Chapter 1
Magos Dominus Heironymus stood in his private sanctum, the familiar hum of machinery filling the air. The room was a fortress of solitude amidst the chaos of Vulcanis IV, its walls lined with shelves of ancient tomes, data-slates, and relics from ages past. Heironymus preferred the quiet of this place, where the flicker of lumen globes cast shadows over the ancient machinery, and the only sound was the soft, rhythmic pulse of the cogitator at the room's centre.
He adjusted the settings on the console before him, the green glow of his augmetic eyes reflecting off the polished surface. His thoughts were focused on the latest calculations, the endless pursuit of the sacred knowledge of the Omnissiah. The machine-spirits were restless today, their usual harmony disrupted by some unseen disturbance.
The chime of the door broke his concentration, a sharp, intrusive sound. Heironymus frowned, irritation flaring at the interruption. He pressed a button, and the door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Tech-Priest Kaelon standing in the corridor beyond. The younger man's expression was strained, his eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and something else—something Heironymus couldn't quite place.
"Magos Heironymus," Kaelon said, bowing his head in deference. "There's been a development at the excavation site. We've… we've found something."
Heironymus gestured for Kaelon to enter, keeping his own expression neutral. "Report, Enginseer. What have you found?"
Kaelon stepped into the sanctum, the door sliding shut behind him. He hesitated, glancing around the room as if to assure himself they were alone, then turned his gaze back to Heironymus. "Magos, we uncovered an artefact in the lower catacombs. It appears to be a head—a machine perhaps, but unlike anything in our records. And… it's awake."
Heironymus felt a chill run through him, his heart—a combination of flesh and augmetics—skipping a beat. He kept his face impassive, his voice steady. "Explain."
Kaelon took a deep breath, his hands twitching at his sides. "Yes Magos. When we unearthed it, it spoke. It has some level of sentience. It introduced itself as… Cogito. It's ancient, predating anything we have on record. From the Dark Age, perhaps earlier. Given our depth of the excavation we suspect it's been buried for… over thirty thousand years."
Thirty thousand years. The words echoed in Heironymus's mind, stirring a mixture of awe and dread. A relic from the time before the Imperium, from the distant past when humanity's grasp on the stars had been far greater. He felt the familiar tightening in his chest, a sensation he had long learned to suppress. Fear had no place in the mind of a Magos. He was the voice of the Omnissiah on Vulcanis IV, a vessel of divine knowledge.
Yet, the thought of an ancient, sentient machine, buried for millennia and now awake, was enough to send a shiver through even the most disciplined mind. Heironymus's hands tightened within the folds of his robe, the metal of his augmetics creaking softly. A knot of tension forming in his gut, his mind racing. He met Kaelon's gaze, his eyes narrowing. "And it is aware? It speaks?"
Kaelon nodded. "Yes, Magos. It seems… curious. As if it's trying to understand where it is, what has happened". Heironymus turned away, his mind a whirl of thoughts. He could feel the fear clawing at the edges of his consciousness, the unease he had worked so hard to bury. Heironymus took a deep breath, steadying himself. He could not afford to show weakness, not now. Whatever this Cogito was, whatever knowledge it held, it was his duty to uncover it, to bring it into the light of the Omnissiah. He had to know.
"Show me," he said, his voice hardening. "Take me to this Cogito. We will learn what it knows."
Kaelon nodded, relief flickering across his features. He turned and led the way, Heironymus following close behind. As they walked through the dimly lit corridors, descending into the bowels of Vulcanis IV, Heironymus could feel the weight of his position pressing down on him, the mantle of authority that had always been his shield now feeling like a burden.
They reached the chamber, its entrance marked with the symbols of the Mechanicus. Kaelon paused before the door, glancing back at Hieronymus, his expression a mix of excitement and something else—something Heironymus recognized all too well. Fear.
Heironymus nodded, and Kaelon keyed the door. It slid open with a hiss, revealing the small, dimly lit room beyond. The air inside was cold, almost damp, and the smell of ancient metal and ozone filled Heironymus's nostrils. Shadows clung to the corners, cast by the dim, flickering lumen strips that barely illuminated the space. In the centre of the room, on a pedestal of dark iron, sat the object of their search.
The head was smaller than Heironymus had expected, no larger than an average human's. For all the anticipation, the build-up in his mind, he had imagined something grander, more imposing. But there it was, almost humble in its size, and yet it radiated a presence that made the room feel small, confined.
Its surface was smooth in places, but much of it was marred, as though it had been through a great ordeal. Scars criss crossed its face, jagged and deep, revealing beneath the synthetic skin, the glint of metal and the suggestion of something more. Wires protruded through the gaps, slick with a strange, viscous fluid that caught the light, pulsing faintly as if alive. The mechanics underneath were visible, but not entirely mechanical—there was a softness to the components, an unsettling suggestion of flesh woven with circuitry, sinew threaded with fibre optics.
The eyes—or rather, where the eyes had been—were the most disturbing. They appeared to have been burned out, the sockets blackened and charred, remnants of lenses fused to the edges like melted glass. From within those dark, ruined hollows, a faint bluish light pulsed weakly, casting eerie shadows that danced on the pedestal and walls, giving the head an uncanny semblance of life.
Heironymus stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat. The head was both beautiful and horrifying, a grotesque testament to the fusion of organic and artificial, a relic from a time long past. There was a strange artistry to it, a design that spoke of intention beyond mere functionality. It was as though it had been crafted to resemble life, to imitate the human form while hiding a deeper, more complex reality beneath its surface.
His voice was almost a whisper when he finally spoke. "Cogito, can you hear me?"
