"Get back here!" the large man shouted, waving a crackling iron rod above his head as he pushed his way down the crowded corridor.

But the girl was already gone, ducked into a venting shaft, her prize gripped tightly in her tiny hand. She knew where she was going, of course. Had used this escape route many times before, had never been caught. No one could follow her. Not the nasty Arbites at least. Such was life in the hive, she smiled to herself. Only the strongest, or the smartest, or sometimes, the smallest, survived.

Now, seated on a large pipe, one of the countless millions that snaked through the massive monument to the Imperium in which she and so very many others lived and worked and prayed and died, she looked down at her hands and smiled.

"Hello there," she said to the piece of bright purple fruit in front of her. "I'm Auka."

She had never quite seen one like this before, and sniffed at it before she took a first, tentative bite. Her bravery was rewarded with a sweet taste, and she giggled as the juice slid down her chin. This was a rare find, she knew. A world away from the usual corpse starch bricks most ate every day.

As she had for all of her short life. She was the daughter of a working woman who had died in a factorium accident sometime last year, leaving Auka alone. Her father had never been on the scene, and so she had never really missed him. It had been tough at first, she reminisced as she ate, she had had to scrounge and steal for each and every meal, but she had survived, and was determined to keep doing so.

"Gone so quickly," she sighed, using her tiny teeth to pick the last of the tender flesh from the fruit's pit.

Staring at the sticky round fruit stone in her hand, she wondered if she would ever see another one. Maybe, she dreamed, she could find a way to make it grow. She knew of how, on the agriworlds of the Imperium, whole continents bloomed and grew more fresh things than anyone could dream of. The loudspeakers of the hive boomed endlessly about how the many worlds of mankind worked together to ensure all their futures. But that was somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Could she make it happen here? It would take water, she thought she remembered. And sunlight.

Then Auka heard a noise and froze in place, instinctively trying to make herself as small as possible.

"I don't care," a voice called out, the sound of it ringing off the metal pipes and panels. "Get it moving!"

"You could help, ya know," someone else replied, grunting. "These guns are heavy."

"Shut up, will you?" the first voice cried, "Someone might hear us!"

The two unseen figures kept squabbling, their voices bouncing off the pipes and passageways, and so the girl waited a few moments before taking off, running down a cramped corridor away from them. Looking behind her, she caught a glimpse of what looked like two large men, rugged and armed. Gangers, she knew, and she wanted nothing to do with them. It wasn't that uncommon to see them this high up in the hive, but they were always best avoided, especially if they, like her, were down here in the service tunnels.

"Keep moving," one of them shouted.

After having put enough distance between her and them, Auka wandered about, tracing pipes and powerlines with her eyes as she walked. Like everywhere else, at least the places she had been, the smell of chemicals and bodies and centuries of filth hung in the air. She was used to it by now, but it could still make her eyes water every once in a while.

"They won't know what hit 'em!" the other voice replied, faint now, lost in the endless chaos of the hive.

As she continued, wiping at the still sticky corners of her mouth, she saw a small creature and watched it as it squirmed in the pale yellow light.

"Hello, Auka called out softly.

But the animal didn't reply. Like her, they were just trying to survive.

"Bye…"

Eventually, still clinging onto the fruit pit, now tacky in her tiny hand, the girl found the entrance to a path she had not seen before. Maybe a panel had come loose, a byproduct of the frequent hive quakes that shook the whole spire, or maybe age had just won over the corroded metal, revealing this new opening.

"Where do you go?" she asked herself, looking down the passage.

Auka stood there for a while, contemplating, but when she heard the gangster's voices again, somehow now approaching her location, she ducted into the darkened space and crawled forward.

It seemed like she was in there a long time, on hands and knees, until finally, following a light up ahead, she emerged from the now tight tunnel into an surprisingly open area where she found herself looking at something she couldn't quite believe.

A window. A big one.

Rushing over to it, the girl pressed her face to the thick glass and stared out onto the world below. She glanced around at the scene before her. There it was, the famed wastes outside the spire in which she lived, the ground the colour of fire, the sky the colour of ash. A thick cloud cover blanketed the view. Never in her life could she have imagined seeing the outside. Never in her wildest dreams could she have thought she would find a way to see out into the beyond, past the rusting metal and dripping pipes, past the crowds of people and the stench of them.

Auka stood there for hours, staring, taking in the scene and wondering if this was what an agriworld looked like. She imagined that it wasn't.

"I wish the sun would shine," she muttered to herself later, still absently gripping the now brown fruit pit from her hand.

Then she stood back from the window in awe, as rays of light began to pierce the thick clouds, revealing a bright orange circle on the horizon.

"Will you just sit, mother?" the young man cried, his voice cracking with the onset of puberty.

"I will not," the woman replied tightly.

I cannot, she told herself.

As the head of the noble dynasty of the Von Stromms, Feronikka had had to struggle to keep her family at the top of the cruel political reality of the hive. And now, things were turning against them.

"That damned Deacon," she muttered, continuing to pace the large, spacious apartments they lived in atop the towering spire. "He wishes to see us ruined."

"This again…" her son sighed, sinking deeper into the lavish couch on which he was seated.

He had no idea of what he had, what he could lose. He had never even been outside the elite area in which they lived, had never smelt the realities of the rest of the 99.99% of humans that shared the planet with them. He had never known the bite of hunger, or the rage of powerlessness. True, she hadn't either, but she knew it existed, had seen it, and was determined to avoid it at all costs.

"Listen to me, Titus von Stromm," she snapped at the boy, "the dangers of that man, that 'priest' are very real. When your father was alive, he would have never allowed–"

"But father isn't alive, is he?" the boy spat back.

Lady Feronikka could have slapped her son at that moment, but she stayed her hand. Her husband's death was still fresh in both their minds, and so she allowed the boy his anger, his mourning. For now.

"As I was saying," she continued, adjusting slightly a portrait of the dead man that dominated the room, "Balphus Jaurvir is the worst kind the Ecclesiarchy produces. He is arrogant, rash, and worst of all, popular."

"So what? Isn't it a good thing?"

The boy, only 12 years old, still held a somewhat rosy view of the way the Imperium operated, fueled by the scholarium he attended twice daily. To him, the Adeptus Ministorum was something useful in controlling the masses. Something to be harnessed. But Feronikka knew better.

For she had seen what could happen when the crowd turned against you. Indeed, her family's own rise to power had been off the backs of a popular uprising. That had been more about food than faith, sure, but it had had the same effect. She could still remember the look on the members of House Orsil's faces when they had been dragged from the spire.

"No," she told Titus eventually, coming back to the matter at hand, "it is not a good thing."

What she needed, what they both needed, was something big. Something to distract the masses from their small lives, something that would either steer the Ecclesiarchy away from its focus on her family. And she needed it to happen quickly, or else risk losing it all. She sighed, and put her hands down on the ornate desk that bisected the large room.

"What's that?" her son asked then.

At first, Feronikka ignored him, still lost in thought, but then she noticed and began studying the shadows that now branched off the various items in front of her.

"Mother?" Titus called out, nervously.

She looked up at the skylight above her and for the first time in her life, she felt as if her prayers had been answered.

Arbite Plirk Holyow drank his caffeine ration slowly, not so much to enjoy the taste, which was terrible, but to allow himself a moment to think.

"You alright?" the barkeep asked, wiping the counter in front of him with a decidedly less-than-clean rag.

"I'm fine," Plirk replied, keeping his eyes on his drink.

But he wasn't fine. In fact, he was miserable. It had nothing to do with losing the thief girl earlier that day. I n fact, he could care less about that. She was just one amongst the thousands of starving brats that roamed the habstacks of the spire.

No, what troubled him was not a girl, but a woman. His woman, or so he had hoped. Now, however, that was looking less and less likely.

"Can't you see it from my side?" he had asked her that morning, as he dressed for the day, strapping on the various layers of carapace and padding that was his and his kind's uniform.

"I can," she had replied, an infuriating blend of a smile and a smirk on her face "and I don't like the view."

The woman in question, Kiri Enike, was a garden tender for the hive's elite, sometimes even the Von Stromms, and as such, had access to a much better quality of life than he could ever imagine. His kind were soldiers, not even actually, more like thugs for the Imperium, keeping the millions and billions in line. He was replaceable, he knew that, but lately, he had felt something else.

Unworthy.

"Trouble out there today?" the barkeep asked casually, probably uncomfortable by the silent brooding or simply bored and seeing a manner through which to pass the time.

"Trouble every day," Plirk replied quickly, sharply.

"Heard there was gang activity…"

"And what would you know of it?"

That shut the man up.

Back on the street now, the Arbite looked around the hab cluster he had spent the last five years of his life in. How he hated it. Hated its cramped quarters, its dirty citizens, the constant reverberations of the manufactoriums below, the sound of the itinerant preachers intoning the Emperor's name.

"I don't like the view," Kiri had said.

Neither do I, Plirk muttered, and began to walk his beat, lost again in his own mind, failing to notice the ever increasing commotion all around him.

If she had had her way, Luces Aspea, Elohiem and Battle Sister of the Order of the Valorous Heart, would not have chosen her current post, stuck on the barren moon of [REDACTED] that her small company shared with the others. But she had devoted herself to the service of the Emperor, and so went where his will dictated she go. His and the Mother Superior's of course.

So now, sitting across from her unlikely companions, she grit her teeth and went on with the meeting.

"So what of it?" she asked the two other women tersely, already tired of the conversation.

"You must agree that their equipment is impressive," the first of them replied.

This was Nesot Vakyon, a tech priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, whose dry humour and often sarcastic remarks betrayed the fact that the woman was now almost completely made of metal. Not that Luces could judge on that front. She had lost half her skull to a Kroot Shaper earlier in her life, and so had her own share of mechanical replacements. She more or less liked the tech priest, and though she would never admit it, she was thankful for their presence here, as it had allowed for a few upgrades to her own 'enhancements.'

"That is heresy," the other spat, "and you know it."

And coming from an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, however new to the role she might be, meant something. This woman's face, in contrast to her companions, was unblemished and unenhanced, save for the small Imperial Aquila tattooed under her bottom lip that stretched out when she spoke, making the wings appear as if they were moving.

This Inquisitor had been sent to their moon to learn about the Sororitas and how they operated from inside the organisation, and as such, Luces had been assigned to assist her. She wondered why the woman hadn't been sent to a convent world, or at least somewhere that had a larger contingent of Sisters, but again, if the Emperor willed it…

"Prasia Dominante," the tech priest offered, always preferring to use one's full name, "that is short-sighted. As a member of the Holy Ordos, you must know that there is much we can learn from the xenos."

"Ladies…" Luces interrupted. "I know the Tau better than anyone here, and I can assure you that they do not–"

But the rest of the thought died in the Sister's throat, distracted as she was by the sight of a servo-skull whizzing into the compact chamber in which the three women were meeting.

"Apologies," the drone-like robotic device said, its voice made harsh and tinny by the vox contained inside its bone cage. "There is a message from Iaxrak VI."

Unexpectedly, the Inquisitor groaned as the servo-skull mentioned the planet's name.

"From who?" Luces asked, confused, studying the bone white of the skull in front of her, and watching how the lights of the room painted it with various tints of green, red and gold.

"The noble regent of Spire Primus."

"I don't…" the sister began, looking at the other women for clarity.

"Feronikka von Stromm" the tech priest replied, cutting her off. "She runs the largest hive on Iaxrak VI and is…oh my…"

There was almost a sense of glee in the voice of the half human, half machine cluster of robes and tubes opposite her.

"-is not important right now," the Inquisitor said then, obviously hoping the matter would be closed.

Which of course it wasn't.

"What is the message?" the tech priest asked again, still seemingly amused.

"It appears," the servo-skull reported, "that the sun has come out."

"What?" Prasia asked.

"What?" Nesot repeated, intrigued.

"That is all," the drone said, before adding, "Would you like to reply?"

All three women stared at each other in disbelief. The Inquisitor because she didn't understand, the Tech Priest because she couldn't, and the Sister because, perhaps, she did.

Five days after the light began to shine down on the world, Enos Rathope, veteran captain of the 27th reconnaissance regiment, stood and watched as his squad routed against the incoming enemy advance.

At least that was what he wanted the green bastards to think.

"They're taking the bait!" one of his men shouted over the roars of the xenos and the snapping of lasguns, making Rathope smile, knowing as he did what was coming next.

"Now!" he shouted, and his men threw themselves into the reddish dirt, allowing space for the autocannon crew, hidden just behind a small rise in the charcoal-coloured land, to open fire.

The Orks ran right into the hail of bullets, tearing their tough green skin to ribbons. Most of the brutes went down, but one of the more heavily armoured monsters kept charging.

"Time to die!" Rathope called out to the soldiers behind him, and brought his chainsword to life, its teeth whirring into the air.

"WAAAGH!" the Ork closest to him cried, raising a crudely forged axe above its head.

" Oh Waaagh yourself," the captain replied, and swung his own weapon towards the beast's outstretched arm, catching the space between where rough metal plates had been bolted into the creature's skin, and severing the limb from the xeno's body in a splash of hot, green blood.

The force of the blow was enough to force the Ork back a step, but the brute didn't take long to recover, literally stooping down and picking up its own severed arm, axe still grasped in its massive hand, before charging again.

"For the Captain!" his soldiers shouted, and suddenly there they were, hacking away at the armoured monster with their bayonets and knives and entrenching tools.

"For the Emperor!" he corrected, smiling and stepping back, letting his men finish the job. He was almost proud.

Later on, while the squad performed clean up at the scene, using hand flamers to torch all the fallen Orks and any other visible fungal blooms, Rathope looked over the bodies of his own dead. On many of them, someone had written "Only in Death Does Duty End". So it would seem. But it never would end. Anyone worth their rations knew that you could never truly get rid of a green skin infestation, you could only manage it.

"Sir," one of his men called out to him then, "look!"

Raising his head from the dead on the ground to the sky, the captain saw a ship flying towards the hive in the distance. He brought out his amplivisor and quickly zeroed in on the craft, and could clearly make out the Inquisitorial Rosette on the side.

Someone was in for a bad day, he knew. He just hoped it wasn't him.

It was all anyone could talk about, even those who usually pretended they were above such trivial matters.

"Have you seen it yet?" one of her patrons asked, when picking up her latest order of flowers.

"I have," Kiri Enike replied, smiling, making last little fussy adjustments to the brilliant bouquet of crimson and ochre and gold blooms in front of her.

Of course, she hadn't really, hadn't been allowed to venture out to the edge of the hive, but she imagined that she would soon enough.

"Is that it for the day?" a gruff voice asked from behind her.

"I believe so," Kiri answered, her spine stiffening at the sound but fighting to prevent showing too much of her discomfort to the patron just leaving the shop, the arms of her two servants a riot of colour and foliage.

"Then come here…" the voice demanded.

Even though he only was her boss, and had given her the very comfortable position that she now held, Kiri knew better than to get too comfortable around Moab Kryptmel.

"When did you get back?" she inquired, gently, not wanting to appear too concerned as she walked back from locking the shop's ornate front door.

"This morning," the merchant replied. "Where do you think those damn white ones came from?"

"I thought–" she began, before being cut off.

"You thought?" Moab choked. "There's a laugh."

Kiri bit her tongue in order not to get into any more trouble.

"Quite the surprise, I must say," the man continued, coming up behind her. "To see the sun. I heard it is the first time in a thousand years. Seems that Iaxrak VI has some secrets left. Who would have guessed it?"

"Some say it is a miracle," the woman offered, hoping to shift the merchant's focus onto others.

"Fools and heretics," Moab spat, before literally doing so, right beside her.

"Yes, of course," she replied, watching as the wad of phlegm sunk into the deep purple carpet that ran throughout the shop. "Well, if that is all you need from me, I will head back to the garden dome.

"Fine," the man answered absentmindedly. "Oh, there will be a special pick up tomorrow. I have the order here."

Taking the dataslate from him, Kiri looked down at the new request.

"So many," she said, thumbing through the long list of flowers to be assembled.

"Yes," Moab answered, "seems like you are not the only one who finds the change in the weather miraculous."

Scanning the order form, the woman noticed the name attached to it. Balphus Jaurvir. The Deacon.

With the sun shining in through the massive windows behind him, Grenaeus Castis looked at the men in front of him and grunted. He was proud of his men. Fierce warriors all. Of course, there were no real battles to be had here, on Iaxrak VI, except maybe an Ork hunt or two, but that was usually left to the planet's Astra Militarum regiments. Still, the Sergeant liked to make sure that his brothers were ready should they ever be called upon.

"Dismissed," he barked after the short review was over, and the four Novamariness before him saluted crisply before heading off to attend to their duties, their mighty ceramite boots ringing against the cold steel floor.

It was not uncommon for small units of the Adeptus Astartes to be stationed inside a hive city, and all told, Granaeus liked living here. The chapel barracks they ran was kept clean and smart, and they had training facilities enough for them to keep their edge as well as a site to test possible new aspirants for the chapter. It was far away from the chapter's homeworld of Honourum, but they had been granted permission to recruit on this planet by none other than Roboute Guilliman himself.

Being reborn into the Novamariness, a second founding of the mighty Ultramarines, there was a great sense of pride in the Sergeant. He had come from the humblest of beginnings on a feral world, where he had had to survive by his wits and ruthlessness. There had only been one rule back then - kill or be killed. Now, however, he, like all his brothers, were strict adherents to the Codex Astartes.

"Sergeant," a voice called out to him, and he turned to see Stellon Alcandar standing there.

"Yes?" Granaeus asked, looking up at the Primarus Marine walking toward him.

As a first born, the Sergeant marvelled at the sheer size and strength of his brother. The man, Stellon, had not been with his unit long, but he was strong, sure of himself, and his skill with the bolt rifle was unmatched.

At least in training, Granaeus smiled to himself.

"We have received word that a representative of the Ordo Hereticus has just landed."

The Inquisition, here? Why? Because of some random sunshine? Surely not. But if not, then why….

"I see," the Sergeant said, keeping his facial expression like stone. "Thank you."

Stellon nodded and strode away, his power-armoured boots clanging on the floor like the others had.

"Oh," the man added, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he left, "and there is supposedly a member of the Sororitas with her. An Elohiem."

"We shall have to make her feel at home here," Granaeus replied, the stone of his face now melting into a smirk.

"Indeed," the Primarus marine responded flatly before disappearing from view.

The Elohim were said to be experts in the brutal arts of melee combat inside the Adepta Sororitas. Their prowess and zeal in battle was legendary. At least for a normal human. Perhaps the Sister would like to take advantage of the Novamarines' training facilities, the Sergeant mused to himself.

There, he would be sure to show her what a real warrior could do.

"Where are they?" the Deacon said, tapping the desk in front of him with one of his judiciously long fingers.

If they had belonged to anyone else, they might have been accused of being a mutant, or worse. But instead they belonged to Balphus Jaurvir and as such, no one would ever even consider making such a remark. Not if they valued their life that is.

"I'm sure they will be here soon," one of his toadies replied nervously.

"Out. Now." the Deacon demanded, and soon was alone in his study, surrounded by what was surely every flower in Hive Primus.

Three hours had passed since Balphus had received word that the ship had landed, carrying an Inquisitor, a woman named Prasia Dominante, as well as a battle Sister of the Adepta Soroitas. Given what had happened, with the miracle, he was sure they would come to him immediately. He was, after all, the ranking member of the Ecclesiarchy on Iaxrak VI, and as such was the only one in the position to see out whatever came next for the planet and its citizens.

"Where are they?!" the Deacon repeated, becoming increasingly agitated.

Perhaps they had gone to see the Van Stromms first. How he hated that family, with their matriarch, Lady Feronikka, and her idiot son Titus. Nobles indeed, he scoffed to himself. If it were up to him, he would see their bodies flayed and set up against the cathedral walls for all to understand the price to be paid by the vain and vacuous. But there was time for that later, he mused, still tapping his desk, watching the door, waiting.

As for the Inquisitor herself, Balphus had been unable to find out much information about her. This in itself was not unsurprising. Members of the Ordos were not really open to investigation, quite the opposite actually. Still, there were usually some records listing their movements or appointments or trials they had overseen.

But for this woman, nothing.

"Your grace," a small voice whispered behind the closed door, "they are here."

"Well, see them in!" the Deacon boomed, standing and arranging his vestments. He had selected his most simple robes for this occasion. It was important for them to think him humble. Guileless. Devout.

Easy to manage.

The moment they had been waiting for had come to pass just as the farseer said it would. The time was right. The skies over the planet had cleared.

The only problem, thought Celdaen Soh, Iyanden-born, leader of the Ghost House of Delgari, was that the Green Skins had failed to do their part.

"We must wait," Caldaen sighed. Waiting, some said, was what the Aeldari did best.

Her people had seeded an Ork population a long time ago, hoping that given time, the greenskins would multiply and drive the humans, the Mon-keigh, from the world. But they had not, and now, as the Farseer and the the rest of those still alive on Craftworld sought to recover from the wounds of the The Great Devourer, the desire to act was strong.

"The Tears of Morai-Heg," Iyanna Arienal, the greatest of Iyanden's Spiritseers, had said "must be found. It is our only hope."

This was before the Tyranid attack…or was it afterwards? Celdaen wasn't sure…couldn't recall, lost so much to those creatures…still say them when she…but it didn't matter. For she believed she knew where a Tear was. And that was all that mattered.

But it had been chance, hadn't it, that led her to this moment, waiting. It had been an offhand comment, made by a Bone Singers who attended to House Delgari's Wraith-constructs, their honoured dead, that had led the farseer to investigate the matter further.

"Are you sure?" she had asked in disbelief, watching the singer spin the power of the immaterial into a shape before her.

What was revealed then was that a webway gate existed a planet the humans called Iaxrak VI, and that, for some reason, one of the tears might have been taken there.

"But why?" she had asked the engineer, who had tried to gather more information from the Wraithguard, only to come up empty.

"Their mind is clouded," they had replied, their voice singing, "They move towards the death-sleep. I am sorry. I can do no more."

Such was the way of things, she sighed, recalling that moment, now lost in the emotional memory of it as much as anything else. Too many were being lost to the endless night. Too many were gone.

But Celdaen had hope. Which right now, she knew, Iyanden needed more than anything.

"And so we will wait," she whispered to herself. "Wait and see…"

"Come now," the Inquisitor said sternly, staring across the desk in front of her. "There must be more to this than a simple change in weather."

"Surely, my Lady, there is. But I do not think it is of a heretical nature," the Deacon replied, smiling, surrounded for some reason by an entire garden of flowers.

From the moment she had laid eyes upon Balphus Jaurvir, Prasia had disliked him. And now, everytime the man opened his mouth, the feeling grew. Plus, just being on Iaxrak VI was enough to put her in a bad mood.

"So what then?" the woman asked, "You imagine this to be a miracle?"

"They are known to happen," the Sister beside her added, nodding. "More often than is usually recognized. The Emperor is –"

"Yes, I know," the Inquisitor retorted. "I do not need to be educated on the qualities of our Emperor."

At first, she had hoped that the presence of Luces Aspea would help calm the Ecclesiarchy, who in large part helped to control the hive, but now it was proving to be more of a nuisance than anything else. She had forgotten just how connected the Priesthood and the Soritas were.

"Indeed," the Deacon nodded, "The faith is what binds our people together."

Prasia was feeling her inexperience, and hating it. True, she was vested by her Ordos as a full fledged Inquisitor, replete with honours and status of her position, but what she lacked was insight.

And she knew it.

"I will be conducting my own investigation of this matter," she announced then, standing, attempting to sound commanding.

"Of course," Deacon Balphus replied, remaining seated in his chair, obviously unmoved by her show of force. "And if there is anything we can do, we would be happy to assist."

"You will be required to assist," she informed him, again trying to project strength, "whether that makes you happy or not."

The man nodded, but said no more.

Outside the cathedral, the two women were met by a young boy, dressed in understated finery, and looking nervous beside a retinue of burly bodyguards that flanked him.

"I am Titus von Stromm," he announced, "And I have been sent here to lead you to our palace, where you may stay during your time here."

The boy's mannerisms were so obviously rehearsed, the manner so fake, that Prasia could not help but shake her head. It was his mother's doing, no doubt. Plus, the fact that he didn't recognize her was something in itself. To be fair, he had been fairly young when–

"Lead on, then," the Sister commanded then, pull Prasia out of the past.

As the two women followed Titus and his guard, they talked over their less than productive meeting with the Deacon.

"You will never get anywhere with the Ecclesiarchy treating them like that," Luces told her. "They preach the Emperor's truth, and many have the support of the people. If it is information you seek, you will need his help."

"I know," Prasia sighed, still watching the boy in front of her.

"I hope so," the Sister replied, with neither inflection or intent.

"Do you actually believe it was a miracle?" she asked the Sorotias then, as they boarded an ornate shuttle that the Tius had said would convey them into the spire's luxurious peak.

"I cannot say," Luces mused. "It is not for me to decide that. All I would say was that one thing is just as likely as the other."

As they approached the palace of the Von Stromm's, the Inquisitor noticed the Sister as she noticed the change in mood quickly overcoming her

"What is wrong?" Luces asked, curious.

"I am not looking forward to this reunion," Prasia replied, her eyes cast down upon the shuttle's floor.

"Why not?"

"Because, I have not seen Lady Feronikka for some time. And when we last–"

But the Inquisitor was cut short when, out of nowhere, the sound of gunfire split the air.

"Get down!" Luces roared, pushing Prasia into one of long, soft benches that rimmed the shuttle's deck.

Autogun fire raked the side of the ship, and the Inquisitor watched as two of the Von Stromm's guards were hit, one flying backwards, the other slumping and falling off the shuttle down into the expanse of the hive city below.

"What is happening?" the boy Titus squeaked, holding his hands over his ears.

"Treachery," the Sorotas replied, pulling her bolt pistol from its holster, and firing towards the direction of the attack.

The boom of the shells, in reality small rockets, exiting Luces' gun shook the shuttle. By now, the rest of the Von Stromm's guards had readied their lasguns, and the popping of them added to the sound now enveloping the Inquisitor.

"Damn it," she shouted, fumbling with the latch on her own weapon, and by the time she had finally freed it, the ship had moved on from the ambush site, and was now approaching the docking port at the gate of the palace.

"Are you alright?" Luces asked her, the bolt pistol hot and smoking in her power armour-clad gauntlet.

"I am," Prasia replied, annoyed. And ashamed.

She had failed in her duty.

"Help me…" a small voice cried then, and both women turned around to see Titus von Stromm, held by one of the remaining bodyguards, bleeding from a number of holes in his side.

And she had failed her family as well.

On the ninth day after the sun came out, Enos Rathope, veteran captain of the 27th reconnaissance regiment, stood and looked out over the wastes. His squad had been on patrol for the last two weeks, and had two more to go. They were down to two thirds strength, but holding up well. Their head count was over 50 xenos, not a bad trade for their losses.

"Check that position," he barked then, less because he was concerned about the Orks sneaking up on them, and more to keep his men focused.

"Yes, sir!" the two soldiers replied, checking and rechecking their mortar emplacement.

Things had been quiet that day, and the last one also for that matter, and while there were reports that the big Ork had been spotted, there had been no attack beyond a random snotling charge or two. Enos wasn't sure if the brute was waiting for something, or if maybe the creatures had gotten bored and had gone off to hunt somewhere else.

That was the thing about the Orks, the captain knew. They were consistent, but rarely predictable. Their command structure could change in an instant, if one of them happened to fight their way to the top of the pile, and then their whole strategy would change.

"Message from the spire, sir," one of his men said, coming up to him with a dusty dataslate in hand.

"Give it here," Enos nodded, judging the soldier's face before he bothered to read the message.

If it was about the Inquisitor, the man's expression would betray it. But there was no sign of concern, so the captain let his eyes drift down to the slate in his hand.

"The Von Stromm's…" he muttered, scanning the message. It seemed that the boy Titus had been attacked, and was now in a coma. All units were to stand ready to assist the noble family should it come to that.

"Should we begin breaking down our position?" the man asked, taking the dataslate back.

"No," Enos said, shaking his head. "We remain here unless summoned."

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied, departing.

Trouble in the spire was never good, but it was not uncommon. The Captain had been around when House Orsil had fallen, and it had taken many months, and much blood, before things stabilised again. The fact that he and his men were out in the wastes when this happened was a blessing, he knew. Less of a chance they would get drawn into the power politics that would result if the Von Stromm's time was coming to an end, less of a chance to end up as a pawn in someone else's game.

"Alright," he called out then, to no one in particular, "Let's see about something to eat."

The creatures would come at them again soon enough. No point in fighting them on an empty stomach. And so, as Enos watched a man in front of him roasting a pair of captured squigs over a small plasma fire, he wondered if his superiors would see the act as hunger or heresy…

Auka had made the mistake of telling someone that she had wished for the sun to come out just before it happened, and in the crazed world of the Imperium, this spread like wildfire. Already, a crowd was following her around the hab area, asking her questions she had no answers to and this made her uncomfortable.

But they were also giving her sweets, and so she allowed it to continue.

"I don't know," she replied meekly when someone wanted to know if the light would remain.

"I'm not sure," she told the old woman who asked if it meant her son was still alive, having been lost in the wastes months ago.

"I don't think so," she had to repeat, when being begged to bless a new born baby thrust into her arms.

Suddenly, the sweets seemed poor pay for such attention.

"There she is!" a voice shouted, and Auka was shocked to see a team of Arbites headed in her direction, led by the man who, days ago, had tried to capture her for stealing that fruit.

But they never reached her, never even got close, as the crowd surged forward, protecting her and swarming the armoured squad, tyring to drag them down to the hard metal flooring but mostly just suffering under the wrath of their batons.

"This way," someone called to her then, and reaching out, she found a gloved hand in return and was whisked across the street into a dark room.

"Who are you?" the girl asked, nervous.

"We are here to help you," the stranger told her, their voice obvously augmented by some sort of mechanical device, but they did not pull up the hood that covered their face.

Auka nodded, but said nothing. She had learned a lot in the past week, and now knew that when someone offered to help you, it always meant they wanted something in return.

The tech priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, watched the screens flicker in front of them as it displaying information at a speed no unaugmented human could have possibly processed. But for her, it was easy, and she continued to scan the reams of data, stacks at a time, as it flew by.

Ever since the Inquisitor had left the moon base, Nesot Vakyon had been bothered by just how familiar the name Iaxrak VI was and finally she had time now to try to discover why.

"There you are," she said to herself, stopping on a file listed under the title Xenos - Eldar.

As the tech priest read, or rather consumed and processed, she allowed her connection to the cogitator in her workshop to search for any associated materials, gathering or dismissing them a hundred at a time, based on their seeming relevance.

By the end of an hour, she had formed a pretty clear picture of what she had wanted to know.

"Interesting," she muttered to herself. "Very interesting."

"You must find her!" the Deacon barked, causing the line of Arbites in front of him to stand even more straight, if such a thing were even possible.

"We will, your grace." the commander replied.

"Now!" the man bellowed, dismissing them all.

Outside of the Deacon's office, Plirk Holyow stood with the others, awaiting orders. It had been in his section that the girl had risen to notoriety, and it had been he who had failed to capture her.

"So?" the commander asked sharply, "What is your plan?"

"Sir?" Plirk asked, still overwhelmed by the grandeur of the Deacon's presence.

"Your plan! How will you find the girl?"

The rest of the Arbities remained at attention, but a clear ripple of tension ran through them. Displeasing the commander was one thing; disappointing the Ecclesiarchy was another altogether. And they all knew it. There would be little mercy shown to them if they failed to find the girl.

"We will redouble our efforts!" Plirk managed, swallowing hard but keeping as much of his composure as he was able to.

"Good." the commander snapped,"I'm putting you personally in charge of this. They…" he said, staring at each of the Arbites down the line as he spoke, "..are yours. Get. This. Done."

Plirk exhaled only when the man had gone, and he let his shoulders drop, fighting the tremble he felt inside.

"OUR SHIELD IS OUR FAITH. OUR FAITH IS OUR DUTY." a loudspeaker near them crackled.

Looking up at it, and taking in the sheer size of the cathedral he and his new squad were in, Plirk sighed and felt very small as he signalled to the rest of the Arbites to head out.

"OUR DUTY IS OUR LIFE…"

So it would seem.

The boy Titus had died from his wounds, and while the Von Stromm family dealt with their loss, the Sister had left them to their mourning and had sought out something to take her own mind off of what had happened. And to release the fury building up inside her.

That is how she had ended up standing inside a training simulator, of the Adeptus Astartes.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" the Novamarine asked, obviously mocking her

"I am sure," Luces replied, waiting for the trial to begin, her hand on the hilt of her power sword, the hum of it sending familiar pluses up her arm.

"Because we can lower the settings if you wish," he continued.

"I will be fine," she told him, her tone stoic, her anger broiling under it.

"Suit yourself."

"Arrogant asshole," she muttered to herself, waiting.

But then all Astares were, at least all the ones she had ever met. They were the Emperor's angels, but in her experience rarely acted like it. For so many of them, they were so removed from the rest of humanity, from their struggles and suffering, that they had lost touch with the men they had once been. The Sorotias, on the other hand, often lived and worked amongst the people, sharing in the hopes and dreams and fears that ruled their existence.

"Simulation commencing," a crackly voice said from somewhere behind her, which was then followed by a long, loud siren.

And with that, Novamarines Sergeant Castis left the Sister and went to watch the action from above. She could feel him watching her, and knew that he would neither congratulate her, iof she did well, nor stop things if she got into trouble. Such was to be expected. He, like all Astartes, were just boys playing at being super soldiers.

"Come on," she snarled to herself then, as the door opposite where she stood began to open. "Let's see what you've got."

If she were honest, she would , Luces had felt somewhat bad about leaving Prasia and her kin, but when the first mechanised foes came at her quickly, she soon forgot all about it and let her rage free.

[To be continued...]