The soft hum of ancient machines echoed through the dimly lit halls of the archives, their quiet rhythm a constant companion to those who worked in the depths of Gaia's Mechanicus complex. The air was thick with the scent of sacred oils and incense, a faint reminder of the reverence with which the adepts treated their technology.
Eris adjusted her black ponytail, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face as her eyes scanned the cogitator in front of her. Data-streams flickered across the screen, a cascade of information she had spent hours combing through in search of something—anything—lost within the ancient repository of knowledge.
The room was vast and cold, lined with towering shelves holding rows upon rows of forgotten data-slates, tomes, and relics. Here, deep underground, the passage of time felt distant, as if the archives themselves were removed from the rest of Gaia. Eris often found herself lost in the expanse, her thoughts wandering as she dug through the remnants of an older age, chasing down knowledge others had long since abandoned.
At just over twenty standard years old, Eris was one of the youngest archivists in the Mechanicus, a fact she wore with equal parts pride and frustration. Her quick-thinking and natural curiosity had earned her a place among the researchers, but her impulsive tendencies often brought her into conflict with her superiors.
Most saw her youth as a liability—too impatient, they'd say, too reckless. But to Eris, it was the drive that fueled her search. She couldn't understand how the others were content to let these ancient secrets gather dust when there was so much still to learn, so much that could be used to benefit Gaia and its defense.
She sighed, her fingers hovering over the cogitator's controls. Nothing. Another dead end. The frustration gnawed at her, though she tried to keep it at bay. It wasn't the first time she'd hit a wall, and it wouldn't be the last. But each time, it felt like she was getting closer, like the pieces were almost falling into place, only to slip away at the last moment.
Around her, the machines continued their quiet work, oblivious to her struggle. The archive was a sanctuary, a place where few ventured, and that suited Eris just fine. Here, among the forgotten knowledge of the Mechanicus, she could work undisturbed, away from the slow-moving bureaucracy that suffocated her in the upper levels.
This was her world, where logic and data reigned supreme—at least, that's what she told herself.
Eris was about to close out the data-stream when a faint vibration pulsed through the floor beneath her feet. At first, it was almost imperceptible, a subtle tremor that barely disturbed the stillness of the room. She glanced up, her eyes narrowing as the cogitator screen flickered once, then twice.
It was nothing. It had to be. Minor seismic activity wasn't unheard of, especially this far underground. The tunnels beneath Gaia were vast, and shifts in the earth happened occasionally, usually nothing to worry about. But this felt... different.
The hum of the machines faltered for a second, just long enough for Eris to notice. A slight stutter in the rhythm, as if something had brushed against the delicate balance of the Mechanicus' sacred technology. Her fingers twitched over the cogitator's controls, her curiosity piqued.
"That's... strange."
The tremor passed, leaving only a stillness in its wake. But the brief interruption was enough to set Eris on edge. She sat back in her chair, chewing her lower lip as her mind began to race through possibilities. Her instincts told her it wasn't natural, at least not in the way she understood.
Glancing around, she half-expected one of the senior archivists to come down and dismiss the event, offering some logical explanation as they always did. But no one came. The archives were silent, save for the mechanical whirr of the cogitators. Eris was alone.
She took a deep breath, then pulled up the data-log from the cogitator, her fingers moving quickly across the interface. If there was a seismic disturbance, it would be logged somewhere. And if not… well, that only made her more curious.
The data began to stream across the screen in front of her, lines of text and numbers that would have been meaningless to most, but not to her. She'd spent years honing her ability to interpret these patterns, and something about this one didn't sit right.
"There," she whispered to herself, tapping the screen. "That's no ordinary tremor."
The disturbance was faint, but it was there. A ripple in the otherwise stable readings of Gaia's tectonic activity. But it wasn't just the tremor—it was the pattern. Eris's eyes narrowed as she zoomed in on the data. The seismic activity was localized, and it seemed to align with something else—anomalies she had seen before in old records, ones tied to energy fluctuations.
Her heart began to race.
Could it be?
She pulled up another set of data, cross-referencing it with the readings she'd found. The more she looked, the more certain she became that this wasn't just a random tremor. There was something deeper, something… unsettling.
Warp activity.
The realization hit her like a cold wave, and for a moment, she froze. Warp anomalies were rare—at least on Gaia. The planet was far from the warp storms that plagued other systems, and Gaia's defenses were designed to withstand almost anything the galaxy could throw at them.
Almost.
But this…
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "That can't be right."
She double-checked the data, hoping to find an error, some mistake in her calculations. But the numbers didn't lie. The tremor wasn't natural—it was tied to the warp.
And if that was true, then Gaia was in danger.
Eris's fingers hovered over the controls, her mind racing with possibilities. Warp activity wasn't something to be taken lightly. The mere mention of it was enough to send most members of the Mechanicus into a frenzy of precaution and protocol, not to mention the rest of Gaia's leadership. But here, in the quiet of the archives, no one else seemed to notice.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. If what she was seeing was real, if the warp was encroaching on Gaia's system, the implications were dire. But why hadn't the higher-ups caught this yet? Why hadn't there been any alerts?
Her eyes darted across the screen as she continued to sift through the data, piecing together the fragments of information. The tremor wasn't a one-off event—it was part of a larger pattern. Faint, almost imperceptible ripples had been occurring for weeks, maybe months, but they were buried so deep in the logs that no one had noticed. At least, no one who cared to look.
"How could they miss this?" she muttered under her breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. "How could I have missed this?"
She knew the answer, of course. The Mechanicus was slow, methodical, too focused on maintaining the status quo to see what was right in front of them. They were so obsessed with preservation that they often ignored innovation, or in this case, a growing threat.
Eris pushed her chair back, pacing the narrow aisle between rows of data-slates. Her mind was buzzing with possibilities, but the more she thought about it, the more uneasy she became. If she was right—and every instinct told her she was—then Gaia's defenses were already compromised.
The tremor she'd felt was only the beginning. The rift was growing, pushing closer with every moment, and it wouldn't be long before the rest of the planet felt it too.
She glanced back at the cogitator, biting her lip. Protocol dictated that she report this immediately to her superiors. But she hesitated. They wouldn't believe her. Not without proof. Not without something concrete.
And even if they did, by the time they reacted, it might already be too late.
Her fingers drummed against the edge of the console, her impulsiveness warring with the strict rules drilled into her since joining the Mechanicus. She could play it safe, follow orders, and wait for someone else to act. Or…
"No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. "I need to know. I need to see the bigger picture."
Without another moment's hesitation, she pulled up restricted data logs, bypassing the security protocols that were supposed to keep lower-level archivists like herself out. If anyone caught her, the punishment would be severe, but Eris didn't care. If she was going to find out the truth, she had to dig deeper.
The screen blinked as access was granted, lines of encrypted text flooding the display. She scrolled quickly, her eyes darting across the information with practiced speed. The deeper she went, the more erratic the readings became. There were spikes in the energy signatures—massive fluctuations that should have triggered every alarm on the planet, but somehow, they hadn't.
A knot formed in her stomach as she realized just how far-reaching the anomaly was. It wasn't just a single tremor. It was system-wide.
Eris swallowed hard, her throat dry. Whatever was happening, it wasn't isolated to Gaia. The entire star system was on the brink of something catastrophic, and no one seemed to know.
Suddenly, the cogitator flickered again, this time more violently. The data stream cut out, replaced by a wash of static. The lights above her dimmed for a brief moment, and the hum of the machines faltered once more.
Then, without warning, the alarms began to blare.
"Planetary lock-down initiated," came the cold, automated voice of the servitors over the intercom. "Gravitic anomaly detected in-system. All personnel, proceed to designated safe zones."
Eris's heart pounded in her chest. Anomaly? Gravitic? That wasn't warp energy—it was something else, something far worse.
She stared at the screen in front of her, the static giving way to a single line of text flashing across the display: COMMUNICATIONS SEVERED.
Gaia was on its own.
Eris's heart raced as the alarms continued to blare, echoing through the halls of the archive. She quickly silenced the cogitator, her mind struggling to keep pace with the flood of information. Communications severed? That could only mean one thing: whatever anomaly had breached the system, it was cutting them off from the wider galaxy.
She felt a tightness in her chest, the weight of the realization pressing down on her. This wasn't just some isolated incident. Gaia was being severed—ripped away from the Imperium. And if communications were down, that meant the warp was somehow involved. There was no other explanation.
Her eyes darted across the room, half-expecting someone—anyone—to burst in and take control of the situation. But the archive remained silent, save for the distant wail of alarms. She was alone.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe. Focus, she told herself. She had to think, to stay one step ahead. If the system was being cut off, then the Mechanicus would need every piece of information they could get. They needed to know what was coming, and they needed it now.
Her fingers danced over the cogitator's interface, pulling up whatever scraps of data she could still access. But the information was fragmented—bits and pieces of corrupted files, garbled by the disruption in the warp. The deeper she dug, the more chaotic it became.
Then, something strange caught her eye.
A single data-stream, buried beneath layers of corrupted files, was still intact. It was encrypted, heavily so, but Eris's curiosity flared. There shouldn't have been anything left in the system—certainly not anything protected by that level of security.
She hesitated, her instincts warning her to leave it alone. But her impulsiveness had already taken hold. Her fingers moved before she could stop herself, working through the encryption layers with a speed that surprised even her. Within moments, the data was laid bare.
And what she saw made her blood run cold.
It wasn't just a gravitic anomaly. The disturbance in the warp was growing, expanding far beyond Gaia's system. The patterns were unlike anything she'd ever seen before, spiraling outward like the tendrils of some vast, unseen force. A rift—a tear in the very fabric of reality—was opening, and it was spreading fast.
The data indicated that the warp was breaching into realspace, its chaotic energy surging through the system like a storm. And if the patterns continued as they were, it wouldn't stop at Gaia. The entire star system was at risk.
Panic welled up inside her, but she fought it down. This was bigger than anything she'd ever dealt with—bigger than she'd ever imagined. And yet, here she was, alone in the archives, staring at the data that could mean the end of everything.
Her hands trembled as she reached for her vox unit. She had to report this. The Mechanicus had to know what was happening. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe they could still—
The cogitator screen flickered violently, cutting her off mid-thought. The lights above her dimmed again, this time staying dim. The entire room seemed to shudder, the tremors far more violent now. Dust rained down from the ceiling as the ground beneath her shook.
And then, it happened.
A massive surge of energy tore through the archives, bathing the room in a blinding violet light. The cogitators screamed as they overloaded, sparks flying from the consoles. Eris stumbled backward, shielding her eyes from the brilliance.
The warp breach had reached Gaia.
For a moment, everything was chaos. The machines around her sparked and sputtered, their systems failing under the weight of the warp's intrusion. The air itself seemed to warp and bend, distorting reality in ways Eris had only ever read about. It felt like the planet was groaning in pain, struggling against the unnatural force pressing down on it.
She gasped for air, the pressure in the room suddenly overwhelming, as if the very atmosphere had turned against her. Her mind raced, thoughts scattering as she tried to process the sheer magnitude of what was happening.
Then, just as quickly as it began, the light dimmed. The tremors stopped. Silence.
Eris stood frozen, her heart hammering in her chest. The archives were in ruins. Data-slates lay scattered across the floor, their contents shattered. The cogitators were dead, their screens cracked and lifeless. The once-quiet hum of the machines had been replaced by an eerie stillness.
Slowly, cautiously, she took a step forward. Her hands were still shaking, her body trembling from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The world around her felt wrong—warped. But she was still standing. She was still alive.
And then it hit her.
Gaia was truly, completely alone.
The breach had severed the planet from the Imperium, and there was no telling how long the isolation would last. Days? Weeks? Years? The very thought made her stomach churn.
The alarms were still blaring, but they felt distant now, muffled by the weight of her realization. Whatever hope they had of reaching the outside galaxy was gone. The warp had taken it from them.
Eris clenched her fists, her resolve hardening. She wouldn't let this be the end. There was too much at stake. If the planet was going to survive this… if she was going to survive this… she'd need to do more than just watch from the sidelines.
With one last glance at the ruined archives, Eris turned and made her way toward the surface, her mind already working on what came next. The rift had opened. Gaia had been severed.
But the fight was only just beginning.