what variable is that?”

Harvester looked at Atlas again.

“Trust,” he said. “Specifically—who you extend it to when the moment comes.”

Atlas opened his mouth, then stopped.

“Because he won’t strike where you are strongest,” Harvester continued. “Or where you are vigilant. He’ll strike where you believe the structure itself will protect you.”

A pause.

“A place with rules,” Harvester finished. “With procedure. With oversight.”

The implication settled like ash.

Siros straightened slowly. “You’re suggesting an internal breach.”

“I’m suggesting inevitability,” Harvester corrected. “You cannot guard every door. You can only choose which ones matter.”

Atlas stared at him. “Why tell us this?”

For the first time, Harvester hesitated.

Just a fraction.

“Because,” he said at last, voice low, “once I believed that if enough pieces survived, the whole could be rebuilt.”

His eyes closed briefly.

“I no longer believe that,” he admitted. “But I still believe in outcomes.”

Siros studied him for a long moment. Then: “You expect us to fail.”

“No,” Harvester said. “I expect one version of you to fail.”

That was the tell.

Atlas felt it click—not fully, not cleanly, but enough to hurt.

“You’re not aligned,” Atlas said quietly. “You’re… partitioned.”

Harvester’s eyes opened. Grey. Ancient. Amused.

“There it is,” he murmured. “You do learn quickly.”

"Forgive me, brother, but the tyranids are coming, and to try and bring you with me would slow me down to the point where both of us are likely to be killed and devoured. Know that your death is not in vain, and that we will exterminatus this world that is seething with foul xenos life." Erwin murmured apologetically. He was kneeling next to Johan, who'd been badly struck by one of the biological missiles that the tyranids used to disable and slow down anything they could aim at. 

Johan wheezed as he weakly clawed at the parasite burrowing into his chest, trying to the thing out. The paralytic had already caused him to collapse to the ground of the jungle moon they'd been deployed on. "At least... Kill this damn thing lodged in my chest, brother please!"

Erwin hesitates, as the horrible roar of a carnifex could he heard far too close for comfort. It's massive, lumbering form shaking the trees and underbrush "I... I can do that much for you, brother." He stabbed the bastard parasite through with his powersword, careful to not skewer the doomed brother attached to it. "This is all I can do. May you find your way swiftly in to the Emperor's Light." 

With that, the other Black Templar runs off at full speed, leaving Johan struggling to breathe as the carnifex lumbered over him. Johan's fingers twitched and he pushed with all of his might to grab the melta bomb attached to his belt. He'd been left to die, but he wanted to go down taking out one last enemy. "Come here... You big... ugly xenos!" 

It obligingly lumbered over to him, reaching down and pulling him up by the neck with its ugly, clawed arms, and he can feel it digging into his armor. It sniffed and chuffed at him. 

Johan managed to get the melta bomb off of his belt and pulled the pin. "Come one, try to eat me, you ugly xenos fuck!"

It opened it's jagged-toothed maw and with the last of his strength, the Black Templar managed to throw the ticking melta bomb into the fucker's mouth. He couldn't resist as the bastard bit into his shoulder, biting through his ceramite armor as if it did not exist.