A Light Against The Darkness

by nightbringer24

Remnants of a world called Cadia. A world called Remnant. Fate thrusts them together, and common cause finds them allied; the protection of humanity. But what awaits the forces of the Imperium of Man in this strange new world, cut off from humanity? What awaits Team RWBY and friends with these strange new visitors from the stars? But in the end, there is only war.

3. Chapter 3

The bustle around the well is loud and uncoordinated, each soldier jostling for a position to try and either help Tychos or to get a glimpse down at the survivor in the well.

It takes a good few pushes and elbow jabs for the captain to get his way through the crowd. Not that Tychos is paying any attention to him, though, as he takes off his flak armour and pauldrons, setting them on the ground near the well's wall, along with his rifle, pack and helmet.

"Trooper Litten." Captain Fidor says sternly. "Report. What the bloody hell is going on?"

Tychos stands to attention.

"Sir! I found a survivor at the bottom of the well. A young girl, by the look and sounds of them. Am now proceeding to try and rescue her, sir."

Not taking his eyes off his commanding officer, Tychos watches the older man walk over to the well and look down into the abyss himself.

Sure enough, the girl calls out again.

"Help me."

Captain Fidor moves back from the well, turning to look at the crowd of soldiers around, before he snaps his fingers quickly.

"We need some rope, now!"

Almost instantly, several troopers pull out bundled lengths of rope from their belts or packs, holding them out. Selecting two of them, Fidor quickly unbinds them and ties two of the ends together forming one long length of robe.

"Better safe than sorry." He says as he begins working one of the ends into a pair of loops, one fairly large and one small.

Taking the rope, Tychos steps into the larger loop and pulls the length, cinching it tight around his waist.

"Think you can fit?" Fidor asks as he takes a hold of the other end of the rope.

Looking at the well, Tychos mentally guesses who wide it is before he nods his head.

"Do it fast but it calmly. Don't frighten her." Fidor advises, a serious edge of his violet eyes. "We're here to help, not harm."

Locking eyes with his captain, Tychos nods his head once before he moves towards the well. Leaning over, he shines his illuminator down. Sure enough, the girl is still down there.

"I'm coming down!" He calls out. "Just… keep still, all right?"

"O-okay!" The girl in the well replies, sounding happier but still quite scared too.

Taking a deep breath, Tychos climbs over the lip of the well and braces his feet against the edges, holding himself steady with his hands. Gingerly, carefully, he begins to edge himself down the inside of the well. The first few feet are easy going, the hard soles of his boots keeping his progress steady. As his hands trail down the stone, however, they brush over the large scratch marks in the stone, making him pause.

They bring back memories of horrible things. Foul aliens lurking in shadowed corridors and overgrown jungles, brutal and twisted machines of war lumbering out of burning habblocks and manufactorums… and blasphemous daemons spawning right in front of his eyes, ready to claim his soul.

Breathing out a shuddering sigh, Tychos says a prayer for the protection of the soul and for steeling his mind, he continues down the hole into the earth. From above, the light of several illuminators stab down as a few of his comrades move around to help him see, or to simply watch what is going on, throwing shadows and light around the hole.

Reaching the highest point of the line of moss, the guardsmen begins to pay more attention to his progress. Several times, his boots skid on the slick surface before he steadies himself and carries down into the well.

Above him, the beams of light shift to point directly downwards, letting him see the young girl at the bottom of the well.

Her eyes are open in fear, as she tries her best to move away from the obviously strange man making his way towards her. The way the light from the sun above, and the light of the illuminators too, would undeniably cast his face in shadow, making him seem something horrible to her.

Shimmying down closer, he thinks of what he can say to get her to see him as a saviour.

Then his left foot hits a particularly large piece of moss… and he slips down.

He gives an inarticulate cry of shock as his feet give out from beneath him and he plummets down into the water, sinking right up to his waist before he stops himself, the action making the young girl cry out in shock and fright.

"Oh, Throne… that's cold!" Tychos says loudly, sounding much more like a schola child thrown into the swimming pool than a battle-hardened soldier of the Cadian Gate.

A sound he didn't imagine to hear hits his ears as he regains his bearings in the well. A giggle. A simple, childish giggle; a sound that should not have existed in a place marked by death and destruction. A sound Tychos hasn't heard for a little over a decade.

A wistful smile comes to his face as he looks at the girl, who immediately slinks backwards. The motion snaps Tychos back to the present.

He knows that, to her, he must look, or at least seem, incredibly alien. He shares only a little of the features that the townspeople used to possess, and his eyes are probably so unlike anything she has seen before.

'We're here to help, not harm.' Uncle's voice says in his head, before he steels himself.

"Hello, little one." He says simply and calmly, shifting his hands on the walls around him to keep himself steady.

The girl is hesitant to speak, her eyes shifting every which way and around as she tries to avoid looking at Tychos in the eye. Just like Arie used to do when she got in trouble, or thought she was in trouble…

"H-hello." The girl replies, her accent sounding odd, but speaking in clear Low Gothic.

Tychos smiles broadly. Progress.

"My name is Tychos. I'm here to help."

For a second, whether it's a trick of the light or not, he can't tell, but Tychos thinks that he sees a pair of small lumps push up at the top of the girls head of hair as her eyes open in delight. Although it passes as her eyes grow fearful again.

"Are… are the monsters gone?" She asks, her voice shivering almost as much as her body does.

Monsters… so that kind of narrows down the list of perpetrators.

Tychos smiles warmly. "Yes, they're gone. What's your name, little one?"

The girl looks hesitant to answer the question.

"C-Carmen."

Tychos keeps smiling as the girl slowly opens up to him.

"Carmen. I like that name. It sounds nice. Now, I'm going to get you out of here, but you have to trust me. Do you trust me?"

Childhood nerves and fear take control once again and Carmen refuses to meet the Cadian's gaze. When she finally musters the courage, her golden eyes shine with tears.

"Will… will you help me find my momma and papa?"

A pit forms in Tychos' stomach, but he tries to keep the smile on his face. The girl has no idea of the devastation that has been brought on her town. The only thing that's keeping her going is her childlike hope, the naivety, that everything will turn out okay in the end. That she can find herself back in the arms of those who loved her the most.

The Imperium teaches that hope is the beginning of unhappiness, but… in the end, what else is there for the innocent?

Tychos nods his head. "We'll look for them. I promise. So… will you let me get you out of here?"

The fear in Carmen's eyes is replaced with determination before she nods her head, a smile, a genuine smile of delight, coming to her face.

And that's when they pop up.

Almost like a switch is pulled, a pair of large hare-like ears flick up from her head to stand above her hair. They are covered in a layer of wet, but downy hair the same russet colour as Carmen's regular hair, and they stick right up above her head.

He tries to keep the shock off his face, but inside, his mind reaches one conclusion: abhuman.

He knows abhumans well. He's served alongside the Militarum Auxilia several times, alongside the larger, lumbering and foul-smelling Ogryns, beings that could easily rip an ork to pieces with their bare hands, and the diminutive, wily but dead-eye shots that are Ratlings. Each one was a strange extension of the human species, and they filled him with confusion and revulsion in both measure, even if his life have been saved more than once by both groups.

And yet… looking at Carmen's face as she carefully makes her way towards him in the bucket she was using to keep herself afloat, he has no feeling of revulsion for her. She is not human… and yet she is. She has the mark of the non-human on her, and yet he can do nothing but sympathise for her plight. Maybe it's the fact that she reminds him, too much, of his deceased sister, or maybe it's something else.

He can't hate her.

"W-what's wrong?" The little girl says in worry as she stops almost right in front of his face, making Tychos realise that he has not said a single word for a while.

"No, nothing." He says, deciding that honesty is the best policy. "I… I like your ears."

It's not the best thing to say, but it's a practical solution. To the Warp if she's an abhuman or not, she's a young child in distress, and there is no way on the Golden Throne that he is going to leave another one.

Taking a hand off the wall, kicking his legs slowly below the surface to keep himself afloat, he holds it out for Carmen to take.

"Now, I'm going to need you to hold on tight to me, so we can get out of here. Is that okay?"

Silently, Carmen looks at the offered hand with trepidation and worry before, slowly, she reaches out with her own hand and places it inside. Her hand almost fully fits inside Tychos' palm as he gently closes his fingers around the offered limb.

Moving slowly and deliberately so she can see what he is doing, Tychos takes the smaller loop around his waist and fastens it around hers, being careful not to cinch it too tightly and cause her any pain. When he feels she is secure enough, he grabs hold of the rope and gives it a good tug to test its strength.

"Are you ready to come up, Tychos?" He hears Sophia, of all people, call out from above.

"I've got her secured!" He calls back, his voice almost like a boom in the tight confines of the well. "Ready to come up."

Above, he hears Captain Fidor call out to the soldiers at the other end of the rope. "Okay, everyone! Slow and steady now."

Carefully, the rope above him begins to pull taught and Tychos feels a tug on his waist as he and the girl being to ascend out of the dark and wetness of the well, the Cadian using his legs to help propel them up the well. As they climb, Carmen lets go of Tychos' hand and wraps her arms around his neck, obviously scared by what is going on, even if she is being rescued.

Reassuringly, Tychos lifts up a hand and places it onto her head, right in the space between her hare-like ears, before he gingerly beings to rub side to side.

The action draws a small but warm smile from the girl.

As they climb up, the light becomes brighter, making Carmen squint in pain as she tries to protect her eyes.

"Almost got you now!" Sophia calls out, her voice strained, showing that she is part of the team pulling the pair up.

Soon, the pair reach the dry stone of the top of the well, and the head of the squad's weapon specialist suddenly pops over the edge, a smile on her tanned face, her eyes shining with glee.

"Hello, you two! Welcome back."

The look of glee on her face turns to quiet confusion as she cocks her head to the side at what Tychos is carrying in his arm.

"Well… that's… unexpected."

Tychos only gives a grunt in response as he raises a hand up and over the rim of the well, still using one hand to keep the small abhuman child clutched to his chest. Looking around the area, he sees that possibly all of the platoons that are in the town are gathered around.

"I could use a little help here!" He calls out as he does his best to try and climb out of the well single-handedly, before several pairs of hands come up and help him up and out, leaving Tychos to stand in front of several hundred men and women, a very frightened abhuman child in his arms.

The sight of so many strange men and women, in uniforms she has never seen before, all armed with strange weapons, makes Carmen shrink in on herself before she burrows her face into Tychos' shoulder, her rabbit ears drooping downwards.

A murmur of confusion flows through the crowd, each one trying to really make sense of the situation and what it means for their situation on this world.

But, luckily, one person has the sense to say something positive right now.

"She's adorable." Sophia breathes out as she removes her helmet, letting the girl in Tychos' arms see she's a human too. "Is she all right?"

"I think so." Tychos replies as he gently gives her a quick once over through her clothes. "Bit cold and very wet."

"Someone get her a blanket, now." Captain Fidor calls out as he takes a step forward, removing his peaked cap as he does so. "So… this is the survivor."

Tychos nods, as he raises a hand to the back of Carmen's head and giving her a reassuring pat.

"Once you're nice and dry, we'll see about finding your parents."

He begins removing the rope from around her waist as Carmen lifts her head from his shoulder to look at him, her ears rising slightly as hope glows in her eyes.

"Promise?" She asks in a soft, but hopeful voice.

"Tychos."

The stern voice of Uncle makes the man turn to look at his commanding officer, who has a forlorn look in his eyes.

"That's not going to happen."

Tychos begins to retort. "Sir, I know she's not human but-"

Fidor raises a hand.

"It's not that, Tychos. We already found her parents."

The news should be joyful, but the tone in his voice tells Tychos it is anything but.

"Emperor, no…"

To his side, Sophia begins shaking her head, a worried look on her face, as she too knows the implication of what the captain is about to say. But for little Carmen…

Her eyes widen with joy, her ears standing tall as she gasps out. "You found my momma and papa?"

Captain Fidor doesn't reply right away.

"Set her down, Tychos."

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second before Tychos follows the order, setting Carmen down on the ground between himself and the captain. Once on a solid floor, the little abhuman bounces towards the Cadian officer, a happy look on his face.

"Where are they? Are they safe? … are they still mad at me?"

The frown on Tychos' face deepens at the innocent question, and it's clear that Uncle is having a hard time too, especially as he moves to crouch down in front of Carmen.

"Little one… I… I'm sorry."

The large pair of ears on the top of her head droop slightly, a disbelieving look on her face.

"W-why? Where's my momma and papa?"

Fidor is silent, as he simply looks at the girl.

"… They're dead."

The news is a hammer-blow. Sharp intakes of breath and groans of pain are sounded from nearly every throat around the well. Sophia, taking a step back, says nothing before she turns around and throws her helmet solidly against the ground. Tychos for his parts just closes his eyes, grimacing as he does so.

To have come so far, so bloody close to something good…

"N-no." Carmen says softly, taking a step away from the captain. "No. They… they can't be. They're not!"

Opening his eyes, Tychos looks down at Carmen just as she looks up at him. Her gold coloured eyes are open wide, tears making them glitter as they streak down her cheeks. Her ears are fully down against her head.

"They're not dead!"

Denial. The simplest recourse and refuge for those who given bad news. Tychos has seen it before, and seen it manifest in different people in different ways. But to see a child, even if they're an abhuman child, go through it. It rends his heart.

"M-momma… Papa…" Carmen gasps out, sobbing as she tries to wipe at her eyes. Then the crying begins. It's the ugly, heart-wrenching sound of a young girl who's had their world shattered, and it tugs at the hearts of everyone around her.

Kneeling down, Tychos reaches out a hand to try and console Carmen, but she quickly jerks away from him, like his touch would be the most painful thing. Her golden eyes, still streaming tears, look at him with hate and sadness in equal measure.

"I HATE YOU!" She barks out, her hair almost standing on end before, quicker than anyone can react, she bolts away from him, through the crowd of Cadians, almost bowling a few over in her dash.

No-one makes a move to try and stop her, nor does Captain Fidor make a move to stand up from his kneeling position.

The town is quiet once again as every man and woman present tries to process what has happened. The only sounds heard are the sounds of the carrion birds flying back down to earth to continue their meals.

Silently, Tychos picks up his gear, putting his armour back on before he slings his pack over his back.

"I'm going after her." He says resolutely.

"Tychos…" Fidor says simply as he stands back up to his full height.

"We came here to help people, right, sir?" The trooper replies, looking at his commanding officer firmly.

Fidor just fixes him with a simple stare before he responds.

"We'll talk about this later. Just get after her."

Blinking his eyes in surprise, Tychos looks at his commander in confusion. He honestly thought he'd have to argue with him more about going after Carmen. But, they're in the field, he remembers with a sense of surety. He's going to pay for it later.

But right now, he takes it as it is and nods his head.

"On it, sir."

"I'm coming too." Sophia calls out, reattaching her helmet to her head, a determined look on her face. "We can cover more ground with two of us."

"Good plan." Tychos says as he nods his head.

Not saying another word, the pair head off in the direction they saw Carmen run off in, the soldiers in their path parting to let them through. Out into the sprawled out mass of houses and streets, littered with the corpses of the dead, smouldering houses and feeding carrion birds.

Not the best place to lose a distraught child.

---

The sound of cheering had reached his ears precisely four minutes before, but now the town has fallen silent once, leaving Thaddeus to cock his head in confusion to listen to the sound.

'Hmm… Cadians are a strange lot.' He muses to himself internally before he turns back to his mission. Finding nothing in the town, the Astartes veteran ordered his scouts to switch to the woods across the river from the town, following a mix of footprints, blood and carnage.

The woods are old, Thaddeus can tell in an instant. Gnarled trunks support branches that reach high into the sky, almost seeming to want to throttle the sun, the very source of their life in a display that only nature can produce, while snake-like roots dig into the soil like the grotesque tentacles of the brood-creatures of the Hive Mind. And yet, interspersed between almost every tree, is a new seedling or a sapling reaching for the sky.

A snapshot of the universe at large if there ever is one, the veteran scout decides.

And just like the universe, it is stained with blood and corpses.

Carefully, slowly, the neophytes move through the woodlands, weapons levelled and aimed. Even though they lack the autosense that will be provided later by their power armour, their hearing and sight is already exponentially superior to a baseline human's. Although, right now, all those sense do is tell them what they already know, and secretly fear; they have been too late to help anyone else.

The interior of the forest is a slaughter-house. If a body has not been ripped to shreds, they have been smashed by some great weight, or dashed against the thickest trees, their corpses lying limp and broken on the ground. Limbs are twisted at abnormal angles, and bodies of different shapes and sizes lie everywhere.

A small roar of rage fills the air before the sound of a thick fist hitting solid wood reverberates in the space. Thaddeus knows how it is.

"We failed." Neophyte Ollarus breathes out in frustration. "We did nothing to aid these people."

Looking around, Thaddeus sees the same look of quiet frustration plain on the faces of the other recruits. Ollarus has always just been more outspoken with his emotions than the others.

"We did not fail, neophyte." The veteran sergeant says calmly. "Our mission was not to aid these people. It was to find information on this world."

"But brother-sergeant," Ollarus begins, turning to face the sergeant with an almost pleading look on his face. "Are we not Astartes? Are we not the defenders of Humanity?"

"You are not." Thaddeus replies quickly and coldly. "You are not Astartes. Some of you are not even close to being called one. You are neophytes; recruits, children. You have been given the gene-seed and the weapons, but you all still have a long way to go until you truly become an Astartes.

"Remember this day, children, and remember it well. Even if a vaunted Primarch has returned to us, this is the universe we live in." He gestures to the corpse of a young female beside him, her back bent sideways and one of her limbs torn off. "This is the fate of humanity if I do not teach you well. Commit this to memory, for this is what we stand against."

Chastised, Ollarus turns away to keep watch over his sector of the area while the other scouts spread out. Quietly, Thaddeus moves to stand behind the neophyte.

"Apologies, brother-sergeant." The heavy bolter wielding scout says in a low voice, even as he keep his vision straight. "I spoke out of turn."

Thaddeus looks at his subordinate levelly for a few seconds before he speaks.

"You need to control your emotions, especially in situations like this. Your voice has as much bark as your weapon… but I do not disagree with your statement. I just disagree with you calling yourself an Astartes."

Semantics be damned. Thaddeus has been training battle-brothers of the chapter for nearly six-hundred years. He has seen them come from all the backgrounds of the worlds his chapter drew from: the maille and plate-clad warriors of Sigilis V, the city-dwellers of the desert world Sigilis Prime, the labourers of Sigilis Secundus. He's seen haughty princelings end up rubbing shoulders with swamp-dwellers and brigands whoresons. He's pushed them from cowering and frightened babes to hardened warriors. He's trained the likes of the now First Captain, Brother-Captain Mardas, and even the vaunted Chapter Master, but one thing is sure for him: in his eyes, they will always be children.

To him, the scouts under his watch now are far from ready to call themselves Astartes.

His chastisement given, Thaddeus steps away and beings observing the scene around him.

Slaughter is the first and only word that comes to his mind. It's indiscriminate, wild, animalistic, and brutal. No two corpses have fallen in the same way, nor suffered the same type of injury. A headless corpse, the missing piece of anatomy flung yards away, has fallen next to one gutted and sodden with blood.

The second and third words to come his mind are 'tribal warfare'. He's seen it several times on worlds that Imperium has classified as Feral; tribes that have been at war for so long that the reason for the conflict has been forgotten, becoming an internecine blood-feud, attacking one another with such force and ferocity, all to wipe the other tribe from existence.

The theoretical is there, and so many of the pieces fit. The wounds, the scale of destruction and the barbarism.

And yet… something doesn't fit to form a solid practical.

As he stalks along the path that the slain townsfolk were trying to follow, he looks more closely at the bodies. Nearly all of the wounds were made by slashing weapons of various shapes and sizes, suggesting close quarters combatants. Even though there were signs of ballistic weapons back in the settlement, none are evident here. These people were running.

Thaddeus continues walking, carefully stepping over a pair of bodies that have been bifurcated before he finds the tree.

Out of the many trees that Thaddeus has come in his time fighting the enemies of humanity across the universe, the scout veteran has seen many trees. Some were tiny things that barely reached his knee, some were tall enough and wide enough to function akin to a hive-spire. But out of all the trees he has seen, this one would definitely rank among the oldest one he's seen. The surface is gnarled and knotted, with branches crisscrossing and reaching to the sky at the same time. Its surface is a pale grey colour, but beneath, Thaddeus can see the thick roots that dig deep into the ground. It towers over him at a height almost akin to an Imperial Knight.

This tree has stood for several hundred years, Thaddeus is sure of it.

So if it could talk, it, like him, probably wouldn't baulk at the bodies scattered around the base, nor the bloodied body of the young man hanging limply in the lowest branches of the tree, well over a third of the height off the ground.

Looking at the body as he moves closer, Thaddeus wonders why exactly the boy would climb up the tree to escape. The question of which is further compounded by the fact the boy is missing his left foot above the ankle, and the tree trunk is scoured with deep gouges.

The large stream of dried blood on the tree bark suggests a brutal end to the story.

To the veteran, something doesn't add up.

Kneeling next to one of the cadavers, Thaddeus begins rooting around through their clothes, discovering that they corpse was once female, on the low end of middle age. It's not something he, or probably any Astartes does. There is no need for the Angels of Death to want material wealth, their life being their duty and their duty being their reward. But it doesn't mean others don't seek rewards.

His gloved hands become sticky with congealed blood as he moves scraps of tattered cloth out of the way before he finds what he's looking for. A necklace. Not the most artistic or expensive that Thaddeus has seen, or as far as he can estimate, but on a world such as this, it would fetch a pretty price if sold to the right person. Golden metal, with small green stones inlaid in the work.

To a raiding party, it would be the perfect spoil.

"So why haven't you been plundered?" Thaddeus asks the corpse quietly, even though it can't give an answer.

Not this corpse at least, he notes as he looks up at the body dangling from the branches above him.

He lets out a sharp but quick whistle. Seconds after, he hears feet rushing towards him as his scouts heed his non-verbal command.

"Brother-sergeant, what is it?" Karis says quickly.

"Ollarus, help me bring this body down. Everyone else, fan out, ten-metre spread. Eyes out and keep watch for anyone approaching."

"Anyone, sir?" Georg asks, even as he moves to take his place.

"We can't let the Cadians see what I am about to do." He says as he waves Ollarus to below the body. "They would not understand."

Even with two low-level Astartes, it is hard to move the body due to rigor-mortis, but eventually, the corpse is brought down to the ground. It's cold like the others, pale with bloating beginning to set in, but unlike the others, it is easy to see the young boys face. Brown eyes set wide in fear, the jaw hanging slack in a silent cry.

There is no need for tenderness here, for the act Thaddeus is about to perform as he moves into a crouch is anything but tender. Especially when he draws his Night Reaper. A gift from a Catachan sergeant of scouts for a foolish but worthwhile wager.

"Neophyte, what is the eight implant of the Astartes?" Thaddeus asks, not looking up at Ollarus as he lowers the sleeve of the cadavers shirt, exposing the skin before he presses the knife into the blade.

Unphased by the act, Ollarus replies automatically. "The eighth implant of the Astartes is the omophagea, brother-sergeant. It allows the Astartes to receive the memories of the fallen by ingesting the flesh."

The blade makes a shallow cut, removing a square inch of cold skin from the arm. Thaddeus holds up the piece of tissue to the light.

"Exactly."

He opens his mouth, and he pushes the meat into his maw.

He's running. Everyone is running. What's left of the town is running deeper into the woods, while the rest are either… oh, gods, he doesn't want to think about it!

So he keeps running. His friend is somewhere, he has to be. He knows his ma is with him, but he's gotten separate from his pa. They're with a group of six or so people. He can't name all of them at the time, but he knows a few faces.

His lungs are aching, and his legs are hurting, but he keeps running. He keeps running because he can hear the horrible screams and cries from behind him, because he can hear the terrifying howls getting closer.

"Keep running, Davey!" His ma calls, a few paces behind him, her own breath coming in ragged bursts, even as she keeps pace with the group.

They follow a path in the wood, a path he and many others have been down before. They know the way well enough to be able to run it in the dark, right up to The Ancient, the giant tree near the town.

He spies the tree through the bushes, the giant form looming against the moonlight… and he sees the Grimm.

"They're here!" Someone calls out in fear, prompting screams and cries from the others.

They all scatter, running off in whatever direction they can. But it's no use. The Grimm are everywhere.

"Hurry, Davey!" His ma cries out as she rushes forward and pushes him towards the tree, even as a Beowulf rushes the group, bearing a man to the ground before it begins clawing him.

He sprints towards the tree, his ma right behind him.

They're close, so close…

The Beowulf that catches his ma in its jaws springs out of nowhere, taking her to the ground screaming, even as it begins to claw and bite into her.

"MA!" He cries out, stopping to turn.

"RUN!" She calls back, even as her body is being torn to bloody ribbons.

So he turns, and runs again, jumping up onto the knotted trunk of the tree. He hauls himself up quicker than any time he can remember, racing up the surface of the trunk to the lowest branch. He gets a hold of it…

The scream he lets out is the loudest he's ever made in his life. But he doesn't let go, pulling himself up the branch to wrap his arms around it. Only when that is done, does he look down at what's happened.

His left foot is gone, shoe and all, as blood begins pouring from the stump where it used to be. He can't feel the pain.

But as he looks down at the ground, at the people being slaughtered by the Grimm, the creatures keeping them alive just enough to keep them in pain, as he looks down at the Beowulf beneath him, its claws digging deep into the wood as it looks up at him with its baleful red eyes and its maw lined with blood, he feels one thing.

He feels…

Thaddeus spits out the wad of meat, his acidic saliva burning the flesh and the ground where it lands.

He's lived for just over six-hundred years, but it's still a learning experience for him. Mortal emotions are so powerful at the worst of times.

Across from him, Ollarus is looking at him expectantly.

"Brother-sergeant? What did you learn?"

Thaddeus doesn't look at him. He can't. For an emotion is racing through the veterans mind. A white hot emotion, burning painfully in his conscious than any other pain he's felt.

Shame.

A Scouts duty is to learn about the situation, find out who or what the enemy is, and to learn how to defeat them. As a veteran, Thaddeus' duty is more than that: he needs to be better. He's faced nearly every foe the universe has to offer. Chaos, aeldari, drukhari, tyranid, ork, necron, hrud, and countless overs. He knows how to wage war against them, able to anticipate what they would do and where they would strike. He can beat any of them, because he knows them for what they are; the enemy.

He feels shame because Thaddeus, veteran sergeant of the Steel Drakes 10th Company, has made the biggest, and the deadliest, blunder a being could make in the universe: he underestimated his opponent.

Raising to his feet, Thaddeus' face is set in a cold expression.

"We need to contact chapter command as quickly as possible." He says gravely before he turns back in the direction of the town. "The situation has changed."

---

It's been several minutes since they first split up before Tychos rejoins with Sophia, both soldiers breathing heavily, their skin beginning to shine with sweat. The sun is passing the highest point in the sky, shifting the shadows underneath its passage.

"We're running out of time." Sophia gasps out as she looks up at the sky, shielding her eyes. "Fraks sake! This is taking too long!"

Taking a swig from his canteen, Tychos nods his head in agreement. This town is in no way the largest habitation area he's ever been in, but it's by no means a small place. There's lots of nooks and crannies that a small child could hide in, lots of places familiar to her but unfamiliar to him.

It'd be a nightmare to find her quickly.

"We'll try again. There's bound to be places we overlooked or missed." He says as he puts away his canteen. "We've got to find her."

SQUAWK!

The loud cry of a crow draws the pairs attention, as they look up at the large, black carrion eater sitting on the sill of a broken window. It hops slightly from side to side on the window sill, moving its head from side to side as it looks at the pair. Or more specifically, looks at Tychos.

SQUAWK! SQUAWK!

"Damn, that crows taken a liking to you." Sophia says with a small smile, but Tychos is too focused to care right now. "You must smell like death more than any of us."

The bird, out of all of the other birds that are in the town right now eating the corpses, seems the most familiar to him. It can't be…

SQUAWK!

The carrion-eater gives one more loud cry before, flapping its wings loudly, it propels itself off the window sill and flies away, in a direction that neither person has been in.

"Once is a coincidence, twice is a miracle…" Tychos says to himself, remembering something he heard Father Constantine say one time in mass about recognizing signs from the Emperor and His saints.

This seemed like that sort of situation.

"What was that?" Sophia asks, looking at her friend in confusion.

'I'm going to take directions from a crow on how to find a missing abhuman child,' was not something he could reasonably say out-loud. To the best of ears, it would sound like he was just going mad. To the worst… it would mean he'd be set on the pyre himself.

"I think we should change tact here." Tychos instead replies. He points in the direction the crow went. "We've not been this way. If we both go parallel, we might be able to find her."

For a second, Sophia looks sceptical at the idea, but then her face hardens under her helmet as she nods.

"Okay. I'll take the right, you take the left."

With a nod, Tychos takes off at a jog on the left side, Sophia close behind on the other side of the street. This street is a straighter than the other ones, with no serious jinks or offshoots to get lost down, with many of them ending in dead ends.

A few days ago, it probably would have been an idyllic setting. But now, it's a ruined mess. Fences are smashed apart into once pristine gardens, now torn up by monstrous foot and paw prints. Doors, windows and walls to formerly peaceful homes are smashed and broken, from both outside and in, while some are little more than blackened and smouldering ruins where flames took them in the night. In some places, walls are marked with bullet holes and scratch marks, while dark brown marks stain stone and grass alike.

Jogging along the street, Tychos lets his eyes scan over any and all terrain around him, using the skills he was taught to aid in detecting a hidden enemy. Disturbed ground markings, moved pieces of wood; anything that shows a person was through here.

But so far, no sign.

SQUAWK!

Up ahead, the crow hovers in the air at the entrance to a side street. Deciding to trust the bird one more time, Tychos jogs towards the bird. With a flutter of its black wings, it darts off the side, drawing the guardsmen behind it as it flies towards its destination.

Turning the corner, Tychos sees where he is being lead to.

It's a hab, a single small unit. It's not a prefabricated block like he's seen on many worlds, nor is the stout blockhouse constructs he'd seen in the Cadian outlands. It's single storied, made from dark grey stone, built around a timber frame and a simple slate covered roof. It's size is modest in every way… but it radiates something that Tychos hasn't properly felt for nearly a decade now.

Home. It is a home, in every sense of a word, even if it is removed from the towering hab-blocks that Tychos grew up in in Kasr Drak. But it still speaks of the things that a home should be; warm, cosy and welcoming.

The house has managed to survive the destruction wrought upon the town it's in, with nothing worse than a portion of the fence at the front being smashed to kindling by something big barging its way through the garden.

Tychos doesn't need the crow to tell him what he already knows; this is Carmen's home.

Rooting out an enemy with grenades and bayonet would be a better prospect than this.

He hears footsteps come up behind him, but doesn't turn when he hears Sophia speak up.

"It's a nice place." She says wistfully as she stands beside Tychos, both looking at the house. "Shame about everything else… Think she's in there?"

"She has to be. Nowhere else for her to be." Tychos replies.

Sophia nods her head before her squadmate takes a step towards the gate. It's open, off its lock, letting anyone simply stroll towards the house unimpeded. But to Tychos, the thought of touching it in the current situation seems… almost sacrosanct.

Gingerly, he pushes the gate open, the wooden portal creaking slightly on its hinges before the two Cadians make their way up the gravel path to the house. They pass several small flowers of different colours and hues, each one lovely to look at as they walk up to the door.

The portal is a simple thing, used the universe over from Ultramar to Cadia, from Valhalla to Bakka. Made from deep brown wood, it's a simple door, with a brass metal handle on one side, while hanging in the middle is a small plaque, made from a light coloured wood hung by a piece of string, which across is written the word, or rather the name, 'Gael-Harts'. The name is surrounded by bright sunny flowers.

A pained sound comes from Sophia's throat before she sighs.

"Let's just get this over with." She says resolutely.

Nodding his head, Tychos moves to the side to prepare for a door breech… but then stops, remembering that there is nothing hostile behind that door. The fact that his hand is reaching down to one of the grenades on his belt before he snaps it back does not help.

Not saying a word, Tychos reaches up and twists the door handle before he pushes open the door. Raising his lasgun carefully, he pokes open the portal slowly and carefully.

The arm holding the lasgun drops like a lead weight.

The inside of the house is pristine and clean, probably having only been cleaned before the destruction that engulfed the town the night before. A kitchen and dining area on one side, the smell of recently cooked food still lingering in the air and a pot of something delicious smelling on the cooker, while on the other side is a small living area with a small selection of couches and chairs. A set of stairs leads up to the attic, while a pair of doors goes off to the side of the living area.

It's rustic, bit cramped, but clean, and inviting.

Tychos and Sophia have opened many doors in their time in the Guard. Many of them held the complete opposite of this on the other side; the horrible remains of a firefight or explosion, a lasgun or stubber pointed waiting for them, or a horrible monstrosity of flesh or steel on the other side. Or sometimes all three.

It is a far cry from any situation either Cadian have found themselves in, and they are stunned into inaction because of it. So it's a surprising noise, in the midst of this idyllic setting, that moves both of them into action.

Sobbing. Low, mournful, slightly muffled sobbing. Coming from one of the rooms.

Tychos points at the door closest to them before he signs in Cadian battle-sign.

Going in. Stay here, stay quiet.

Sophia nods her head as she moves into a more relaxed pose, slinging her lasrifle across her front as she moves to investigate the kitchen. Tychos doesn't give a response as he unfastens the strap of his helmet and approaches the door the sobbing is coming from.

As he steps closer to the door, her hears a voice.

"Momma… papa…"

It reminds him of so many nights in barrack rooms and bunkers. Of those who have lost, crying out for those taken. Of those with last words unsaid and unheard. Of those who wished to switch places with the missing. A simple lament for loved ones.

Sighing softly, he reaches down and pushes open the door.

For a second… he sees her. He sees her as he remembers her; small, with dark brown hair cut to her shoulders, dressed in one of the utilitarian uniforms of the Whiteshield platoons of the Cadian Youth Army; a simple tan jacket and trouser. She is looking out of the window, watching a flight of Marauder bombers return to their airbase, as she sits on mother and father's bed…

"Arie…" Tychos whispers out, disbelieving what he is seeing as he takes a step forward.

A floor-board squeaks.

The face that snaps around to look at him isn't Arie's. It's the face of a frightened child, her tears streaked with still wet tears which make her golden eyes redden. Her hair is dishevelled and still wet, and her large rabbit ears are flat against her head.

"GO AWAY!" Carmen snaps before she dives under the covers of the bed she's on, hiding herself from sight. Her voice is muffled as she speaks again. "I hate you! I want my momma! I want my papa!"

The room that Tychos is standing in is a simple bedroom. Four walls, one of which has a window facing a side of the town protected by its wall, with a simple set of wooden cupboards, chest-of-drawers and a wardrobe set against the other walls. In the middle, a king-sized bed, enough for two people to sleep comfortably, sits forlorn, a shivering and whimpering bundle on the top.

Tychos cannot find the right words to say right away. Wordlessly, he removes his helmet, before setting it, his backpack and his rifle against the wall. Carefully, he steps around the room and stops before the end of the bed, sinking into a crouch which then turns him to sitting crossed legged on the floor.

"Carmen…" He can't find the words, because he's never had to. Even with all its dangers and horrors, combat is more simple.

"Why did they have to go away?" Carmen sniffles out beneath the blanket.

Now that's something he can work with, Tychos realises. Because it's a question that he's heard practically all the time since the Fall.

"Carmen… I can't answer that." He admits, shaking his head forlornly. "But… I know what it's like to have your world broken like this."

A solitary sniffle comes from the bundle. "You… you do?"

Tychos nods his head, even though he knows that the abhuman girl can't see it. "I… I and all of the other men and women out there… we lost our home, years ago." He doesn't know how much he should say, since it's not something he was told not to talk about. Plus, how do you describe to a small child that your home was literally smashed to pieces?

A rustle of fabric draws his attention, as he sees Carmen's face, cheeks wet with tears, peek out from beneath the blanket, a strand of russet coloured hair splitting her face.

"Y-you did?" She asks hesitantly. "H-how?"

For a second, Tychos taps a hand against his boot, thinking of the right words to say.

"We… Our home was in a very dangerous place. A lot of… nasty and horrible things wanted to get past us, to destroy other places… Like this world." He stops for a second at the thought of the legions of the Archenemy marching on this world, at what they could do on this world. It's a sobering thought, and it sets him on the path for what else he could say. "Nearly everyone on my planet was a soldier. We were trained, from a young age, to stop those things getting past us. We did a pretty good job at it too."

Tychos can't help the prideful chuckle at the boast that any Cadian can make… could make. His face falls as he remembers the suffering and sadness of those times.

"Then, one day, they came. In numbers we never imagined. We fought back, as hard as we could, with everything we had and with everyone who could fight, every one of our allies helping. But… in the end, it didn't matter.

"We lost our home… And I lost my family. We all lost our families."

Carmen's eyes open wide in shock at the statement, her head raising slightly. The blanket falls back slightly, revealing her large hare-like ears as they pushed up a bit in surprise.

"You… you're like me." She says in a sad but surprised tone of voice, making Tychos smile wanly as he nods his head.

"I am. I… I lost my mother… and my younger sister."

It was something he never imagine admitting to another person outside of the regiment, but in Carmen, he finds something of a… kindred spirit.

"I'm like you. All of us in the regiment are." He says, gesturing to the area outside of the house in a sweep of his hand. "We know what it's like to lose something precious. And we want to help you."

Carmen's eyes drop to look at the bed she's on. Carefully, she pushes the blanket off her as she sits upright, then she looks at Tychos' face.

"They're gone. My momma and papa."

Tychos nods his head as he sits more upright, his face now level with Carmen's. Fresh tears being falling down her face.

"I want them to come back!" She wails, raising a hand to wipe at her face.

Unbidden, Tychos reaches out, cupping one of her cheeks as he uses a thumb to wipe away her tears.

"I know you do. I want my family back."

"We all do." Comes the voice of Sophia, leaning against the door-frame, helmet dangling in her hand and tears glistening down her cheeks. "But they're gone. And we can't change that."

Carmen lets out a sob and a sniffle, still looking at Tychos. "But… I don't know what to do. I don't want to be alone."

Reaching up with his other hand, Tychos gently cups both of Carmen's cheeks in a tender touch.

"You won't be." He says firmly and happily. "I promise you."

Instantly, Sophia's face brightens as she tacks onto the idea right away.

"Yeah! We'll take you in!" She says happily as she quick walks to stand beside Tychos, putting a hand onto his shoulder. "With us, we'll protect you, and you'll never be alone."

Tychos looks up at his squadmate in uncertainty before she speaks out of the corner of her mouth in Cadian.

"Just until we find any relatives."

Despite himself, the idea sounds very appealing to Tychos. The noise that came from his comrades when he announced that he had found her, and he was certain he heard similar noises from across the town too, told him that they were as excited by her discovery as he was.

Even if she was an abhuman, that didn't mitigate that she was the sole living being left in a massacred town.

A miracle in of itself. And to deny his company even that…

"Okay." Tychos says as he nods his head. "We'll do it. What do you say, Carmen?"

Hesitation comes to the young girls face, as she looks between the two Cadians. The tears have stopped, but her cheeks are still wet. She sniffs again.

"Can… Can I take some stuff with me?"

The pair of guardsmen nod their heads, before a thought enters Tychos' head.

"I just realised; we know your name, but you don't ours." He puts his hand against his chest plate. "I'm Tychos. Tychos Litten"

"Sophia Kall." The other female of the trio says with a smile.

Confusion comes to Carmen's face as she cocks an eyebrow.

"You two have strange names."

---

Fidor is not normally a pacing man. The training fields of Cadia teach a man, especially the officer class, to rigid stances and stoic stillness on the parade grounds. If a man paces, then it means his mind is pacing. He is not thinking clearly.

The captain's mind is trying to figure out the situation he has led his company in to.

Their mission had been to help the inhabitants of this town. By the fact that his town had been depopulated to literally just one person, even if they were an abhuman, in one night meant that that mission had been a failure from the outset.

There's another source of worry for Captain Fidor.

The presence of the abhuman child.

It's not the fact that she is an abhuman. At this moment in time, that is a secondary issue. What is an issue is the affect she has had on morale. When he and his men had come into the town, even though they had all seen similar levels of death and destruction before, many of them, like himself, several times before, but the manner with which it had been carried out was… it was unsettling.

To find someone amongst all of that carnage and slaughter, especially one so young; it's something each Guard regiment dreams of happening. It's directly out of a propaganda piece, a story right out of the Regimental Standard.

And then he had to be the one to bloody go and ruin it.

It was the truth, no doubt about that, but was it the right time to tell it? That was the question that played on his mind as he makes his twelfth circuit of the little path he has made for himself.

Around him, half of the soldiers of Bravo Company are either milling around in their squads or simple sitting on their packs in huddles of friends. Each man and woman is chatting in a low voice, but the murmur of voices in the air says the same thing.

"What are we going to do now, sir?"

Commissar Schreiber's voice makes Fidor stop before he executes a perfectly textbook about-turn to look at the black-clad political officer standing behind him, Father Constantine walking up behind the commissar.

Fidor can't admit the reality that he doesn't know what they can do. He knows the works of the Tactica Imperium almost by heart. He knows how to lead his men to clear defences of enemies and defend them in turn. He knows the right words to say to lead his men into battle, as well as any member of the commissariat.

But right now…

"We wait for Trooper Litten and Specialist Kall to return. Then we move out. It's too dangerous to linger here for too long."

Commissar Schreiber nods his head, his face an impassive mask. Father Constantine steps forward however, quickly coming close to the captain. He places a hand on Fidor's shoulder and motions for the man to turn around.

"This is about the child, isn't it?"

Cut to the quick. The priest is good at things like that.

Fidor sighs. "While finding her was a godsend from the Emperor… was I in the right to tell her the truth? About her parents?"

"You didn't kill them yourself." The priest points out.

Fidor looks at Constantine flatly. "If you had seen her reaction… you'd think I might as well have."

"It was anger and grief, nothing more." The Father replies. "It's a natural response to loss. We all know that."

Fidor blanches for a moment, before he realises that the priest's words are accurate. Even when he was ordering his men onto the heavy landers, along with the civilians, he knew what his own feelings had been, along with those of his men. He, and the others, had raged at the injustice of it all, raged at the Archenemy for finally doing the unthinkable. He and all the others had grieved at the loss of their home and their families.

He knows where Carmen was coming from in her emotions… but to be on the receiving end of it, was not a wholly pleasant experience.

A voice calls out from the side.

"Hey, they're back!"

All at once, the murmuring stops as each Cadian quickly gets to their feet or moves away from their small huddles to go towards the source of their attention. Past Constantine's head, Fidor can see Tychos and Sophia approach the company. Although, there is a strange space left between the pair. But he thinks he can guess what the space is for…

"Captain Fidor, sir!" Tychos calls out as the pair stops, a pleased smile on his face, a look that is copied tenfold on Sophia's face.

Father Constantine moves out of the way, letting Fidor see that the pair have found her.

She's drier now, and dressed in a deep blue dress. Her hair has been brushed finely, lovingly even, while on her back, she carries a small but full rucksack. In her hands, she holds, ironically enough, a small stuffed rabbit.

It's a small measure of normalcy in the ruined town, and it makes Carmen look even more upset.

At the sight of all the people looking at her, the young girl shrinks in on herself, holding her toy to her chest before she slides in behind Tychos' leg.

"Everyone." The trooper says loudly in the lull of noise as he puts a hand onto Carmen's head. "This… this is Carmen Gael-Hart."

The introduction is so simple and forthright, perfect for the child, who slowly holds out a hand and waves shyly.

"H-hi."

The Cadians are stunned into silence, not really sure how to respond. As ever, it's Father Constantine who takes the reins on the situation. Stepping forward, his hands clasped together in a non-threatening pose, he carefully makes his way towards the trio before he drops into a crouch in front of Carmen.

"My child," He says softly. "I am Father Constantine. I am terribly sorry about your parents… But I want you to know they loved you, with all their hearts."

Stepping closer, Fidor sees Carmen look down to the floor, her large ears still drooping down, at the news, before she looks up.

"Did… did you find them?"

The priests nods his head forlornly. "We did, sad to say. What were their names?"

Carmen hesitates, unsure of what to say to the stranger. "… Momma was called Marion. My papa was called Hans."

Despite himself, Fidor can't help but smile. The dead have a name. Even if it's only two out of several hundred, it's a positive.

Stepping to his feet, Constantine turns to look at the captain.

"With your permission, sir, I'd like to-"

"See to it. It's the least we can do here."

The priest nods his head. "By your leave, sir."

"I'll assist, Father." Commissar Schreiber says, walking over to the priest. As he walks past the trio, the commissar casts a look at the young girl, which again makes her shrink behind Tychos' leg. Without another word, he follows behind Constantine away from the group.

Fidor turns to the group. "All right, let's get a medic up here. Make sure she's all right."

---

Anton is a man who considers himself unflappable. As a commissar of the Officio Prefectus, drawn from the ranks of the Schola Progenium, the man likes to think that he has seen, or has at least been trained to see, all that the universe can offer.

So it takes him by surprise when he almost has to jog to keep pace with the priest.

"Father Constantine, slow down." He says before he draws level with the man. "What has gotten into you?"

The speed with which the Munitorum priest stops and turns to look at the Anton is surprising. Not as surprising though as the wild, fervent look.

"Do you not see what this is, commissar?" Constantine asks as he clamps his hands onto the political officer's shoulders, keeping the man in place. "This is why we were brought here!"

For a few seconds, Anton just looks at the bearded priest unblinkingly. "… come again."

"The reason we were brought here, commissar!" Constantine almost roars into the other man's face, but not a roar of anger. A roar of joy. "Our purpose. Our reason for being here, on this planet. The Emperor has given us a purpose again!"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Anton just looks at the priest uncomprehendingly as he takes in what he's been told.

"Wait a moment," He finally says when the pieces click. "Are you saying that the reason the whole fleet has been brought to this planet… is because of the Emperor's divine will?"

"Can you not see why?" Constantine asks in reply. "This world, even though it carries the constructs and holy touch of humanity, is blighted by these foul… xenos beasts, to such a level that small settlements just like this run the risk of disappearing in a night. Can you not see the reason why we, those of Cadia who have lost their home, have been brought to this world?"

A commissar is a faithful man. Before they are trained to be the executor and judge of the Militarum, each young boy and girl of the Schola Progenium is a sound and worthwhile adherent of the Imperial Creed, believing the letter and the text of the holy books of the Ecclesiarchy. The various denominations and minor eccentricities exist (Anton remembers Commissar-Captain Muhaned El Sadat of Tallarn and his practice of praying facing Holy Terra) exist, but the main, underlying facet is there: worship of the God-Emperor and His place for humanity in the universe.

But… the second edge of that sword exists. A commissar must be a hawk. He must be on the constant vigil for sedition, heresy and faithlessness. He must act swiftly, with all the power of his rank to cut away the weeds of heresy before they suffocate the flower of belief (to use a phrase from his old instructor, Senior Commissar Lucrecia Salesia, may she rest in peace). He must be on the lookout for demagogues, heresiarchs, and infiltrators at all time.

So… Anton is torn. To the religious part of his mind, Constantine's words sound right… but he cannot stop his suspicious nature as a commissar from raising its head.

"Father Constantine. Are you truly suggesting that the Emperor… brought us here? As a sort of…" Anton moves his hands in vague gestures as he thinks on the words to say. "Recompense of us losing Cadia?"

"Well, why isn't it?" The preacher responds simply, like it's the easiest thing to say. "Cadians have done so much in His service, in His name, that He should not allow us to just… waste away as mere guardsmen. He has a plan for us. And it starts here!"

Coldly, Anton looks the preacher square in the face.

"Father Constantine. I know you've been in the service longer than I have but… you cannot be that naïve?"

"Naïve?" Constantine repeats, looking at the political officer like he's the strangest being in the world right now. "Is it naïve to wish for my fellow Cadians not to simply waste themselves away? To not wish for their purpose, our purpose, to be taken from us through time and bloodshed? Is it naïve to wish for us to be given a higher purpose?"

Here in lies one of the greatest divides in the Astra Militarum, the Imperial Guard; the commissariat, ever vigilant like a hawk for all the horrors and failings of Humanity in combat and to punish them, and the Ecclesiarchy, those who extol the virtues of Humanity in a horrible universe and to guide them, spiritually, to a better place.

Anton wishes Constantine no ill will. In many times, the pair have combined their oratory skills, along with their combat prowess, to bolster their comrades flagging resolve. But each man has a different outlook on the universe. The commissar cannot find himself to follow the same line of thought as Constantine says.

"Let's just get this over with." He says, turning away to follow the path the pair are walking on.

"Is it because she hits too close to home for you?" The preacher says loudly. "The girl… losing her parents."

The sentence make Anton halt in his steps. Leather creaks as he flexes his gloved hands into fists, the fabric groaning under duress.

"Don't. You. Dare." The words come out as a hiss, Anton not turning to look at the preacher.

His face is set in a cold mask, cold and unreadable as taught to him by his instructors, the cold mask of a commissar. But inside, a fire has been lit inside him. A fire of anger and shame.

Footsteps, slow and gentle, approach him from behind.

"Anton, there is no shame in admitting your feelings on this situation."

"Well, this isn't the time or place." Anton replies testily, turning his head slightly to look at Father Constantine. "Let's just get this over with."

Not saying anything else, the black-coated political officer stalks off, leaving the preacher to follow up behind. For a while, the pair walk in silence, Constantine quietly directing Anton on where to go.

It doesn't take them long to reach the area of the settlement the corpses were found in. Even though Third Platoon has been hard at work clearing away the bodies left discarded after the events of last night, piling the bodies carefully onto a specially constructed pyre, yet still the dirt on the ground remains sodden and dark with blood, while the wood of the jetties is likewise stained. The only thing with any colour of life remaining is the clear blue water of the nearby river, flowing downstream, likely as it always did and ever will.

"Father! Good to see you back." Lieutenant Nathson calls out, a smile broad on his face, despite his surroundings. "And Commissar Schreiber. Good to see you to too."

Anton nods his head in greeting before he looks around his surroundings. His professional eye sees the lack of ranged weaponry, of any size or scale, used offensively. The destruction of the town being undertaken by melee implements it seems. Buildings, wall, boats, even the jetties themselves, seem to have been deliberately attacked, and yet… the whole area does not feel that it was properly targeted in the attack. From what he can tell, the attack was… wanton, frenzied.

"Where are the bodies?" The commissar asks flatly, still looking around the area, just in case there's something missing.

"Right through here, sir." Nathson says, motioning towards a small hab set a ways from the river's edge.

Through the hole in the wall of the side of the building, Anton can see a pair of troopers, their helmets removed from their heads, moving gently to and fro inside the room. He can hear a small amount of muttering from inside the open room. As they get closer, Anton can clearly hear a prayer being recited.

"… Holy Emperor, see these souls safely to your side. Holy Emperor, protect their souls from the predations of the daemon and the blasphemer…"

It's a trick that many commissars are taught, or some develop by themselves in some form or another. Being able to make themselves noticed without giving anything away. A cough is too theatrical, while simply going 'ahem' can be taken for someone clearing their throat. No, a commissar needs to inspire fear in the right measure at the right time for them to be taken seriously.

Moving his foot surreptitiously but heavily, Anton grinds the heel of his boot against the stones on the ground. The grinding noise fills the air, alerting the two troopers of the presence of the commissar close as they shoot up and stand at attention.

"Commissar, sir!" The first, a woman with a small shock of bright ginger hair peaking out from underneath her helmet, says as she stands upright. "We… we were…"

"Preparing the bodies for moving, sir." The other one, a male definitely in his middle age and possessing a scar that splits his lower lip and his chin, says simply.

Not saying a word, the political officer steps towards the room, and promptly stops at the hole in the side of the hab when he sees the bodies.

The male's skin is bloated, and his clothes are soaked with blood from the large gash in the left side of his chest. But his skin has been cleaned as best as it could be, and a large piece of cloth has been placed underneath the corpse. Likewise, to his side, the… abhuman, as evidenced by the large ears on top of her head, has been similarly cleaned up, making a decidedly better corpse than the one next to her.

To a follower of the Imperial Creed, this… union, human and abhuman together, is almost sacrosanct to the Imperial faith. Humanity, in all its purity, should not lay with the impure, nor should they wish too. Even if the female would be considered attractive in life, seeing the pair together almost earns a sneer from Anton.

But… they fought. They fought to the last to defend themselves, their loved one, their home, from who or whatever attacked this settlement. That's worthy of some small measure of respect.

Anton reaches up and removes the peaked cap from his head, placing it solemnly against his chest.

"By our deeds are we known, and by our deeds are we measured." The commissar intones solemnly as he looks at the two corpses, ready to be covered by their burial shrouds.

When he replaces the cap, the woman's moves a step closer to him, a sparkle of hope in her violet eyes.

"Sir, I have to ask… is it true? The survivor First found…? Are these her parents?"

Constantine responds, nodding his head as he does so. "They are, my child. And their names are known to us."

A look of quiet acceptance and relief comes to the woman's face, while the man leans down and carefully wraps the bodies with the shrouds.

"You know this isn't Cadia, Father?" Anton asks quietly, leaning his head to come closer to Constantine's.

The preacher is quiet as he watches the pair of troopers carry on preparing the bodies for burial, carefully moving the bodies as they tighten the shrouds with small lengths of rope. Without a word, Constantine reaches into one of his sleeves and removes two pieces of parchment. Anton knows the type; prayer sheets, ones that would be placed on a body bag or coffin (if a lasman in lucky), prepared to protect the soul of the recipient from harm and to pray for a quick journey through the afterlife to their final resting place.

Placing the parchments carefully, reverently, on the chests of each cadaver, the preacher remains stooped over when he speaks.

"As long as we live, as long as we carry on our customs; Cadia will not die."

When he stands, Constantine is looking at Anton with a forlorn but hard look.

"As long as we stand, Cadia stands."

---

High from its perch on a burnt out wall, the crow watches as the two men in black, one of them clearly a priest and the other… the crow isn't sure what he is. The younger one's outfit looks like an old Atlesian policeman before they changed the uniforms, but in all black.

It watches as the two men talk to each other a bit, before the preacher calls over eight more soldiers to their position. The soldiers each carry a stretcher made from strips of wood and a large piece of cloth, which they carry between them. With no small amount of pomp and ceremony, the soldiers lay the stretchers on the floor before they gently, very gently, place the shrouded corpses onto the stretchers. Without a word, the soldiers, four to a group, lift the stretchers up onto their shoulders between them, acting as pall-bearers for the dead.

As they begin walking away, the officer (the crow guesses he's an officer) at the rear and the priest leading the procession, the crow cocks its head in confusion.

People on Remnant view birds like crows and ravens as clever, an old piece of mythology that just kept going. Even as the old gods were replaced or discarded, the stories remained. This crow is definitely no different.

Giving a slight ruffle of its feathers, the corvid propels itself from its perch as it soars into the air, flying over the ruined town. Turning its head side to side, it takes in the lay of the land once more and sees what the mass of people are doing. For the last couple of hours, the uniformed people have been taking down some of the more decrepit buildings that haven't been burnt down and have been building large funeral pyres on which the more… complete bodies of the townspeople are placed.

Setting down on another building near a pyre, the crow watches as the soldiers mill around a nearly completed pyre as the soldiers in khaki cloth and armour uniforms place one more body on the wooden pile.

"Is that everyone in our area?" One of them asks from below the crows perch, looking around him.

"Yeah, that's everyone, sergeant." A woman asks, her voice sounding much older than the other one. "Should we get a flame to it?"

For a moment, the bird watches the sergeant pause in thought before he reaches down and picks up a single, long piece of wood. At the end, the crow sees that it's been wrapped in some kind of fabric which has been doused in some sort of liquid.

"Do it."

The woman steps forward as she pulls out a small metal box. Soon, the unmistakeable sound of a lighter being ignited proceeds the smell of something pungent burning reaches the bird. Without another word, the sergeant moves away from his comrades and begins to set the pyre aflame. The fire takes to the wood quickly, and soon the air becomes thick with haze and smoke, and the unmistakeable smell of burning flesh.

There's no sounds from the people as they watch the pyre become engulfed in flame. There's no cheers, no chants or jeers. Just… silence. Quiet, stony silence. In fact, the crow is certain that he can even hear a few muffled sobs too.

Looking up from the pyre, the bird sees another plume of black smoke and flame take up at another part of the town.

The bird has seen flames of this severity before. Usually, they've been in the aftermath of a bandit or Grimm attack, sometimes both, the malice and brutality of nature and man combined into a hate-filled display. And part of the bird feared that the soldiers it's watching on the ground were going to be another such group. That they were another of her minions, and that she had somehow managed to get her hands on a proper military force.

It was that reason why it had to abandon the Faunus girl trapped in the well. There was no way it would have been able to get her out in time to save her, but it knows that if those people had tried anything to harm her… there would have been hell to pay.

But it had watched. It had seen the care the people had taken as they discovered and moved around the bodies. It had heard the anguished and pain-filled comments from the soldiers, and it had seen the careful and respectful way they had treated the bodies they found.

So it took a gamble. When it saw one of the soldiers closest to the well the girl was in, the bird made its move to get the soldier to investigate. And it had worked. Even after the girl had run off at being told what happened to her family, he had helped the soldier find her.

As it propels itself from its perch once more, it makes a bee-line of the centre of town, using the thermals from the pyre in front of it to push it higher into the air. Flying the sky, another, smaller plume of smoke in the woods to the north catches its eyes.

Now that's a group that the crow needs to keep its eye on when it can. Those buggers are HUGE, even taller than General Ironwood, and they packed some serious firepower. They seem to be allies with the soldiers in town, but they are operating by themselves in the woods, and there was also that little stand-off with the guy the bird guesses is the commanding officer, if these guys are a proper military outfit.

But that raises the question: just who are these people?

As the crow flies closer to its destination, it can see the group that found the Faunus girl gathered around her, a soldier with a white helmet paying special attention to her, almost doting on her. With its enhanced vision, it can see that the girl is unharmed and is also being treated very gently and calmly. The two soldiers that went to find her, the man and woman, are sitting on each side of her, keeping her calm.

It dips down to have a closer look.

Afterall… who would notice a simple dusty old crow?

---

Carmen watches the crow as it flies through the air before sitting down on the top of a roof.

Her Faunus ears allow her to pick the small SQWUAK it gives, making a thin smile comes to her mouth. This had to be the crow that she saw when she was down the well. It has to be.

Her view of the bird is blocked though as a white helmet with a bright red twisted, and winged, symbol above an old but warm face, a smile creasing the short, well-trimmed silvery beard… and the saddest eyes Carmen has ever seen.

"Okay, little one," The man says warmly as he lifts up a small flashlight in his hands, clicking it on. "Say 'ah' for me, and let's look at your mouth. Okay?"

Carmen nods her head at the doctor's orders, and proceeds to open her mouth. Even if he is dressed as the others, she thinks as the man looks in her mouth, he has to be a doctor, right? He knows about medicine, doing all the things that Doctor Fall had done for her when she was sick. Besides, the… Cadians called him 'doc', so he has to be a doctor. At least, that's what her mind tells her anyway.

The flashlight clicks again. "Okay, you can close your mouth now."

Carmen closes her mouth dutifully.

"So," Sophia says as she takes a firm but gentle hold of Carmen's left hand, "What's the verdict, Doc?"

The doctor smiles the same warm smile, the smile that does nothing to warm his eyes. "Nothing serious. Some water, some food, and I think some proper sleep will be all the little one needs. In fact…"

Trailing off, the doctor reaches around to his side and, after rummaging for a few seconds in one of his pouches, held between his thumb and forefinger, he pulls out a small item, roughly the size of a two-cent coin, wrapped in simple brass foil. With her Faunus sense of smell, Carmen can easily smell the scent of butter toffee.

Despite the size of it, to Carmen it looks like the tastiest thing she's ever seen.

"I think this would be the right place to start." The older man says in a warm voice before he holds out the candy.

She doesn't mean to do it. She's been brought up to be polite and well-mannered at the dinner table. It was something her papa insisted on, and her momma didn't object. But seeing the sweet offered to her… she can't help but snatch it before she proceeds to almost rip open the small coating.

She's about to stuff the candy into her mouth before, her mouth open slightly, she stops and sees the bemused but happy looks of the three Cadians around her. Slowly, she closes her mouth sheepishly.

".. 'nk you, sir." Carmen says timidly before she pops the candy into her mouth and begins chewing happily. For a space sweet, it tastes nice.

To her sides, Sophia and Tychos start laughing again. It's not an evil laugh, one that she'd hear when she was being picked on. But the same gentle laughter of joy that she once heard from her… parents.

Even with the sweet in her mouth, the young Faunus girl can't help but feel the tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

A finger rubbing against her cheek, wiping away the tear dripping down. Looking to her right, she sees Tychos smiling down at her, a small but heartfelt smile. The sort of smile that means nothing has to be said between the pair of them.

Carmen sniffles. Then she sniffs, her eyebrows furrowing.

"I smell… burning meat."

The three soldiers sniff the air too, before Sophia turns and looks past one of the roofs nearby, the same roof the crow is sitting on, as a large cloud of black smoke drifts into the sky, another one a ways off to the side.

"They've started lighting the pyres."

Confusion remains on Carmen's face, before the doctor speaks up.

"It'd take too long to bury all of the bodies, and if what attacked your town is still nearby, then we can't risk it. Plus, leaving the bodies out for too long could help spread disease."

The idea makes sense, and if a doctor is saying it, then it must be right to Carmen's mind. But still… it's weird.

"Tychos, Sophia." The stern of the man that they call Captain draws everyone's attention, mainly the two people he's called out. "Over here. I need a word."

The man scares Carmen, his height and clothes , combined with his moustache, makes the girl shrink in on herself when she sees him. It doesn't help that this purple eyes burn bright with… something hard for Carmen to describe, but the man scares her.

Even if the other soldiers call him 'Uncle' (which doesn't make sense to Carmen since some of them are old enough to nearly be his age) doesn't mean that she's any less scared of him.

"Don't worry about the captain, little one." The doctor says calmly as he moves to sit down next to Carmen, sighing as he takes his seat. "He's got a tough job, and what happened here isn't making it any easier for him.

"We were told that we were to come here and help people, since we knew that this place got attacked last night. But we didn't know about the severity of it. We thought there would be people here to help not just… a person. It's not a good thing to find, and it's not sitting well with him."

Chewing on the last bits of the sweet before swallowing, Carmen looks down at the floor sadly. She's alone now. She's the only person from Marysville alive. She's all alone.

The tears start coming again and she sniffles as she tries to wipe them away.

A comforting arm appears around her, pulling her towards the doctor. When she looks up at him, Carmen sees him smiling down at her, the gesture making the man's beard widen in size.

"But you're safe. I think that's what matters the most."

The words make Carmen smile as she leans into the hug. These strange men and women had been scary to her, with their guns, their outfits, even their eyes are scary. And yet… they've all been so nice to her. Tychos rescued her, he and Sophia came to find her. The doctor helped make sure she was fine. Even that big one, the one with the bear-like bare arms, Reinhardt (Carmen thinks) spoke to her softly and gently when he said that they'd make whoever did 'this' pay, kneeling down to speak to her almost eye to eye.

The sound of approaching feet draws Carmen's attention as, sitting up slightly, she sees Tychos, Sophia and their 'Uncle' coming towards her and the doctor. All of them with grim expressions on their faces.

"Captain, what's wrong?" The older man beside her asks as he pulls the arm from around Carmen.

Not saying a word, Tychos takes a step forward before he kneels down in front of the Faunus girl.

"Carmen." He begins softly. "… were there any flowers your parents liked?"

---

The town known as Marysville is now a ghost town. Life has ceased, civility gone and replaced by the cold call of the wind from the mountains and the hungry roars of the funeral pyres as they consume the bodies of the town folks. It will take time for the flames to finally use up their fuel, burning through the cloth, the skin and the bones, several hours at most, but in the end, all that will be left are piles of ash and burnt wood, and then the town will be silent of man. All that will be heard in the future is the sound of the river running its course and the sounds of the wild as nature retakes that which is hers.

The sounds of silence are kept at bay for now by the steady thump of footsteps moving in unison as the Cadians form a small funeral procession for the bodies of Marion and Hans Gael-Hart, their names recorded and given to the Emperor as payment of their service in the defence of mankind. Their bodies are born aloft on simple palanquins quickly made from wood, both carried by six Cadian troopers from Third platoon, their heads bowed as they are lead in the procession by Father Constantine, the preacher looking very solemn and straight-laced as the bodies are lead towards their destination. Their route is lined by troopers from First and Second platoon, standing at ramrod attention.

Their home.

As far as gestures go, it seems the most banal in its simplicity. Not knowing where the communal graveyard would be, even if the settlement had one at all, it seems logical that the Cadians would bury the Gael-Harts in their home.

But, Anton, standing with the other platoon leaders, minus Fourth Platoon, muses as he watches the procession approach the fenced domain, the small, waist-high gate held open by a grim-looking sergeant from Third Platoon, it's really a payment. A sort of… blood dept, the commissar thinks as stands at attention in front of the house.

'Sorry' is not in the lexicon of any Imperial commander, lest of all a commander of the Astra Militarum. The Imperium does not makes mistakes. And to show forgiveness is to show weakness, a sign of death in the galaxy.

But for the pair, it is… fitting. To have fallen inside their home settlement, it seems right that the pair be buried in their family plot.

Certainly better than what happened to his own parents.

Anton remembers the dark sky, threatening to spill with rain, even as it flashed with far-off artillery rounds. He remembers the sombre procession, the pair of coffins born aloft by twelve stern-faced and stiff-backed Kasrkin troopers, accompanied by two full squads of Tempestus Scions, hellguns held in perfect parade order…

"Funeral party! Present, arms!"

The cry rings out, as the soldiers lining the road raise their rifles parallel with their bodies, the weapons clattering in their hands as they're raised vertical with their barrels pointed to the sky. A silent, heartfelt salute from men and women who know the face of death.

The procession comes closer to the home, Father Constantine leading the way through the gate, the stretcher bearers following in his wake. The commissar watches as the bearers carefully and steadily thread their way through the open, waist high gate while keeping the bodies over their shoulders. Past their bodies, Anton can see Captain Thade marching behind them, his uniform still dirty from the trip to the settlement, but doing nothing to detract from his presence.

And behind the captain, he sees Tychos, his hand down low as he gripped the diminutive hand of the small abhuman child. Even clean and properly dressed, a pair of small bouquets, one white and one yellow, held to her chest, the girl is a picture of unhappiness. Her body posture, her downcast eyes… even her large animal ears dropping down over her hair broadcast the depression Anton knows she must feel.

His father had been a commander, a lieutenant colonel of the Kasr Karth garrison during one of the Despoilers' attacks on the planet, in what had later found out to be a probing attack. His mother had stuck by her husband throughout the fight, even helping the man lead the rearguard action that saw the Interior Guard regiment of Kasr Karth link up with the 69th and 72nd Armoured Regiments to drive back the enemy. An action that saw both of them sell their lives, for the kasr and the Emperor.

He had been far away from the fighting, of course. It is perfectly all right for parents to risk their lives, but not to risk their life of their only child. He had been eight at the time, old enough to understand what had happened, but still young enough to weep loudly at it. Very unbecoming.

His parents had been buried with full honours; his father being promoted three full ranks to brigadier, while his mother had been given the rank of colonel for the aid she gave to her husband and her people. They had been buried with full honours, even as the enemy was beaten back to the void, and Anton had been sent to the Schola Progenium.

Leading him to here.

Moving out of the way, Anton lets the burial party move past him, the shrouded bodies passing him at eye-level. Inured to the aspects of death, he doesn't blanche at the corpses moving past him. It's the sight of the small child being brought along by Tychos which gives him pause, and his eyebrows to furrow in thought.

Many emotions must be supressed to become a member of the commissariat, least of all pity. Pity allows a fearful soldier to spread his cowardly taint through the ranks. Pity lets the heretic slip from the holy power of the flames. And yet… the only thing he feels at the sight of… Carmen, he remembers as the name pops into his head, is pity.

Surrounded by unknown people, people who clearly know violence, and no one to guide her form her old life, she is truly alone. Even when he was in the Schola Progenium, Anton was with people of similar ages, but to be a child surrounded by adults? It's daunting, to be polite.

With the group moving past him, Anton falls into step with the other platoon leaders as they move around the side of the house to the back. The rear garden plot is large for a hab of its size, definitely large enough to contain the two, six-feet deep graves dug into the dirt, their sides dug with the neatness and precision that only those who know death as a constant companion can achieve.

It's in front of these graves that the two stretchers are placed reverently on small raised blocks, Father Constantine taking his place between the pair. Turning around, he faces the soldiers behind him.

"In His name, we pray." He intones. "We gather here today to bury Marion and Hans Gael-Hart, a beloved mother and beloved father. Though they were born… far from the light of the God-Emperor, their actions, in the defence of their daughter, Carmen, and the defence of their town, highlights the virtues of the Imperium, and Humanity: courage, sacrifice.

"Without either of these virtues, one of our number would not be standing before us today."

Unbidden, all eyes turn to Carmen, the girl shrinking in on herself in shyness, before Constantine continues.

"So, as is our custom as Cadians, we declare these martyrs to be 'the honoured dead', and we give these bodies to their true resting place; their own native soil. Little Carmen, if you will."

Taking that as her cue, the young girl steps towards the bodies of her parents. Almost like she is in a dream, Carmen takes the flowers and places them on to the chests of the shrouded corpses, the yellow one for her mother and the white one for her father.

It's hard to make out, but in the quietness of the garden turned gravesite, the Cadians can hear Carmen begin to sniffle before she speaks.

"G-goodbye, momma. Good-goodbye, papa."

The flowers placed on her parents, Carmen turns around, letting Tychos see her eyes shining with tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. Unthinkingly, he holds out his hands in front of her. Without hesitation, the young girl takes a small run and leaps into his arms, crushing herself against his chest as begins sobbing loudly.

Not knowing what to say, or if anything should be said, Tychos just wraps his own arms around the girl before he lifts her up, resting her head against his shoulder.

Unperturbed, Constantine continues with the rest of the ceremony.

"We now commit their bodies to the dirt, to be made into corruption, to be resurrected at the coming of the God-Emperor once more. Let their memories be ever sacred in our hearts, and let their sacrifice which they have offered for cause be acceptable in His sight. May the saints watch over them, and may they in turn watch over us. In His holy name, we pray."

As the preacher begins reciting the prayer for burial, four of the stretcher bearers step forward and begin attaching ropes to the underside of the bodies in simple cradles before they lift them up and over the graves, showing the same reverence and respect they had done throughout the whole affair.

Slowly, carefully, they begin to lower the bodies into the dirt. No noise is made, save for Carmen's quiet sobs and the Father's prayer, no bird nor motion disrupts their work, not until the ropes cease their movements down and are carefully brought upwards, empty.

"Ave Imperator." Constantine says with finality as he looks at the graves. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May their rest be forever eternal. Amen."

"Amen." The Cadians repeat solemnly, as seven troopers march to the side of the gravesite, lasrifles leaning against their right shoulders.

---

Trudging through the village, Thaddeus has his face set in a grim mask of professional neutrality as he leads his neophytes to their destination.

The revelation he has found have not given him cause for any joviality. The nature of the creatures on this planet, and possibly the planet itself, have set his blood to simmer. Thaddeus knows that if he were a mortal man, he would be raging at the beasts and seeking to hunt them down. But he is not a mortal, he is an Astartes.

Even if his heart tells him he should be raging at the destruction and slaughter he has seen, his mind keeps it in check, telling him that he has a job to do. An important task.

As the Astarte scouts are making their way through the settlement, Thaddeus casts his eyes around for the commanding officer of the Cadians. It is urgent that he must be found, and yet the fool of a mortal refuses to answer his personal hails on the vox! Bastard.

Well, time to do this the old fashioned way.

"Trooper!" Thaddeus calls out as he moves toward a squad of Cadians.

At the sound of his shout, the ten, battle-hardened shock troopers instantly freeze up and look at the veteran scout with a mixture of fear and reverence, not knowing what to do when one of the Emperor's Chosen calls out to you. Especially when they don't know who said Emperor's Chosen is calling out to.

Thaddeus picks a trooper at random, a soldier with corporal stripes and three, small serrated scars on his left cheek.

"Corporal, where is Captain Thade? I need to speak with him at once."

To his credit, the Cadian only looks stunned for maybe five seconds before he responds. "M-my lord. Captain T-Thade is at the northern edge of the settlement. He's overseeing a funeral, my lord."

"A funeral?" Georg calls out incredulously from the ranks of the squad. "Here and now? What is the man thinking?"

"Silence." Thaddeus growls out, turning his head slightly to look at the neophyte before he turns his attention back to the Cadian. "Show me where. Right now, they 'why' doesn't matter. Just the 'where'."

"Right this way, my lord." The corporal says, gesturing the Astartes to follow him, leaving his squadmates to look on in awe, and for some to mutter in concern.

It doesn't take long for the Cadian to lead Thaddeus and his scouts to the site of the funeral, a small, stone walled, wood roofed domicile, almost untouched by the slaughter and destruction brought to the town. Already, he can see a group of seven guardsman, walking in perfect parade drill, around the side of the house.

Thaddeus turns to the squad behind.

"Wait until I return." He turns to the corporal. "Return to your squad, quickly. You have done what I asked, and I thank you for it."

Quickly and clearly glad to be free of his burden, the guardsman snaps off a fast but smart salute before he jogs away back to his squad, leaving Thaddeus to walk towards the site of the funeral.

Walking through the open gate in the fence around the hab, Thaddeus is struck by how… alien his location has become. In his six-centuries of service for the Imperium, the veteran Astartes has found himself in many locales, each one touched in some shape or form by the hand of war. So to find himself in an environment that can be considered pristine is… strange. Not unnerving, but just… strange.

His Lyman's Ear implant picks up the sound of the Cadian preacher, a man who Thaddeus has not had the pleasure of personally meeting, giving a sermon in a sincere and clear voice. He can also hear the sound of… a child sobbing? That sound makes Thaddeus pause in his movement.

Theoretical: if that is the survivor, then why are they present?

Practical: their parents are the ones being buried.

Inwardly, Thaddeus grimaces. He's had to work with children, that is a fact. All the neophytes that come to him from selection are but children, none less than ten or nine. Some come willingly, some do not, but all know their purpose, and they show the right amount of reverence for that event.

A crying child… he has never had to work with that before.

Problematic. Still, he must tell the captain the news.

Turning the corner, he sees the event unfolding before him. The guardsmen have taken their place to the side of the graves, presumably after the bodies have been placed inside and the officers present are standing ready, while a single guardsmen is standing with… a crying child in his arms.

A child… with large hare-like ears, pressed flat against the back of her head.

… 'That's new, even for me.'

The situation before him is being conducted with a degree of solemnity and reverence that would not appear too out of place in the Steel Drakes, and to disturb it would be something akin to blasphemy.

So Thaddeus relies on his skills as a scout.

Treading lightly, he almost flows over the grass, his feet not making a sound above a rustle as the material of his boots and his centuries of experience move him swiftly and quietly to his destination, right behind Captain Thade.

He quickly muses on how to get the man's attention.

"H-hello." A small voice says, shy but earnest in its greeting.

The child with the animalistic ears is looking at him, her (since the face and voice are definitely those of a female) eyes wet with tears even as they look at him in rapt attention. While in return, Thaddeus just stares at her in amazement. Not for what she is, but for the fact that she could hear him move up to the group.

"Sergeant Thaddeus." Captain Thade says in surprise as he turns to look up at the Astartes. "Why are you here?"

Blindsided momentarily for the shift in dynamics, the ball no long in his court, Thaddeus sets his mind to the important task. Even as everyone is staring at him in expectation.

"I need to speak with you, captain."

"I… I'm sure you do, but I'm afraid that now isn't the-"

"Now is the best time to speak, captain." Thaddeus cuts the Cadian off, his voice flat but forceful. "It's vital that I speak to you. Alone."

That does the job as the senior officer contemplates the Astartes' words before he nods.

"Lieutenant Deckard, take over until I return. I won't be long."

Motioning, Thaddeus takes the captain around the side of the hab, away from earshot of the other Cadians.

"Captain Thade, I have some information that is important to our mission here."

"What information is that?" Thade asks, looking confused. "And how did you come about this information?"

Normally, a small smile would play at Thaddeus' lip as he would comment on it being his directive to gather information. But now is not the time.

"My scouts and I found it while investigating the woods past the river." Thaddeus says flatly. "More bodies were found, but they weren't found far from the river bank."

Captain Thade's face turns hollow for a second. "So she is the only survivor then." His face resets to a look of determined resolve. "Did you find who did this?"

"Not who. What." The veteran Astartes replies flatly. "Captain, this wasn't armed conflict, gang or tribal warfare that did this. These people weren't killed by other people."

"What were they killed by?" Thade asks, his interest piqued, both professionally and personally.

Behind him, the voice of the Lieutenant Deckard rings out.

"Honour guard! Present, arms!"

As the clatter of lasrifles fills the air, Thaddeus tells Thade what he has learnt. He leaves out the specifics of the 'how', since those are not for a mortal to know. But he tells him, earnestly and truthfully what he has learnt. What they face on this planet.

---

Standing outside the wall of the settlement, Lieutenant Stepan Walker hears the sound of the seven lasrifles cracking off their shots clearly. Seven guns, three volleys. A salute for fallen noteworthies.

Watching over the stowed away cargo-6's and the troopers of his platoon sitting in huddles, many watching out from the base of the walls at the woods, the only thing Walker can do is hear the reports over the vox traffic, and they've painted a grim picture so far. The entire down massacred down to a single survivor, a child at that. Even if she was an abhuman, the news that she was rescued was a boon to morale. But the tall palls of black smoke from numerous funeral pyres painted a grim picture.

The vox crackles to life again.

"All Valiant units, this is Valiant Actual." The commanding voice of Uncle came through the junior-officer's microbead. "Get ready to move out within half an hour. Out."

The vox falls silent as Walker turns to look at the broken open gate in confusion. Granted, the… giant…hole is not a boon for any sort of defence, but the walls are stout and can easily be buoyed by extra defensive works. But to abandon a defensible position is…

Something must have happened for the captain to make that decision.

"Okay, everyone," Walker calls out to the platoon. "Get any loose gear stowed up, and get those engines ready. We need to bug out soon."

"Any reason why, lieutenant?" A trooper asks, even as he stands up straight from his crouch, his rifle cradled against his chest.

"Uncle gave the order, that's all." The man says with a shrug. It's the only answer he can give, and while it fills him with some reservations, he doesn't doubt Uncle's choice. If the man gave an order, there has to be a good reason behind it.

In seconds, Fourth Platoon is up on their feet, weapons still held ready for use, prepping for their departure. All the action is carefully watched over by the sergeants and Lieutenant Walker himself. However, each man and woman keeps a watchful, careful eye on the ominous woods they travelled through.

So it doesn't take long for one of the troopers to notice the piebald, brown and white horse to come galloping out of the woods, their rider clutching tight at the reins as it stamps across the grass.

"Lieutenant!" The woman calls out, hefting her lasgun to her shoulder. "Contact! Rider, two-hundred-metres and closing fast."

Over two dozen lasrifles snap to attention, pointing at the rider.

"Hold fire! No-one shoot. No-one shoots." Walker cries out, stepping forward as he waves down the guns.

This, this right now, is first contact. The Imperium with the local population of this planet, or at least a subset of it. A living breathing individual, not a cadaver.

He activates his microbead. "Valiant Actual, this is Valiant Four. I have one rider, repeat, one rider on horseback, approaching my lines. Request permission to try and talk to them, over."

As he waits for the answer, the only sound in the air is the approaching drumbeats of the hooves and the nervous shuffling of men and women armed with good quality weaponry.

Finally, as the rider begins to come close enough to let Walker see that is a man in his late-twenties, his hair a bright red, the microbead in Walker's ear crackles to life again.

"Valiant Four, this is Actual. Keep your weapons low but keep them ready. Remember, we're not here to start a fight."

'Easier said than done.' Walker thinks to himself as the rider slows his horse down to a canter. The rider is slight in frame, dressed in a sleeveless, brown jacket lined in the front with bullet loops arrayed in rows over the chest, which he wears under a red and black plaid shirt and a pair of deep tan trousers tucked in to a pair of black riding boots. On his back, Walker can see the form a rifle of some design held on to his body by a sling.

As the rider finally slows down to a stop, Walker finally sees the look on their face. A look of wild-eyed and awed confusion.

Taking a deep breath, Walker steps forward. He knows that he's looks as alien to the man, because the thick beard tells him it's a man on the horse, in his khaki uniform, flak armour and field cap, and his power sword and bolt pistol attached to his hips.

It takes a moment for the lieutenant to think of what he can say.

Finally, as he stops a foot away from the horse's head, the animal staring blankly at him. The same look is almost repeated on the rider, but it's a lot less unnerving.

Walker raises a hand slowly and carefully. Unbeknownst to him, Lieutenant Stepan Walker will speak the first recorded words between a member of the Imperium of Man and a Remnite.

"How's it going, my friend?"

---

AN: It's FINALLY finished. And... to be honest, there's not really much I can say on this. This story has pushed me out of my comfort zone a good bit since I'm writing about more stuff that can easily be seen as depressing, and to be fair, I think it's territory I need to step into.

Been watching Chernobyl too on Sky Atlantic. Holy shit, it's a great show.

And... that's it really. Until next time, please leave a review, I do appreciate them, even if I don't comment on all of them. I will address one comment here though; to weismax33, I do have an idea planned for introducing another Non-Imperial faction or two to the mix, but I won't say who, what or when. It'll ruin the suspense.