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.

10. Chapter 9

Pink rays of the evening sun filter through the large windows of Professor Ozpin's office right near the summit of Beacon Tower. The view is breath-taking on so many levels: to see the sun's rays, the orb itself dipping below the horizon over the bay of Vale, reflecting off the clouds and the water, painting everything in the varying shades of dusk, and the glass of Ozpin's office pitched the light in the room to match. It was beautiful in a way.

The atmosphere in the office was not the sort that would lead to appreciation of the beauty of the setting sun.

Beneath the ticking gears of Beacon Tower, Team CFVY stand together, arranged in the order. They've been standing there for several hours, no rest or chance to sit down. The single chair in the room is taken up by Professor Ozpin behind his large desk as he once again looks at the simple sheets of paper before. Sheets of paper that tell him that Team CFVY has had contact with an alien civilization. An alien civilization made up of humans.

Ozpin can't believe it.

He's met them already, himself and Professor Goodwitch meeting Team CFVY as they arrived back in the strange, brutal looking aircraft they'd arrived on. The pair of professors from Beacon had watched the team disembark, and Ozpin did feel for the teens. They were dirty, clearly tired, and yet looking pleased with themselves for their troubles.

Then their 'friends' had made their appearance. The soldiers looked like some of General Ironwood's men, their armour being cut from a similar form, though the Atlesian soldiery had a much more rounded appearance than the newcomer's blocky forms, and the latter had much more subdued colouring than the eye catching colours of the Atlas army. Dark green body armour, marked with black and brown stripes, over lighter green cloth, their faces were masked and invisible, though the man leading them, an officer if Glynda Goodwitch had to easily guess was less heavily armour, a simple vest and pauldrons instead of a near full body suit, his armour and cloth being dark khaki all together, while a dark red beret sat square on his head.

The man, his eyes stark violet against his fair skin, had stood to attention in front of both professors, snapping off a salute that would have made Ironwood tear up with pride. Thought as much pride as Goodwitch had at seeing her students appear, alive and well, from behind the soldiers.

"I am to assume that you two are the primary teachers here at Beacon Academy?" The man said, lowering his hand as he looked between the pair of educators.

"We are." Ozpin replied quickly, bowing his head. "I am Professor Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon Academy, and this is my assistant and tutor, Professor Glynda Goodwitch."

The woman had bowed her head, the gesture being copied by the man before he linked his own hands together, thumb to thumb, before pressing them against his chest in imitation of a two-headed bird in flight. "I am Lieutenant Weispe, lieutenant of Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon, of the Cadian 598th Infantry. On behalf of the Emperor of Man, and by the orders of my commanders, I give back to you Team CFVY."

At the word, the heavily armoured soldiers had moved to the side, forming a short corridor for Team CFVY to pass through, the group looking perplexed but pleased teens before they passed through. As they passed them, the soldiers each threw their right hand up to their heads in a salute. All Team CFVY could do is just smile before they stand in front of their professors. And the look coming from Professor Goodwitch's face makes the smiles drop.

"You are late."

Ozpin however, just chuckled. "Dirty, tired, but proud. I see four cadet Huntsmen that have achieved something great."

That brought the smiles back to the teens faces.

"That they did, sir." Lieutenant Weispe had said, before saluting again. "Good day to you all."

The staff and students of Beacon were shocked, and Glynda gave voice to that shock.

"You're just leaving? Isn't there… shouldn't there be some form of dialogue between our groups? Our kingdoms?"

The lieutenant stopped and turned, a slightly bemused expression on his face, as the other soldiers turned and marched back to enter the aircraft. "Ma'am, my orders were to assist in the delivery of Team CFVY back to their base of operations, safely and speedily. Those were my orders, and I have done so. I am not a diplomat, I am a soldier. My commander is in contact with his superiors in procuring diplomats for talks between ourselves and whoever you deem to be diplomats. My duty is done. So, good evening to you."

Before he turned, Coco spoke up again. "Take out a few Grimm for us!"

"We intend to, Huntress." Lieutenant Weispe replied, throwing the teen a thumbs up, before turning and marching to join his fellows. In short order, the aircraft had lifted off loudly and explosively, the downdraft from its exhausts battering the pair of teachers and Team CFVY with hot, blasting winds and particles of dust before it climbs into the sky, banking away to fly north.

It is spectacular to watch, like a firework being used to propel a toy plane.

That was several hours ago, with Team CFVY being quickly bustled into Beacon Tower and Ozpin's office to explain what had happened. That explanation had then been explained again, to make sure that what Professor Ozpin and Professor Goodwitch had heard was correct.

That then saw the other headmaster's being contacted. One by one, the images of the headmasters of the other Huntsmen Academies had flashed into being on miniature screens on the front of Ozpin's desk: General James Ironwood of Atlas Academy in Atlas, Professor Leonardo Lionheart of Haven Academy in Mistral, and Professor Dorothea Mesquite, the co-headmaster of Shade Academy of Vacuo. Despite the differing time zones, the former two are wide awake and alert.

Each one has grilled the student Huntsmen for hours apiece, each one questioning the teens in their own way.

Ozpin lets out a sigh as Team CFVY finishes their explanation for events for possibly the thousandth time. To his ears, it all sounds fantastical, and the other headmasters and Professor Goodwitch, must feel the same way.

Although how can it not? Civilizations from far-flung space, a galaxy-spanning empire from the sound of it, and all populated entirely by humans.

"If it wasn't for Miss Scarlatina's pictures," General Ironwood says, his fingers scrolling across a small line of photos seen at the bottom of his screen, and the other screens present. "I would honestly say this was the work of a very hyperactive imagination. Or psychoactive drugs."

A snort of derision comes from the headmistress of Vacuo. "Like you would know…"

"They are real, sir." Coco Adel says simply and bluntly, her shades clipped against her scarf around her neck. "We've talked with them, ate with them, fought with them… we've seen them die too."

The two Beacon professors look at the team as the teens all share the memories of the events they have experienced in the last twenty-four hours, ones that the pair can easily imagine them experiencing. On the screens below them, looks of sympathy flash across the faces of the other three headmasters.

"It's always a thing to see people killed by Grimm," Headmaster Lionheart says gently, "Especially in the numbers that you have said. Although, I will say that it seems that these… Canadians?"

"Cadians, professor." Yatsuhashi Daichi replies quickly, correcting the man, who responds with a small gesture of apology with his hand.

"Cadians, my apologies. It does seem like they gave as good as they received."

A short bark of laughter comes from Professor Dorothea Mesquite, her canine tail, thin but still slightly bushy, waves behind her irritably. "That's putting it gently, Leo! Fifty to one! Fifty to one, by the time these kids turned up."

Dorothea Mesquite is just like her brother, Theodore. Brash in mannerism, and as much a spoiler for a fight as Theodore, she is the more… tame of the pair. A thousand to one chance with twins meant that Dorothea was born as a Faunus while her brother was human. It has given a certain perspective on life, living in Vacuo as a Faunus woman. Needless to say, her skill in combat and feats against Grimm and bandits alike lend her well the other half of the title of "Strongest Headmaster".

Brushing a long lock of jet-black hair from in front of her face, the forty-something year old woman looks at the team, and the other professors, flatly, as she speaks. "Seriously though: several hours, with no Aura and no Semblances. Just regular old weapons and training. Even with air support like theirs, that's not something to give light praise to."

"And they did this for people who they share no bonds of any type with." General Ironwood says, his face frowning as he looks closely at the pictures with the critical eye of his rank. "Definitely a well-armed military outfit, there's no mistaking that. Although these vehicles are… I've never seen anything of their like before."

"Spacemen, general." Professor Goodwitch says simply from beside Beacon's headmaster. "They are spacemen."

"Yes, I know that, Professor Goodwitch," Ironwood snaps back, an unamused look on his face. "But these vehicles… what do they run on that requires such a design layout? They're so… boxy."

"I think that any questions on fuel can be left to one side, general." Ozpin speaks up, his fingers pressing buttons almost absentmindedly at this side before another set of screens appear, six in total, the screens of the other headmasters nestled between them. The screens do not show videos or images, but copied letters, carefully scanned from the papers given to the Professors Ozpin and Goodwitch by Coco when the Cadians had left.

They are all similar, with only minor differences between the six, but they all follow a basic premise:

Attention to order,

On this day, 398.009.M42 of the Imperial calendar, May 25th of the year 80 .A.V. (local calendar), we wish to bestow upon the local Planetary Defence Force unit under the designator Team Coffee, based out of Beacon Academy in the City of Vale in the Kingdom of Vale, the commendation, The Eagle Ordinary to the Huntsmen of aforesaid team, for the selfless heroism and august courage in rendering aid to the defence of the settlement of Carterstown on the night of 394.009.M42, or May 24th, 80 .A.V. (local calendar).

Their aid rendered to the soldiers of:

Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 598th Cadian Infantry regiment,

Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, 598th Cadian Infantry regiment,

57th Kasrkin Assault Battalion

Steel Drakes, 10th Company Scout Squad Thaddeus,

Allowing not only the safe evacuation of the civilians from the settlement, but also, combined with the aid rendered by the Sternguard Squads of Squad Gaiun and Squad Dassian of the Steel Drakes chapter, the force of defenders was evacuated in total.

Their aid, unwholly asked for and unprompted by official channels of communication, speaks highly of their dedication to the defence of humanity and Mankind, their courage in battle, and of their skill and training.

May the God-Emperor, the Master of Mankind, look upon their endeavours and the pursuit of their craft of war against the Alien, the Mutant and the Heretic.

The Emperor protects.

Signed,

Colonel Leontij Creed, commanding officer of 598th Cadian Infantry Regiment.

Looking at each screen, one can see that each message varies in length to a degree, with extra details added by officers who claimed to be present during the defence of Carterstown, and even one written by the mayor of the town, one Cole Goldthwaite, about the Team's part in the defence in his own words. It was a lot less… fanatical, but it was verified: Team CFVY had a successful defensive mission under their belt.

Not what either Goodwitch or Ozpin had planned for the team had been sent out.

"Well," Ozpin notes simply. "At least we can tell they are unfamiliar with the team naming system. And they are also a group who respects bravery and selflessness."

Looking up from the screens, peering at Team CFVY over the tops of his small, shaded spectacles, a ghost of a smile crosses Ozpin's face. The four teens are just about standing on their feet, though both Velvet Scarlatina and Fox Alistair are just about teetering on their feet from fatigue. They're dirty, sweaty, and in need of rest.

"I can see that Team CFVY is just about ready to drop, and I do not blame them." Ozpin looks warmly at the teens as he addresses. "Even for second years, you four have performed above and beyond in these last forty-eight hours. Not only did you live up to the ideals of Huntsmen by saving those townspeople and rushing to the aid of these… Imperials, but you also showed them that we have strength in our conviction to aid the people outside our walls. And for that, I congratulate you. We all congratulate you."

He spreads his arms wide, encompassing the three other headmasters who all nod their heads with a smile or offer an actual applause from Lionheart.

"And it was your actions," Ozpin continues. "That allowed us to meet with these newcomers from another world on a level-playing table, with both your own skills at diplomacy, and also for giving us this info that you have taken yourselves. I thank you especially, Miss Scarlatina. Your photography skills are still as sharp as ever."

The young Faunus girl blushes slightly at the praise as a face graces her face.

"Professor Port will be waiting for you all down at the bottom of the tower to take you to your dorms." Professor Goodwitch says, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. "You are also being allowed to skip classes for the rest of the week to come, if you choose to. However, we do ask that you remain on campus during this time."

Ironwood speaks up, unprompted. "I would like to add, that if any of you feel that you need… assistance during this time, Atlas Academy has many specialists trained for dealing with post-traumatic stress. Miss Scarlatina, would you also like me to send a message to your father, saying that you're alright?"

To the general's surprise, the young girl shakes her head no. "If he knew, he'd just worry. Just… tell him… I can't wait to see him again."

The Atlesian headmaster nods his head in respect before the team turn and leaves, all filing into the elevator to take them down from Ozpin's towering heights. When the door had closed, leaving the headmasters and Goodwitch alone in silence, Ironwood lets out a sigh of annoyance.

"I would have liked to have seen some evidence of these… Astartes. What by the Brothers was their name again? The 'Steel Drakes'?" The general growls out as he scrolls his way through the photos provided to them. "So many photos and she couldn't get a single one."

"And they wouldn't be hard to miss either, if what she says is true." Leonardo Lionheart says, scrolling through his own copies of the photos. "Their description would be enough to give them away. 'Like a Valean knight mixed with an Atlesian robot then given full access to a gym', if Miss Adel's words are anything to go by."

"I'd say they're special forces, if we take their armour and weapons into account, compared to the other soldiers on the field." Ironwood responds, not fully listening to what Lionheart said. "Heavy duty armour but able to move extremely quickly, powerful close combat weapons and firearms… and some truly strange weapons. 'A weapon that could crush an Ursa under its own weight,' 'weapons that used liquid flame as ammunition,' 'plasma projectiles'…"

A small but strong cough from Ozpin cuts through the room, silencing Ironwood's commentary on the military forces that have landed on their planet, unannounced and unknown.

"It is clear that we are faced, not as an adversary but as unexpected guests, with a new host of characters in our world." The mysterious headmaster of Beacon Academy says as he looks at each of the others in turn, even turning to look at Professor Goodwitch. "They are powerful, possessed of great technology… and are driven in their defence of humanity. From what we've been told from first-hand accounts, they despise the Grimm, maybe even more so than any of us."

Dorothea speaks up, her face as stern as her voice. "But what about Marysville? Your team said that the Cadians found it in ruins before they went to Carterstown. I'm sorry, Ozpin, but I don't trust that easily, especially with stories like that. That shit's too common here in Vacuo, and always from the wrong people."

Ozpin nods his head in agreement. Vacuans are hard people, hard for them to gain the trust of others easily. And such a time is warranted.

Beeping fills the air, small and tinny, the sound of a call trying to connect. Promptly, Ozpin presses another series of buttons, bringing another screen into play before him as a small smile comes to his lips. "Good evening, Qrow."

A tired voice, rough with alcohol and action, speaks up as the face of Ozpin's most trusted subordinate appears on the screen. "Oz… we need a serious talk about my danger pay."

"Oh brothers…" Goodwitch groans out, putting a hand against her head, while Dorothea lets out a loud and unexpected bark of laughter at the Huntsman's words.

"In twenty-four hours," Qrow continues, completely ignoring the mood of the rooms he's looking at. "I have fought and dodged more Grimm than I've ever thought I'd see in one time. I've nearly been burnt to a crisp, blasted out of the air by jet engines, blown from the sky by godsdamn lasers, and shot to pieces by miniature rockets. I'm certain that I still have pieces of shrapnel in my ass, because I'm currently sitting on a pillow and my cheeks still hurts."

Reaching out of view, the sound of ice clinking on glass precedes the view of Qrow pulling a tumbler of whiskey towards him before he downs a hefty shot of the liquid, not grimacing as he swallows the alcohol down swiftly.

"Although, I will say: not the worst way I've spent a Friday night."

"Qrow…" The stern voice of Ironwood grinds out like an Atlesian glacier. "What do you know about these people?"

One of Qrow's eyebrows quirks up, a look of annoyance and arrogance rolled into one package in the male Branwen sibling. Letting out a weary sigh, Qrow looks down at his glass, swilling it gently.

"I didn't see the actual fighting." Qrow says. "At Carterstown, or at Marysville. I caught the end of both. Neither were pretty fights. Carterstown got off easy. Marysville…"

The professional huntsman knocks back another slug of whiskey.

"Grimm hit it. Hard. All dead in one night, either in the town itself or trying to escape into the woods. Only the kid made it out. One kid, Jimmy. One. I'd say it's no wonder these guys were pissed off."

On the screen, Qrow raises his glass up to take another drink. Before the glass even reaches his lips, the glass cracks loudly and visibly, a splinter appearing down the side. Again, a weary sigh leaves the Huntsman's mouth before he pours the contents of the drink into another glass.

"I'd prefer you give this report in person, Qrow." Ozpin says. "Though, from the looks for your surroundings, I see this is the next best thing."

Through the view screen, all present can see that Qrow has taken up temporary rest in an inn of some description. Wood panelled floors and walls, a stout looking bed on which rested the man's weapon, Harbinger, the blade looking in need of a good buff and a polish.

"Hey, I can move fast, but I can not move as fast as one of those things that CFVY came in." Qrow replies, taking another sup from his glass. "Also, there's still the after effects of all those Grimm around, so someone needed to stay here and help get shit together. And, I might add, I also managed to get an engineering team to the offline relay station, thank you very much."

"But what about Salem?" Professor Lionheart asks quickly, concern on his face. "Are we sure that these… these people aren't siding with her?"

The deep, hoarse laugh from Qrow easily dispels that notion, even before the serious look that falls across his face speaks volumes. "Leo… these people hate the Grimm. I saw what the Grimm did to Marysville, and I can understand. Hell, just thinking about it makes me angry, but…"

The headmasters look at Qrow in confusion and intrigue. "Go on, Qrow." Professor Goodwitch prompts.

"It was like being hit with a wave." Qrow says, putting the glass on the surface of the table he's at loudly. "Not… a big wave, the sort that knocks you down, but the sort that will stagger you. When the soldiers gave an actual burial to two of the people, that kid's parents… gods, it might have been me, but I don't know."

"It makes sense with what Team CFVY said about when they were being transported to Carterstown by the Cadians." Professor Dorothea says, pulling up her own copy of the team's report. "Anger so strong that it affects those around them… that sounds dangerous."

"Not if they can back up that anger with the strength they have." Qrow adds in. "The force at Carterstown? That was a token force if I ever saw one, a company with extras, and air support. And I bet, that if we gave them the chance, they could clear a hole in the forest the size of the town with their own firepower alone."

Silence follows the proclamation, a confusing silence that has everyone turning to look at General Ironwood's screen. If anyone present would have a comment on the feasibility or infeasibility of such a claim, it would have been the Atlesian general. The man however is silent, looking at a new scroll that he has been given to him quickly by an aid, standing out of view of the screen if the direction the general's face turns in is any indication.

"And this was half-an-hour ago, you say?" He asks the person off screen, a disbelieving look on his face before a woman replies in the affirmative.

"General, is something wrong?" Ozpin asks, sounding slightly perturbed and intrigued by the development.

"Hold on, Ozpin. Give me a second here." General Ironwood says, his fingers tapping away at a keyboard beneath his scroll. Into his screen, allowing the others to see, is a smaller, inset screen, showing the night sky above the snowy fields of Atlas, a view easily seen from an aircraft's flight recording camera.

In the middle of the picture, half backlit by the snowy fields and mountains of Solitas, is another aircraft. One decidedly not of Atlesian manufacture. Four brutish engines power it forward on jets of blue flame, powering its long, blocky, cruciform shape through the night-sky. Its metallic skin is a dark green, with what looks like patches of a lighter colour, though it is hard to tell from the low light level. What is easily visible is the large, dual-headed eagle, wings outstretched, prevalent on the starboard wing of the aircraft.

A motif, according to Team CFVY, that is the main emblem of the Imperium of Man.

"Was Atlas attacked?" Goodwitch asks, quickly leaning forward to scrutinise the picture, though Ironwood shakes his head.

"No. From what I've just been told, this has the makings of a reconnaissance flight. Though this craft is clearly armed." This time, the general lets out a sigh. "I have to debrief one of my pilots. Looks like I won't be getting any sleep tonight."

"Neither will I." Lionheart says hurriedly. "If they got into your borders undetected… I need to send teams to find if any groups have landed in Mistral already."

"Same for Vacuo." Dorothea says, something of a smirk on her face. "If they can beat Grimm… they might just make it in our deserts." The smirk falls as a thoughtful look comes to her face. "Although… I have to ask; how should we meet them? Potential allies? Possible enemies? I mean, they hate Grimm but…"

The question is an apt one to ask. These Imperials, the Cadians and the Steel Drakes, aided in the defence of a town against the Grimm. They put their lives on the line when they didn't need to.

But that could be a one time thing. Humanity's loyalty to itself is fickle. One fluke, one aberration from the perceived norm, is all it takes for the worst excesses of human nature to let slip. And these Imperials will not be different.

All present know that situation could change in a heartbeat, a single flash of a moment and war could start between all. And the Grimm, and Salem, would use that disunity to her advantage. If what they have been told is correct, that the firepower that was used to defend Carterstown was only a fraction of their total strength…

"It would be destruction."

Ozpin's voice, though quiet, cuts through the air of the room like a knife through butter. All eyes are on him now, looking at him expectantly. All his allies looking to him for guidance.

"What do you say, Oz?" Qrow asks, his glass of whiskey held in his hand again. "How do we play this game?"

None know what Ozpin thinks. Professors, students, politicians. Even his own allies can never guess what the man is going to say. His face is a mask, a sculpted face exuding seeming disinterest to the world around him… but concealing a mind in constant turmoil and thought.

So when he speaks, people listen to him.

"Leonardo, Dorothea, General," Ozpin says simply. "Look to your borders for any sign of any interloping by these Imperials… but I urge caution. Do not engage in any capacity, if it can be helped. The group here in Vale has reached out to us with an olive branch. And we will accept that branch with friendship and peace."

The three headmasters nod their heads in understanding and agreement.

"See to your continued protection of the Kingdoms, the training of your students, and defeating the Grimm. Those have been our Academies aims, and even the arrival of these… interstellar visitors will not change that."

Dorothea lets out a low chuckle. "Hey, if we're lucky, these Imperials might lend us a hand on that last part too. That should help move diplomacy along."

Only Qrow is the one who responds to the dark joke with a chuckle.

"Qrow." Ozpin says to the Huntsman. "Rest up, recover. Your night has been hard, and I want you well rested, because I'm afraid that I have extra tasks for you."

Qrow replies sardonically. "Let me guess: you want me to keep an eye on these newcomers while also keeping tabs on those who went after Amber?"

Ozpin nods his head. "This could be a ploy by Salem. That is not something we can ignore… but I pray that it isn't."

A nod from Qrow is his response. "Then, if you don't mind; I'll get some shut eye." His screen switches off before anyone can say anything else.

"I am going to address the Vale council on this topic. I suggest that you all do the same with yours, but stress to them the need to keep this quiet. We do not need the people to become aggravated or scared by the news. Do you all understand?"

"You can count on us, Ozpin." Leonardo says, a soft smile on his face. "We'll get the job done."

Professor Ozpin nods his head in understanding. "Then good night to you all."

The screens all switch off, leaving Ozpin alone with Professor Goodwitch. The pink and orange rays of the sun still slide across the horizon, lighting the base of the clouds in the sky. In the sky above, opposite the setting sun, the moon rises, presenting its broken face to Remnant, an eternal scar for all to see.

---

It's amazing what a shower can do to an aching body. To feel the aches and strains of the world be washed away by the warm soapy water, and let them be washed down the drain away from the body. To breathe free of the stress that holds tight the body, imprisoning it in fear and worry. To be back in familiar territory again, to be back home.

Team CFVY goes through that process back at Beacon. Professor Port, normally one to bluster and give praise to the team for anything they did, was unusually quiet as he leads them back to their second-year dorms. Being a Saturday evening, the hallways are quieter than normal, students either spending time in their dorms with their teammates, at the sparring fields or even out in Vale away from the Academy, so they encounter few people and any they encounter are quickly avoided or moved to stand aside by Professor Port. It allows for a quick, easy, but strained return to their dorm.

When they return, the group immediately begin to shuck off their dirty clothes. No school for the weekend, so no need to put on their uniforms, so loose fitting workout wear and pyjamas are selected by each to wear. As is the norm in the group, the two girls get to use the shower first, letting the Faunus and the fashionista wash away the dirt, the sweat. To try and wash some of the memory of what they've been through away.

Sitting on her bed in a pair of Pumpkin Pete pyjama bottoms and an Achieve Men t-shirt, Velvet isn't doing anything. The room is quiet now, Coco and Yatsuhashi heading out to see about getting some food from the cafeteria, leaving Velvet along with Fox. Fox is lying on his own bed, not saying a word as the only coming from his side of the room are the soft click-click-clack of Mistralian puzzle box in his hands, its parts being moved around and around.

They'd normally be talking, but neither one feels like holding a communication, so Velvet just turns and looks at her camera, pulling up the images she's taken with her camera. Images that would seem normal if it weren't for the subjects in the photographs.

The sound of the door to their shared room opening takes Velvet's attention away from Anesidora, stopping her flicking through more of the photos as she sees Coco waltz right in, holding a drink cooler filled with ice and various soft drinks, and a big grin on her face.

"Holy crap, would you look at all this?" The fashionista-huntress quips as she hefts up the blue plastic box to her chest.

"Coco, did you raid the kitchen again?" Velvet asks in shock and disbelief. At the corner of her vision, she sees Fox stop playing with the puzzle box he's been messing with since the team returned to their room in Beacon.

"Nope." Coco says earnestly and flatly, not a hint of deceit in her voice as Yatsuhashi appears behind her, the gentle giant's arms absolutely full of food in various packages and wrappings. Velvet spies sandwiches, baguettes, cakes, crisps, chocolate, all sorts of various things.

"Then… how did you get it?" The Faunus girl asks as the other half of the team enters the room.

"Can I have an orange soda?" Fox asks quickly on the heels of Velvet's questions.

"I'll answer in reverse order." Coco says as she puts down the cooler and pulls out a glass bottle filled with bubbly orange drink. "Yes, Fox, you can. Here."

Coco flicks the bottle towards her blind partner, who catches it deftly from the air before he opens it and begins drinking it. In turn, Coco turns and looks at her team-mate still seated on her bed.

"Ozpin's orders, apparently. Professor Port said that since we missed lunch, and he wasn't wholly sure on how we'd react to the food the Cadians gave us, if we had a reaction at all, so he had the staff keep some food for us."

At that, Yatsuhashi puts the tray of food down into the space on the floor between the beds.

"We missed them doing the slow-cooked, pulled chicken, but they kept some leftovers for us. We even got the extra snacks as a treat from Professor Goodwitch. So dig in, everyone."

Velvet remains seated on her bed as she watches her team begin to pick their chosen food stuff off the tray. She had to admit, though the food she had in the Cadian fort was a bit strange, it had been filling, so she decides not to take anything right now.

She simply turns back to her camera and the images on it.

The impact of another body sitting on her bed draws her attention.

"What's up, Bun?" Coco asks, a half-unwrapped sandwich filled with barbecue-style chicken and lettuce clutched in one hand, as she looks at the other girl in worry. "Talk to me."

Her arms drop faster than Velvet would think possible as she fixes her leader with an aghast stare, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"'What's up'?" Velvet repeats. "Coco… we need to talk about this."

Not saying anything, Coco reaches up before she slowly and carefully takes off her sunglasses, followed by her beret. Her face is thoughtful, her eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation.

"What do we talk about?" Fox speaks up. Turning, Velvet sees that Fox is now sitting properly on his bed, his bottle still held in his hand. "Do we talk about the fact that we're the first people at Beacon, and some of the first in Vale, hell, in Remnant, to contact an extra-terrestrial civilization? That that extra-terrestrial civilization is made of humans? And that these humans are batshit insane enough to hold a whole town by themselves, just to help evacuate a town of complete strangers?"

Velvet opens her mouth to protest the last comment, but she closes it as she concedes that, on Remnant, you would have to be a mad person to stage that sort of defence against Grimm.

Yatsuhashi speaks up, putting down his own food as he sits down cross-legged on the floor.

"Are we also going to talk about how these men and women cared less about their own lives than the lives of the people in Carterstown? That they were willing to throw their lives away in such a way to get them out of there?

"And then there's the Space Marines of the Steel Drakes too."

The memory comes quickly to Velvet's mind; Sergeant Gaiun cleaving his way through Grimm with his sword, hacking off body parts with ease, even as he blasts them to pieces with his pistol. A giant in steel armour, the pelts, teeth and skull of a giant lizard hanging off his armour as grotesque trophies. In her mind's eye, Gaiun stops his slaughter and turns to face Velvet again, his emerald eye lenses staring out from his red helmet staring at her intently. A predatory gaze.

The thought makes Velvet shudder, pulling her camera tight against her chest.

"They are scary." Fox says, sensing Velvet's emotions. "I mean, I'm blind and I could see it clearly. All that power… all that hate…"

"What do you mean?" Yatsuhashi asks, the question stopping a chicken wrap from entering his mouth. "I know you can sense emotions, but what do you mean 'all that hate'?"

Fox takes a quick swig from his bottle before he turns to look at his friend. "When a person gets angry, I can feel their emotions, and see it to a degree too if its strong enough. Usually, it's like their body is shimmering with heat, like how my uncle described the desert heating up in the morning. But those guys, the Steel Drakes… the Cadians were angry, we all could feel that. But the Astartes… they burned. They were like pillars of hate and anger… all of it directed at the Grimm."

"But they'd never met the Grimm until they came here." Coco points out. "So, how could they hate something they'd never met?"

"When…" Velvet speaks up, trying to steady her mind. "When I was… fighting the King Taijitu, and Sergeant Gaiun was attacking it too, he called it a 'beast' and a 'foul alien'. I think they just hate anything that's… not human."

"Then you're safe!" Coco immediately chimes in, seeing Velvet's face and ears falling. "Hell, he carried you out of there like you were a precious little princess in one of those trashy animated-gah!"

The pillow to the face knocks her backwards, sending Coco sprawling on to the bed with a cry of "Watch the sandwich!" as a red-faced Velvet beats her team-leader with her pillow. It's not a huge source of humour, but it is enough to bring a smile back to Velvet's face. To make her forget, just for a moment, the things she has witnessed and been a part of.

Quickly and with ease, Coco catches the pillow with a free hand before she flings it aside into the centre of the room, Yatsuhashi tilting his body to the side to avoid the object. The move tips Velvet off balance, making her fall across Coco's stomach. The position isn't uncomfortable, but Velvet tries to move up from it, only to be stopped by Coco placing a hand on her shoulders. The girl doesn't resist as she feels Coco rub against her shoulders softly.

"I get what you mean, Bun. These guys do worry me… but," Coco hesitates before she gives voice to her thoughts. "They said that they fight for humanity, right? And… they've not had a problem with you, or Carmen, about being Faunus. So… I say we give them a chance."

Mollified by the reassurance, and the rubbing, Velvet lets herself rest against Coco. But still, the images return in her mind, not helped by her photographic memory. The Steel Drakes standing in a line against the Grimm, their guns blazing away at the creatures. Equally as terrifying and awe inspiring as the Grimm they kill.

"What kind of wars are there that need warriors like them?"

The question comes from her lips unbidden, making Velvet blink in surprise, even more so than when she gets an answer from Fox.

"They can't be good ones, I can tell you that." The Vacuon native says matter-of-factly. "Not with the amount of firepower they seem to have."

Velvet turns her head away from Fox as she lets her body relax, flattening out across Coco as she lays herself further, a small whine leaving her throat.

It's been a hard few days.

---

Ruby Rose lets out a sigh as her head collides with the mattress again.

"Ruby!" Weiss' scandalized voice cries out. "Come on, we need to study!"

Letting out a disgruntled sigh, Ruby pushes herself upwards into a sitting position and takes her book in hand. The title alone fills her with dread:

Vale: The Kingdom in the Trees. An Anthropological History of Vale and the Communities Outside its Walls. Fifth Edition.

"Why do we need to learn this stuff?" Ruby asks out loud, not sure who will answer. "What will any of this have to do with helping kill Grimm?"

"Well, for starters," Weiss says quickly. "Because it's on the syllabus that Professor Oobleck gave us."

Out of the corner of her ear, Ruby is certain that she hears someone with a slight nasally voice shout "Doctor!" before Ren chimes in.

"Also, it's important to know who you're fighting with and what that means. Some towns in the Valean wilds and woods have existed for so long outside of the council's control that they've developed their own unique cultures, practices, even accents. Staying on top of that means that, when you're out on a mission, you don't have to worry about causing an incident with the townspeople, as well as facing the Grimm."

Quick on the tale, Pyrrha chimes in. "Plus, knowing more about the various sub-cultures and their history means that you can have more meaningful interactions with the people you meet and get to know them better."

Ruby sees the logic in it, no problem about that. There's no way she could instantly know about everyone and every group on Remnant in an instant, and having the background helps. It's just…

"But the book is so boring!" The young student-Huntress cries, falling backwards as she lets the book drop to the floor with a heavy thump. It has to be at least two inches thick! "And Oobleck said it was light reading! Light!"

"Well…" Weiss says, her normally haughty voice giving way to unsureness. Thank the gods for older siblings though, as Yang cut in.

"Come on, Weiss." The blonde fire-cracker speaks up, her arm lifting up from over her prone body next to Blake on the lower of the second set of bunk beds in Team RWBY's room. Ruby's older sister was sprawled out on her back, scrolling through her Chirper feed on her Scroll. "It's a Saturday. The work doesn't need to be in until Wednesday."

That's all the incentive both Ruby and Nora need to throw their hands into the air and proclaim the glory of Yang Xiao Long. "Yay, Yang!"

The child-like reactions earn a pout from Weiss and small chuckles from the others in the room. Study sessions with their friends in Team JNPR were great ways to end the boredom and drudgery of Beacon Academy, for, while it was a huntsman academy, it was still a school which meant it dealt with the horrible things that schools had. Like homework.

"Hey guys," Jaune says as he opens the door, dressed in his blue Pumpkin Pete onesie with all the natural born grace and surety of a young man who really does not care about what anyone says about what he wears. Even if what he wears is a pair of floppy bunny ears on his feet. His training with Pyrrha has given him the better grace of a swordsman, though tonight he walks with a slightly limp in his left leg. "I can hear you out in the hallway. What's up?"

"Just taking a short break." Yang replies, pushing herself up onto her elbows as she looks at the newcomer. A smirk falls across her lips. "Nice onesie, Jaune."

"Thanks, Yang." Jaune says, perfectly uncaring or unnoting of the snark in the blonde's words as he moves to sit in the room next to his teammates. "My mom got it for me. So, did I miss anything?"

As Pyrrha catches up the blonde on what he missed from having a shower, Ruby takes a look around the room. Only a month ago, Ruby had left Signal Academy and been invited to attend Beacon Academy. She had survived the initiation, been given a team, and made friends.

In spite of her own thoughts and feelings on being sent to Beacon ahead of her friends, she really is grateful to Professor Ozpin for choosing her to do so. She is at the most prestigious Huntsman school in Vale, and possibly all of Remnant, training and learning alongside her sister, and alongside some of the most amazing and impressive people she's met in her short life. And Jaune.

But… it is still school. And it is still boring for a girl who can move faster than a bullet.

Ruby Roses wishes that something interesting would happen…

"So has anyone heard anything about Team CFVY yet?" Nora asks apropos of nothing, looking around at the others in the room. "They were gone for a good while."

"Their mission shouldn't have taken a whole day." Weiss says, a look of worry on her face. "I mean, I know they're good, but still…"

Looking up from her book, Blake speaks up for possibly the first time since the study-session has started. "I overhead some Second Years talking as I was coming back from the library. They said that Team CFVY had been dropped off by a weird aircraft, and something about an escort, but I don't know about that. I know they said that Professor Port took them back to their dorms though, and they haven't been seen since."

"It's the aliens!"

The cry is the only prompting anyone gets as Nora leaps and onto Yang's upper bed, all eyes turning to her as she begins to rave. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby sees Pyrrha take up Nora's cup and give it an investigative sniff, before frowning and muttering "Espresso…"

Instantly, Ruby's eyes widen in fright. Who gave Nora espresso?!

"Team CFVY encountered the aliens that have landed in Vale and were brought back to Beacon under mind control by their new alien masters so they could give the Reptoids that are our headmaster and professors new instructions for how to take over the world and so Team CFVY were taken to their room where they'll be turned into pods and perfect replicas will take their place among us and then we'll all be turned into pods which are then hooked up as living batteries so the aliens can terraform our planet so they can take over with their legions of-"

Nearly everyone in the room lets out a collective gasp as Nora pitches forward from the top-bunk, mid-sentence and her face as a strawberry, only for Ren to kick a pillow easily and quickly for her to land on. Nora's body stays upright for a few seconds before she just slumps down, downward dog style.

The sound of everyone sighing in relief echoes around the room. Nora on a rant… Russel would be getting a talking to tomorrow.

With the danger passed, the room lapses back into some semblance of normality. Until Yang springboards up from her reclining position, eyes locked in shock at her Scrolls screen as she hollers "Holy crap!"

"Yang, language!" Weiss chides immediately, even as Blake jumps off the bed with the grace of a frightened feline. The comment is waved away as Yang stands up from the bed and shoves her Scroll into the faces of her teammates.

"Look!"

On the screen, her Scroll expanded for all to see, was the video of a landing strip, or an airport, in some sort of military installation. But not one that Ruby has ever seen, either in pictures or videos. The buildings are large, much larger than anything that Ruby has seen outside of the cities of Vale and Atlas, and much more grim looking too. Each tall building is made of dark metal, with skulls and gargoyles built into the metal work. It's so… wrong, so alien.

But that's not what captures Ruby's, and everyone else's attention. On the screen, against the backdrop of a blue sky turning towards dusk, an aircraft jets in low to land. It's angular but also somehow bulky at the same time, wings stretched out then down like a bird paused in flapping its wings, giving it a predatory appearance as it jets in two roaring engines, loud and angry. Spitting flames and smoke from behind, it coasts in for a landing, kicking up dust and smoke in equal measure. On the sides of the craft, markings can clearly be seen: a white eagle's beak and head on the front below the cockpit, and a two-headed eagle with wings outstretched, pressed in angular forms on to the sides of the tail booms.

It's a weird craft to see. Though the video takes a surreal turn as the camera turns to show two boys in their late teens, looking at the aircraft in wide eyed and open mouthed wonder. Behind them, a man can just be seen, wearing an emerald green body-suit of some sort and metal armour, with a confused and bemused expression on his face.

"You'd think you kids have never seen a Valkyrie before."

The video ends.

The group all sit in stunned silence as they process what they've just seen.

"That's.." Jaune begins to say.

"Obviously a… a film set." Weiss says quickly, refusing to acknowledge the Goliath in the room. "I mean… no aircraft exists like that on Remnant, so it's got to be…"

"There's more though!" Yang responds, quickly sitting down next to Weiss as she beings to scroll through her Chirper feed, showing them pictures, videos and messages, all showing various things that show this is not from a movie-set.

Videos of soldiers, all dressed in drab green armour and brown fatigues of a make so similar to those of Atlas but definitely not the same, marching in perfect order to shouted cadence, the soldiers responding in perfect time and voice. All to the amusement and joy of a small crowd of children dressed in simple frontier dress, chiming in with the soldiers as they shout "Thunder!" "Boom!"

Pictures of adults standing with more soldiers next to vehicles that don't look like anything from Remnant. Big, blocky, some are vaguely rectangular with a hexagonal turret, while other vehicles are nearly three times the height of the people next to them, with large rhomboid shapes and larger hexagonal turrets on top. Each slab-sided vehicle is clearly heavily armoured, all the designs going against everything that Ruby knows about the Atlesian military's hardware, and heavily armed too.

Touching the screen, Ruby enlarges the post to see the replies.

'YO! What the fuq are those things?" One poster asks.

Below it, comes the reply. 'The smaller one is a Chimera. The big one is a Leman Russ. They're tanks.'

Ruby and Weiss take in the words that they can see before they, but they can't really process them.

"It's… that's not a film set. Is it?" Weiss asks, uncertainty tinting her voice with fear. "But they're all…"

"Humans," Blake speaks up, standing over the others sitting on the bed to look at the screen. "But… that's impossible. I mean… humans are only found here. On Remnant."

"None of their technology is like anything I've seen from Atlas or the SDC," Weiss says, enlarging one of the pictures of the strange vehicles again, this time a truly large aircraft. Arrow-headed, but fat and blocky, armed with a myriad of cannons on its flanks and top. It's ugly, battle scarred and pitted, and easily bigger than an air bus, maybe the same size as an airship but thicker in the belly, and with much larger engines. "None of them look like they run on Dust."

From the centre of the room, rising from their positions, the rest of Team JNPR come to look more closely at the pictures. Ren speaks up. "Weiss, you can't really be saying that these people are-"

"Are they aliens?!" Nora suddenly says, popping up between her team-mates, the same happy-go-lucky smile on her face as normal. Though it quickly falls as she looks at the Scroll in front of her. "They… look like people."

"They are people." Weiss comments, her conviction back in force. "There aren't any humans except on Remnant."

Ruby clicking on another video put paid to that claim, as the young girl chooses a video of what looks like one of the soldiers, a man dressed in the same armour as the others but dark brown over brown and green, being questioned by someone with their Scroll.

"So," A woman asks. "Where are you guys from again?"

"We're from Cadia, from the Cadian Sector in the Segmentum Obscurus." The man says simply, clearly unsure about being on camera. Behind the man, Ruby is certain that she can see a person in a long flowing black jacket appear out of nowhere.

"And… that's another planet?" The woman behind the camera asks.

"… yes." The soldier replies. His accent makes the words sound clipped and hard. "We come from another planet."

"So… you're aliens?" The woman asks, and instantly a scowl appears on the man's face. Though whatever cross words he has ready to say is cut off as the man in black appears next to him quickly.

"To call any soldier of the Astra Militarum, especially ones of the Cadian Shock Troops, an 'alien' is rude and completely offensive." The man's barked words, even if his tone of voice is quite soft, are said in the same accent, though just slightly posher. A bit like Weiss.

The woman instantly apologises. "I'm sorry. It's just… you're not from here. Remnant, I mean. You're from outer space."

The man in black sighs. "Yes, we are from 'outer space'. But we're not aliens. We are humans. Just like you."

"But you're from space!" The woman suddenly says loudly, sounding bewildered by the idea. All her comment does is draw a smile from the two soldiers before the man in black responds.

"It's a big universe."

The video ends, leaving the room in silence as each person processes what they've just heard.

Taking the scroll from her sister, Ruby continues to scroll through her feed, seeing that it is entirely filled with more similar videos and pictures. The hashtags 'Cadians' and 'SpaceMen' are all the things people are trending about. Quickly, however, she sees a familiar sight.

"Look! It's Team CFVY!" Ruby cries happily in shock. Instantly, her friends gather around her to look at the new pic.

The new pic shows the Second Year team, all looking healthy if a bit dirty, helping a mixed group of soldiers and townspeople build some sort of building, like a longhouse. Ruby can easily pick out the team members, with Yatsuhashi carrying a large stack of timbers, Coco close behind him with sheets of what looked like metal in her arms. Fox sits off to the side, fitting together some sort of gizmo while Velvet passes up equipment to a man and a woman sitting on the top of a partially constructed roof.

The comments below tell a quick to read:

'Huntsmen and #SpaceMen working together to fight Grimm! Never imagined I'd see it. Or get out alive!'

'Many thanks to the #Cadians and Team CFVY for helping get my family out of Carterstown. Will never be able to repay them.'

'Brothers bless the Imperium of Man!'

"Imperium of Man?" Ruby repeats the unfamiliar phrase with confusion on her face. "Is that where these spacemen come from?"

"It sounds like the sort of anti-Faunus groups that sprung up during the Faunus Revolution." Blake says sourly, a worried look on her face. "The sort that carried out some… very horrible things against the Faunus."

Taking her Scroll back, Yang smiles as she looks at one of the photos on the screen. "I wouldn't worry about that. I mean, look. Velvet's there and she's fine. Hey! There's even a kid with them!"

The rest of the two teams cluster again around the pair as they too look at the image on the screen. It's one of the soldiers, dark skinned with short-black hair, out of his armour wearing a dark tan fatigue jacket and trousers. In his arms, he's holding a small girl, a rabbit Faunus just like Velvet, though with a lighter shade of hair colour. She looks happy and safe with the soldier and that speaks volumes.

As she looks at the photo, something clicks in Ruby's mind.

"They all have purple eyes."

Leaning forward to look, an amused smile plays across Weiss' face. "So they do. Hey, perhaps you're related in some way, Yang."

The blonde lets out a low huff as she folds her arms across her chest. "Very funny, Ice Queen. I'd know if I had alien blood in me."

"It'd probably be green." Nora begins. "Or blue. Or purple. Or pink…"

Nora's ramblings on the colour of alien blood sink into the background of Ruby's world as she processes what she's been seeing.

Humans from outer space, on Remnant, and in Vale of all places.

A part of Ruby wants to meet them. The part of Ruby that yearns for those childhood stories of hers; of going to new and exotic places and meeting new and exotic people. And what's more exotic than people from space?! And space guns! They'd have nothing at all like what would exist on Remnant so they had to have cool and interesting weapons that she would just love to see.

But… a part of Ruby's mind sounded a warning. A warning that she'd only heard a few times in her life from her mind, the same type of warning she had had all the times her sister had dared her to jump off the high-dive at the pool in Patch.

The fear of the unknown called out to her.

"Do you think we'll get to meet them?" Yang asks out loud, not sure who would answer.

The room falls silent, even Nora stopping her recitation of all the known colours, as they process the question.

Ruby gives her own answer, after seconds that feel like hours. "I hope we do. They seem like interesting people. And that's what we're here for, at Beacon! To meet new and interesting people. Right?"

Heads nod in agreement, making Ruby smile.

But… that sensation still remains in the back of Ruby's mind. That warning bell of alarm.

---

A loud crash echoes through the warehouse that he is currently forced to use as an office, quickly followed by angry shouting.

"Fucking animals…" Roman Torchwick, master criminal, gentleman thief, and a guy who likes to pride himself on some semblance of professionalism, puts his Scroll onto the surface of his desk as he storms from his chair and out the door into the space. High above on the gantry, Torchwick can see across a miniscule part of his criminal domain in Vale, and he can see the White Fang idiots bungling another crate of Dust, which thankfully hasn't been cracked open. He prepares to give them a good chewing out… but he stops, taking a deep breath before he speaks out. "Fellas! Can we handle the merchandise with a bit more care, please? It is valuable, and explosive, remember!"

"Sorry, boss!" A masked dog Faunus, his grey ears sticking up at angles from his hooded head, calls out, as his comrades move the box back into place. "Had a bit of trouble with the dolly. Ones of the wheels came off."

"You don't say…" Torchwick mutters in reply, knowing that he'll probably be heard as he takes a pre-cut cigar and holds in his hand. "Make sure the dolly gets fixed, though Gods know that we can afford a new one if you've completely busted it."

The White Fang member waves a hand in acknowledgement, though Torchwick is certain he sees the middle finger of the man's hand flick up at him before the Faunus moves away. The criminal lord just shrugs though before he moves back into his office. He doesn't give two flying shits if these guys like him or not. They're a means to end for him, nothing more, nothing less.

Though, as he sits down in his chair and picks up his Scroll again, the thought once again comes into Torchwick's mind: what IS the end though?

Roman Torchwick hates the Huntsmen, the government, anyone who holds themselves above others. He just loves to screw them over, show them how fragile their system really is. He would do that all day long if he could, and get paid all the lien he can get his hands on, just for stealing Dust from shops and robbing shipments? Paradise for a man like him. But Torchwick did not become the head honcho of crime in the kingdom by looking the gift horse in the mouth, especially with a fire starter like Cinder at the helm of this whole operation.

No, not a fire starter. That lady is a freaking arsonist, the kind who wants to burn down one building and then let the fire spread to the whole block, not giving a shit if she gets caught or not.

Not the sort of person you want leading such an operation. And yet… Torchwick has to give her credit; she has been doing a good job at not getting caught and also at supplying Torchwick and the White Fang goons with the supplies they've needed.

So Cinder Fall had been true to her word.

Her reaction to that phone call was… not what he'd like to have heard about.

A phone-call, intercepted, between Cinder and one of Talon's own secondary's by someone claiming themselves to be 'a servant of the Machine-God', and a claim that their 'nefarious scheme for destruction and terror' would be put to an end. It had been a short message, very succinct and to the point. And it had made Cinder almost burn the place she had been in down to the ground.

Even though Torchwick wouldn't admit it, he slipped the White Fang guys with the fire extinguishers a few extra lien for their work.

Lighting the cigar as he browses through the news, Torchwick exhales a puff of smoke as he begins to scroll through the net. You don't become a crime lord of his calibre by being ignorant. Information is power, and Torchwick likes to consider himself well informed. Hence why his browser is immediately set up to tell him the latest news and goings-on in Remnant.

'Aliens in Vale?' is not a head-line he expected to see.

Torchwick grits his teeth around the cigar as he prepares to yell at Neo for messing with his Scroll again, but it stops as he reads the originator of the headline. Vale News Network.

Confused and intrigued, Torchwick opens up the article as he begins to digest the news. He spends a minute reading the article… then carefully rereading it again as it sinks in. Then he reads it again, this time going through the sources linked in the article, heading to Chirper to find the accounts responsible for the breaking news.

Suddenly, he's up from his chair and hanging off the doorframe as he calls out into the space of the warehouse. "Talon! Get your ass in here, now!"

It doesn't take long for the walkway outside of his office to shake slightly with the arrival of Adam Taurus' right hand man in Vale. Turning from his Scroll, Torchwick looks at the sight of the towering Faunus fighter standing in the door way. His face is covered by his large mask, but the criminal knows that the man's face is set into a scowl of annoyance.

"What do you want, human?"

The man's voice is gruff and animalistic, the sort of voice used to bellowing orders and threats in equal measure. A voice to fit the man's giant frame, the sort of frame that could easily be used to tear a person's limb off without the aid of a Semblance or Aura. And the mask, a version of those damned 'Grimm' masks worn by all White Fang. Torchwick won't say it out loud, but he thinks that Talon's mask makes him look a bit like an insect, with the dual-plating and the lines from the eyes. Still, against the right opponent, it would be scary.

He wonders what he looks like underneath it. Scarred beyond all recognition? Or, and this idea fills the criminal with more dread than anything, has he got a serious case of baby-face under there?

"Close the door, Talon." Torchwick says as he moves to give the Faunus room. When the sound of lock clicking shut fades from the room, he hands Talon his Scroll. "Where these the guys who attacked your lot in the tunnels under Mountain Glenn?"

Talon's posture stiffens, becoming charged for a brawl even as he takes a hold of Torchwick's device. For a second, the crime lord is worried that Talon will break his Scroll in half from how tightly he sees him holding it. But as he watches the Faunus scroll through the news site and the pages that Torchwick has set up ready, the fighter relaxes, shaking his head.

"No, these aren't the ones from the tunnel." Talon growls out as he looks at Torchwick. "They were robots. I told you: robots. And they were red. These people are…" Talon looks at the Scroll again. "Green and brown. Mostly."

Robots. Torchwick doesn't really know what to make of it. He knows about the fight under Mountain Glenn, with Talon's group taking about ten casualties from these 'robots' of his, and from the description, they definitely weren't Atlesian made.

Were they connected to these space-men though?

"I just wanted to be sure." Torchwick says, holding up a hand defensively, the other keeping a hold onto his cigar. "You never know what the world will throw at us. Or, the universe it seems."

He puts the cigar back between his teeth and lets out a few puffs. Torchwick watches as Talon calms down somewhat.

"So… since I've got you here." Torchwick removes the cigar again, dumping some of the built-up ash into his ashtray. "What are your thoughts on these… newcomers? As a fighter, I mean."

Looking down again, Talon taps away at the screen, scrolling through the various pictures and videos.

"Professional." Talon says simple. "No two ways about it. These people are a serious military force. I can see squad organization, platoons, even regiments from the number of buildings I'm seeing. That takes some serious training, and also one hell of a supply chain, especially if they have all these vehicles around… air and ground vehicles too, so high level of coordination."

"So… some people we want to avoid then?" Torchwick asks, his voice betraying that there's an obvious answer.

"Definitely." Talon replies. "On their terms, at least. Get underground, or into the city… we can definitely get the odds in our favour."

He can't see it, but Torchwick is certain that he can sense the grin behind the mask. A feral, bared teeth grin with big canines.

So maybe Talon is a big cat Faunus of some sort.

"You sure about that?" Torchwick asks, leaning against his desk. "From the sounds of it, these guys aren't exactly light weights when it comes to a fight."

"Who is against Grimm?" Talon responds, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Trust me on this, Torchwick. I know military types. They won't hold back against Grimm, that's a given. But when it comes to fighting in built-up areas, especially if you put civilians in the line…" The Faunus lets out a deep rumbling chuckle. A chuckle filled with dark humour. "That's when you get them by the balls."

Torchwick frowns as he bites into his cigar again. He's never imagined what has happened to this guy to make him so bloodthirsty, and he doesn't want to. Torchwick generally does his best to avoid people like Talon in his day to day dealings, and being forced to work with him is… not fun.

And yet, he's been forced to deal with them more and more. Internally, he lets out a sigh. Where were the fun days when he could run an extortion racket right underneath the nose of the Vale city council and not have anyone catch him in the act? Those were the days. Sure, they were still rough days, either from the rivals who tried to muscle in on his competition (he fondly remembers the brawls he had with Big Bird Blue over the alcohol racket from a few years before) or from the local police force whenever he got caught. That photo of him, beaten black and blue, in the police line-up will haunt Torchwick for the rest of his days, he knows it.

So he puts his mind at work. Talon and the White Fang will want blood from these newcomers. Cinder… he doesn't care what Cinder will want. But Roman Torchwick… he wants cold, hard lien. These spacemen probably don't know what lien are, but that won't stop Torchwick from trying to get as much riches as he can from these guys.

He thinks back to the stories he's read, for himself and to Neo, about the armies from the Great War. He thinks back to what he read about what the soldiers would want when they were marching across Anima and Sanus. Four things stuck out in his mind: rest, food, drink and women.

The last one… that was out. Prostitution wasn't something he dabbled in and never would. Not that he couldn't make it work, he just didn't want to. The rest… he still had contacts out in the eastern territories, near the mountain passes, that he could call on. They would be more than willing to share any profits they made from the spacemen as he helped direct them to 'comfortable accommodations' after their long journeys and tough fights against the Grimm.

A bit of movement from Talon catches his eye. Looking at the fighter, Torchwick sees Talon pull the Scroll closer to his face, obviously trying his best to look at something, prompting Torchwick to ask. "Find anything interesting?"

"… Something." Talon growls out in annoyance. "Real amateur hour stuff. But it looks like these spacemen have mechs. In some shape at least."

That gets Torchwick's attention right away, along with his kleptomaniac side's focus as he moves to stand near Talon. "Really? Show me."

Even though his body language shows annoyance at the human being so close to him, Talon acquiesces to the request, tilting the Scroll sideways slightly. Talon is right, the photo quality is… shit. Out of focus, even for a Scroll, and clearly taken in a rush by someone moving. But he can catch a glimpse of… something man-shaped, but not man-sized.

"What the hell is that?" Talon asks. "I've never seen any mech like that from Atlas. Too big to be an AK-130."

Torchwick has to agree with the assessment. The figure in the photo, if he has to guess from the surroundings, is a giant of a figure, easily eight-feet tall at the head and broad enough too. Their body is large, though the proportions definitely fit that of a man except for the giant shoulders. A steel-grey colour with black and white on the shoulders… that's all the main details that Torchwick can make out from the photo. Whoever took the photo was clearly not in the right place for a good shot.

"I do not know." Torchwick responds, before he shrugs and looks off into the warehouse through his office window, letting Talon continue scrolling through the Chirper feed. "Doesn't matter. Unless we need to get at them, let's steer clear of them for now. No-need to bring a fight where one isn't needed. Right, Talon?"

No answer comes in reply.

"Right, Talon?" Torchwick says emphatically, turning back to look at the White Fang lieutenant. The man almost jumps at what he sees.

Talon's body is trembling, enough to fully shake the Scroll in his hand. But Torchwick knows that it's not a tremble of fear, but he can see with how tightly Talon is gripping his Scroll, that the White Fang fighter is pissed off.

"What is it?"

The redhead flinches backwards violently as his own Scroll is nearly smashed into his face.

"Look!" Talon growls out, doing nothing to draw Torchwick's attention to the picture in front of him more than he already has.

It's another picture, a short series of pictures, from the spacemen's base. Though this one is stranger. Much stranger. It's a man, or something resembling a man at least, wearing a very long and obscuring red hooded robe, like a monk or a priest. The first photo is a side-on view, clearly unaware that a photo is being taken of them, letting Torchwick see the person has a large backpack of sorts with a lot of limp looking antennas projecting from the back.

The next photo shows the persons face. Torchwick likes to consider himself an unflappable man, but the sight of the face under the hood… it's disturbing. Nearly every type of metal has gone into making this… this persons face as alien and ugly as possible. His right eye looks normal, but is there really any need for him to have four extra eyes where his left one was? Gods, what kind of accident did this guy go through? And it's not just his face. In the final photo, Torchwick can see the freaks legs and arms clearly moving from underneath his robe. All metal, nearly gleaming and well-oiled, though they look more like clockwork mechanisms than the robotic limbs that Atlas offers people.

Robotic limbs… red robes…

"Talon." Torchwick says slowly, knowing that he's treading a bit of a minefield here. "Is this one of the guys who…?"

The question hangs in the air as Talon works on bringing himself down from his angry high. "… No. I saw the ones we fought in the tunnel… but he's damn close enough to match one of those freaks."

The venom in Talon's voice is enough of the warning Torchwick needs as his hand shoots out and grabs Talon's wrist.

"Do not even think about it. You got me?" Torchwick growls out. "We are doing this the way Cinder tells us to, and I am not about to let you go shooting up alien robots for revenge."

He can feel the glare being directed at him from the Faunus, but he does not care.

"Your boss made a deal; he works for Cinder, and you lot take orders from me. So I am telling you now, boy, if you try and fight these guys by yourself, I will kill you myself."

Or get Neo to do it.

For a second, Torchwick thinks that Talon is going to snap and punch him. Instead, Talon just jerks his arm out of the criminals grasp, before he turns and carelessly tosses the Scroll onto Torchwick's desk with a loud clatter. A finger is soon jabbed underneath Torchwick's nose.

"I remember the deal Adam Taurus made with your boss, human. And I will follow it. But," Talon lowers the finger as he straightens his back. "If those robot freaks come anywhere near me, or the White Fang, we will not hold back. Blood for blood."

Torchwick pulls his cigar, which has somehow remained intact in this whole affair, from his mouth as he taps out more ash. It's not exactly what he'd have liked to have heard, but he knows it's the best he can get.

"Just as long as you don't start a war." The crime lord replies. "We're done here."

Talon gives a simple nod before he turns and exits the room, slamming the door open and closed enough to make the wall shudder. Letting a sigh of annoyance, Torchwick moves to his desk and picks up the Scroll, giving it a quick once over to make sure it's not been damaged. Satisfied that it's fine, he turns it screen up and looks at the picture in front of him.

Below it, he reads one of the replies someone has put down for the photos.

'All your base are belong to us!'

An army of spacemen, mechs, and freaky robots. The whole situation does smack exactly of the sort used for silly, way-too-expensive games and the sort of silly online animations that are far too popular for Torchwick's understanding.

Still, he doesn't mind. Mad, fire-wielding women can come, strange alien races can go, but as long as he can play the angle just right, Roman Torchwick will always find a place to stay. Speaking of angles, he quickly moves to his contact lists and selects one of the names as he holds the Scroll his head.

"Hello, Gary? It's Torchwick. Yes, it has been a while. I was wondering: how do you feel about earning a bit of extra lien?"

---

True darkness falls across the world, across the void of existence, lit by a single point of light. Neither a flame nor artificial light, the source burns baleful and bright. Various hues of colour flicker across its surface, no colour remaining constant. All shifted, swirling, ever-changing.

The light draws closer, its form becoming clearer and sharper. An eye forms in the void: lidless, baleful and vile. It is an eye born of fire, hatred and vengeance, bloodshed and strife. The watcher knows not where these emotions stem from or why the eye burns so hotly, but the watcher knows all this to be true.

The eye's pupil, a great black cleft in the void of reality itself, shifts. It is searching, looking. It wants to find the thing that it can turn its vengeance on, to find the thing that it can turn its ire upon lest it destroy itself. It needs to find something.

A golden light appears behind the watcher. It is small and distant, but as bright as the noonday sun and just as powerful. It blinds the watcher with its majesty, and it infuriates the eye.

The eye blinks.

Tendrils and hooks of darkness shoot out from the eye, towards the source of the golden light. The watcher can only look on as the hooks and tendrils shoot outwards, first in a single line, then outwards in all directions. Blood flows along the black lines, bright and red against the void. But the golden light remains strong.

One by one, the tendrils and hooks are broken and rent apart, retreating, racing back to the eye, which rolls its pupil in a manic dance of pain and anger. The pain and anger of a victory long denied. The last tendril recedes into the eye, and the eye shuts.

Before the eye, a beam of light springs forth from beneath the watcher's feet, and a wall races upwards. Mighty and strong, made of stone and steel, faith and fury, the wall is joined by another, and another. Towers and crenelations sprout forth from the top of the walls, each topped with bright beacons of light, burning braziers that light the void around them. In the midst of the wall, a great and stout gate is raised, doors of steel and oak, open to the eye. With a boom that shakes the void, the gates shut.

The watcher observes the eye, watching it closely for signs of activity.

All is quiet.

The eye suddenly opens, broad and baleful, its gaze fixed again on the point of golden light past the mighty wall and the gate. Once more, the hooks and tendrils strike out. Some smash into the walls, breaking stone and casting down the towers while others shoot past into the void. Again, blood flows, but for each point of darkness that is drenched in blood, another is broken and cast down.

Again, the darkness recedes, and the walls and towers are rebuilt. Stone and steel are once against drawn up to the sky and the beacons are relit. Throughout it all, the gate remains standing.

Ten more times, the eye opens. Each time is more violent than the next, more blood flowing from the void to fall upon the battered walls and broken towers. Each time, the darkness from the eye retreats, the fortress beneath the fortress is rebuilt. Each time, the gate remains standing.

The watcher waits with bated breath for the eye to open again, the void joining them in expectance of the event.

Between the fortress and the golden light, fires spring up, small at first before fanning into blazing infernos that threaten to engulf the void. The golden light begins to dim, though it still blazes strong enough to light the way to the fortress.

For the thirteenth time, the great eye of malice, madness, evil and terror opens wide, its hues and colours swirling and roiling like the flames in the void. Again, the hooks and tendrils shoot outwards, this time as a single mass of darkness, all aimed directly at the fortress and the gate.

The void trembles with the shock as the fortress is rocked by the impact, but the walls and towers hold strong. The beacons blaze stronger, their flames reaching upwards into the yawning void, calling more light towards it. Beams of light come from all angles, piercing and spearing into the darkness. Still, the eye batters its darkness against the gate. Stones break, towers tremble and fall. The gate bears the brunt. Wood cracks and stone bends, but still against the onslaught, the gate holds. It will not fail.

Green lightning surrounds the fortress, spearing into the mass of darkness along with the points of light and the darkness recedes partly.

With a roar that shakes the void and chills the spirit, the eye vomits forth a star, a star darker than the void around it and more ancient than the fortress wall. Travelling like a black, blazing comet, the star smashes aside the green lightning and the beams of light. It batters into the gate, smashing it asunder in fire and flame.

The breaking of the gate is met with a roar of triumph, emitted from a thousand times a thousand times a thousand throats. Throats of things that are, things that were and things that will never be. The broken form of the fortress melts to slag and fire, and a crimson tide of fire rolls out from the broken gate, rolling steadily towards the golden light. But the tide is slower than the birds of iron and fire that race like bullets through the void. They pass through ice, fire and shadow as they soar through the sky past the golden light into the distance so far that even the watcher cannot see their destination. All the while, they are chased by devilish beings, neither bird nor beast, they seek the birds that race on wings of silver and gold as they escape the ruin of the gate.

Suddenly, far off in the distance, a new point of light rises. Golden and new, it is a sight that makes the darkness tremble. Like the morning sun, the point of light climbs higher and higher, first as a simple beacon of light, then a great eagle, wings outstretched with its talons aflame. Smaller than the golden light, it is no less radiant. It attracts smaller, lesser beams of light to it. It also attracts the attention of the eye and the darkness.

The eye shifts, moves forward away from its original place, towards the golden light. It moves slowly, lazily, almost like it cannot muster the will to move at speed, but as it moves along the crimson path, the void on its left side bursts into a great flame that reaches far off into the distance on all ends, the other side of the remaining untouched.

In response, the eagle takes flight, though its flight is lopsided as it can only stretch a single wing out fully, over the side of the void not lit on fire.

The ascendant eagle races, towards the golden light and towards the eye. In a blink, the watcher is set on top of the golden light, the orb beneath their feet as the two other lights begin to race towards them. The watcher can only turn their head this way and that way, trying to look at both of them, never at once, one after the other. The eagle, the eye, the eagle the eye the eagle the eye the eagle the eye the eagle the eye the eagle the eye…

The void spins around the watcher and they fall, downwards or upwards, it's all the same to the watcher's perspective. Like being in the centre of a tornado, the eye and the eagle circle each other and the watcher, becoming a kaleidoscope of colour as the race after each other around the golden light. The sight makes the watcher's head ache and their eyes hurt. They bring their hands up to block out the sight, but they can do nothing but watch.

Watch as the eagle, the eye and golden light merge into one being, a giant dragon with its mouth agape and jaws glinting as it lunges down towards the watcher ready to swallow them whole…

---

A small gasp escapes Ruby's throat as she jolts herself awake on her bed. She looks up at the ceiling of her dorm room. It's still the same. The same cream grey colour as the walls. Not an endless void, blacker than night or any of Blake's outfits, nor is it on fire. There's no giant scary looking eye, no giant eagle, no golden light… no dragon.

Just a ceiling. A regular, simple, normal ceiling.

Carefully, Ruby leans over the side of her bed, being careful to account for the weight on the ropes so they don't creak loudly. Below her, Weiss is still sleeping soundly in her pyjamas. Looking up, Ruby sees that Yang is still asleep too, her sister's back turned towards her. And below her…

"You want some medicine to help you sleep better?" Blake's amber eyes stare up at Ruby as she softly speaks, her voice little more than a purr in the quiet room.

Moving her head, Ruby looks at the alarm clock on the long but low bookshelf beneath the window and between both bunkbeds. Its display reads 02:04 AM.

No… 02:05 AM.

Ruby just slumps down onto her bed. "No… it's fine." She whispers out.

"… want to join me for some practice in the morning?" Blake asks sheepishly, almost like she is surprised at herself to be even asking that question. In response, Ruby just waves a hand in a 'I guess so' gesture as she lets her head slump down against the mattress.

Blake doesn't say a word, knowing that Ruby will be awake to join her for exercises in the morning. Tired, but awake nonetheless, so she turns over on her bed to get back to sleep.

Still awake, Ruby carefully reaches over and pulls aside the curtain so she can look out the window over the campus at Beacon. The moon, its broken face presented to Remnant, was waxing strong in the night's sky, its surface pale, along with the pieces of itself stuck falling forever. And beyond that… the endless star-filled void. With other humans in it.

It had been the same dream as before, the dream she'd had for a while now in fact, but never has she had a dream so vivid.

None of it made sense to her, and she was worried what would happen if she told others about her dream. Blake was okay, she didn't seem to mind all that much about it. And Professor Goodwitch… threat to take her Scroll away aside, the blonde professor had been very open and accepting about the dream.

As Ruby lets the curtain fall back into position and she crawls back under the cover, she thinks to herself: what could it all mean? Did it have something to do with the visitors from outer space?

Maybe she could see if Blake had any books about dreams. Or even Professor Oobleck. He seems like the type who would collect random books like that.

Either way, she was in for another short night, and an early morning again.

---

Far above the world of Remnant and its troubles, past the shattered form of the moon and its own vanguard, the Imperial fleet is arrayed in formation. Intersecting arcs of fire and flights of interceptor craft patrolling around and between the giant void ships, minnows next to leviathans.

Each ship has their prow pointed at the glittering sphere of blue water and green earth sitting in the void before them, weapons capable of unleashing continent shattering force and holds filled with world conquering armies in their own rights waiting to be unleashed at the call from their masters.

The fleet sits silent and ready, waiting for a call that they have no idea of when it will come, but one each captain is ready and willing to carry out. The order for such extreme and unremitting violence, all of which are able and willing to mete out at a moment's notice. Inaction tries their patience, for they know that this new world harbours enemies of mankind.

The reports of elements of the Cadian 598th and honoured Astartes of the Steel Drakes chapter aiding in the rescue of a settlements worth of civilians, along with the planet's own class of specialised warriors, against the heartless and brutal hordes of the foul xenos creatures called 'Grimm' spread through the fleet quickly by the Cadian commissars to the Navy's commissariat in doctored and redacted to be given to the basic troopers and armsmen of the fleet.

The particulars of the mission and the resulting first contact between one of the provincial governments of the planet now known as Vale are kept from the regular enlisted men and those considered too lowly to know in the grand militant hierarchy of the Imperium. As such, the majority of the fleet is kept ignorant of the potential venture the fleet now finds itself set upon.

It is in the bowels of the mighty warship sitting idle in the centre of conglomeration of battleships, cruisers and escorts, in the ancient abode of a brotherhood of war, that the conversation to decide the fate of this world, this Remnant, is held.

---

The strategium aboard the Ferro Cordis is teeming with officers and notables once again, though, as Chapter Master Remudes scans his eyes across the assembly, he sees that number is thinner than last time. His brother-captains are present again, either in the flesh and steel or by holographic projection, this time joined by their lieutenants, while Nemon is joined by a lexicanum of the Librarium, a fresh recruit from Sigilis IV. Ni'jain, the youth is called. Swarthy skinned but quite fair of face, especially for one of Dorn's line. Still, there are decades to come to roughen the stone to the warrior within. Right now, the lexicanum, clad in the blue armour of his station, stands behind a lectern, quill and ink held in his hand as he takes down the minutes for this meeting.

Letting his gaze wander over the assembly, Remudes takes in the measure of the beings around him.

He does not linger on the Cadian officers and their coteries, each one dressed alike in their similar armour and each just that bit unique by the colour of their cloth and the amount of medals they wear. He does not focus on the form of High-Deacon von Stollish as he leads his entourage in a plainsong with a bass voice surprisingly strong for someone of the deacon's advanced age, nor the new azure and cream forms of the Sisters of the Azure Blade now present aboard his ship. His eyes, both biological and mechanical, coast over the assembled forms of the upper hierarchy of the Adeptus Mechanicus contingent, High Magos Zar'Garscon leads his group in the binaric chanting that passes for prayer for the machine men of Mars. One of their number is picked out in green, the adept assigned to the vanguard.

All of this information is taken in by his eyes and processed in a mind faster than any human's mind is capable of processing, save for those of the Mechanicus.

And all the information reinforces one thing: Remudes, master of the Steel Drakes chapter, breaker of xenos and heretic alike, is sick of hearing the members of the Ecclesiarchy and the Adeptus Mechanicus singing.

As soon as the news of not just the discover of humanity on this new planet, but also the successful operation to clear out a town besieged by the creatures of the planet, the delegates from possibly the two most diametrically opposing forces in the Imperium began to sing and chant prayers to their own deities.

"You can order them to stop, my lord."

The voice from behind him, speaking in their chapter battle-cant, makes Remudes turn his head as he looks at his personal herald and leader of the Dracon Guard, Brother-Sergeant Donato. Dressed in the ornate armour of his station, the veteran has his crested helm tucked under one arm, his pale skinned face an unreadable mask of flesh and metal, though Remudes is certain he can detect a hint of amusement in those grey pools.

"I am the master of a chapter, not of the rest of the forces here." Remudes replies in a whisper, keeping to chapter battle-cant. "But… we have our duty to attend to."

Turning his head, Remudes catches the eye of Captain Marakov, captain of the chapter's Sixth Company, and Master of Rites. His armour was almost as ceremonial and ornate as Remudes' own armour, though his is lined with embossed High Gothic scrollwork and calligraphy from both Sigilian homeworlds. His head is bare, showing his bald head, skin the colour of ebony and a fierce scowl on his face as he nods once at his chapter master before he raises his sceptre of office in hand.

Almost as tall as himself, the rod is as much as weapon of war as a staff of office, as useful for crushing the bodies of orks as it is for drawing the visitors in the strategium to order now. The sounds of the base of the haft hitting the stone floor of the chamber cut through the clamour like a lascannon round through snow.

"Order!" Marakov calls out, nonplussed at the looks of anger and annoyance directed at him from the parties as he speaks. "There will be order in the strategium for the chapter master!"

The last echoes of the order join the final notes of the prayers to fade away into the stone, leaving Remudes to sigh in release of emotion before he speaks.

"Honoured guests. I know that this discovery is one of great importance to us all."

"It is the providence of the God-Emperor!" One of the Sororitas shouts out, a simple Sister by the look of her, though she is quickly silenced by a glare from her own Sister Superior, though a similar shout is taken up by a techpriest.

"It is the will of the Omnissiah made manifest through the Motive Force! We have been delivered unto a new world, a world fresh with-"

"Silence!" Marakov roars out again, taking a single step forward to reinforce his point.

"Brother Captain." Remudes speaks the title once, clear and loud, enough for all to hear. It is enough of an order to have Marakov stepping back to his position in the circle, his head bowed in acknowledgement. Turning his head, Remudes looks at the other members of the new fleet council.

"As I was saying, to my honoured guests, I know that this discovery of an unknown and untouched world, populated largely by humans, outside of known Imperial space, is a discovery that swells our hearts with hope, and provides succour to the soul by the glory of the God-Emperor and the Omnissiah."

Playing to the crowd. That's all he's doing and Remudes knows this. Unity is what is needed now.

"But… we also see that this world holds as the same dangers that are known to the Imperium: the xenos, the beast. Now, more than ever, we must be united in our duty to the Emperor, and to humanity." Remudes looks around the room again, making sure that he lets everyone see him looking at him. "So I say this now: this shall be treated as a council of war. This interruption will be the first, and the last."

Remudes' baritone voice does need to be raised to get his point across. His gene-enhanced bulk, his power armour and the mighty relic hammer, Eagle's Talon, mag-locked to his hip does more than enough to reinforce his point. The Mechanicus adepts bristle with controlled anger, their mechadendrites telling as much as their binaric chirruping does, while the Ecclesiarchy priests whisper to each other in confusion, their Sororitas escorts no doubt glowering under their helms.

High-Deacon von Stollish bows his head. "As the God-Emperor's own angel wishes it, so shall it be done."

Taking one last look around the room for any sign of dissention, and thankfully finding none, Remudes nods his head before he turns to look at the figures shown by hologram in the middle of the strategium. "My apologies, brother-sergeants, Colonel Creed. You were saying that first contact has been established between your Cadians and the… Beacon Huntsman Academy, correct?"

The holographic form of Colonel Creed, rendered in the varying shades of green, looks remarkably calm for a man in his situation: accompanied on both sides by three veteran Astartes sergeants, and surrounded by representatives of the various offices of the Imperium, the Cadian colonel keeps his face set and neutral, though Remudes thinks that he can see some hints of sweat trickling down the man's face.

Creed nods his head. "Yes, my lord Astartes. We facilitated the transport of the team via a Naval Valkyrie, and a team of Kasrkin led by one Lieutenant Weispe acting as an honour guard. As per the recommendation of the commissariat, Weispe was instructed to say that we were preparing to open diplomatic channels with them."

A small smile crosses Remudes' lips as he nods his head. "That was the correct course of action. We have shown our commitment to the defence of humanity. Now, we must show them why we fight for them."

"Why should we be fighting for them?"

The voice comes from the Ecclesiarchy delegation, a middling-ranked priest. More silver on his vestments and too much fat around the stomach. Most likely the head of some hive cathedral if Remudes has to guess from his pallid and flabby skinned face. Too in love with his rank to think before he speaks.

"We do not know if these people are heretics, undeserving of the Emperor's light and His compassion." The man continues, casting his gaze around his fellows.

From the left of Remudes', the holographic image of Reclusiarch Akios speaks. Distortion over distance renders the speech audible, but delayed, meaning the mouth of the holograph takes a few seconds to catch up with the chaplain's words.

"These people are heretics only by the most simplistic definition of the word. They have not heard of the Emperor, nor of the Imperium, separated as they are by time and space. Do you expect them to worship a god they know nothing about until just a day ago?"

"Stupidity is no excuse!" The priest replies, warming to his rhetoric. "I say that we launch a crusade against this world and-"

"There is also the question of the technology present on this world." A techmagos, with a quartet of spindly mechanical arms in place of their real arms cuts in, turning his cyclopean head to look at the assembly. "From the information given to us by Tech Priest Wigmar-Zeta-0295, the technology on this planet is much different to that created by our Martian kin. From his reports, their technology is similar to… xeno-tech, I am sad to say. I fear… I fear this world might be using… heretek."

Ripples of unease pass through the Mechanicus and Ecclesiarchy delegations, both groups talking inside the other on what they have just heard. Though he does not know how to parse the Mechanicus binaric, Remudes' gene-enhanced hearing lets him hear easily the words passing between the priests and deacons. Too many words of death and destruction. Too many.

These priests and holy men, of man and machine, talked of ruin and death. How could they be so blind to what was before them? This situation was something to be celebrated, not to be talked of like they were quashing a cult in the underhives. A human civilisation, alive and thriving (to an extent if the orbital scans were to be believed), past the cold borders of the Imperium, in the unknown void. Such scenarios were relegated to the fabled days of the Great Crusades, and horror stories of Rouge Traders travelling past the rim of the galaxy. Yet… an Astartes is a weapon of war, first and foremost, and Remudes knows that one day, he would have to lead his chapter to war on this world.

But it will not be this day.

"I say it is STC of a sort."

The calm voice of Captain Jonah cuts through the turmoil of the delegation, all eyes turning to the giant in his Mark X Gravis armour. His helmet is maglocked to his belt, letting his unblemished face look at the others around him.

"What do you know of the sacred Standard Template Construct?" Barks a tech-priest, her head unhooded to show a thick matt of miniature mechadendrites in place of hair, all of which bristle like snakes at her anger.

Blatantly ignoring the techpriest, Jonah continues to speak. "I know that STC systems were common among virtually all of the human fleets that left Ancient Earth before the Dark Age of Technology to facilitate the expansion of humanity though the stairs. If we assume that this planet is indeed populated by the descendants of such a group, then logic dictates that their own technology, being cut off and isolated from other humans and other races, will develop and evolve along their own lines."

The strategium falls silent. Cadian officers turn to each other, whispering words of awe and amazement at the commentary of a bygone era, though a general lack of interest is present on their faces. Ecclesiarchal priests and confessors look on in wide-awe and confusion at the technological reference to ancient Imperial history, a place of myth and legend to mortals.

"Query:" A male magos, his chin and mouth still organic but surrounded by a head of metal, a single strip of optics in place of his eyes, asks. "How can you know such a thing about the history of Standard Template Construct systems?"

Remudes is certain that he can detect a hint of jealousy in the machine man's voice, a trait that he can imagine all the Omnissiah's followers feeling in some form. He feels a measure of respect for Jonah for such a thing. A small measure.

Unconcerned, Jonah bows his head in a slight nod. "Because, when I was born and before I was chosen to become a Primaris Astartes, such a thing was more common knowledge. Even to those of us from Inwit."

A loud guffaw echoes around the chamber, the deep voice of the Captain of the 7th Company and Chief Victualler, Captain Bahname, as he laughs at the 2nd Captain's words. Stout, even for an Astartes, he's a brawler through and through, and it shows in his demeanour.

"Our newest brother knows how to keep the mortals in their place." He says in battle cant, a broad splitting apart his short but thick black beard.

Remudes nods his head, but he knows that he cannot allow this discussion to divulge further. "It matters not if the population of this world, these… people of Remnant, are the descendants of an ancient Terran-based colony ship. They are human, and thus, duty compels us."

One of the techpriests moves forward, ready to speak, but a scowl from the chapter master stops them short. The priest steps back into his position, allowing Zar'Garscon to step forward. His posture matches his forlorn looking facemask: his arms hidden under voluminous sleeves that almost touch his knees, his actual robe trailing behind him like a funeral train while his hood almost entirely obscures Zar'Garscon's metallic face. He reminds Remudes of a penitent monk… or a dead man walking.

"Your intelligence belies your war-like stature, Second Captain Jonah." Zar'Garscon's flesh-voice filters out through his mask. "Tell me, how likely do you find it that these people will share their technology with us? Or even allow us into their political discussions?"

The high magos pulls one of his hands from his sleeves; skeletal and mechanical, he points a single digit at the holographic figures in the middle of the strategium.

"Can the work of the Cadians on the planet, and the works of your veteran battle-brothers, be enough to aid in diplomacy with the Imperium and this 'Remnant'?"

Remudes turns his head to look at Jonah, the Primaris Marine becoming the central focus of scrutiny of all in the strategium. As if they weren't already a thing to analyse already.

Primaris Space Marines. The next-step in the future of warfare for humanity. An additional armament for the Imperium of Man. A replacement for the Adeptus Astartes of the 'Firstborn' generations. All of those statements have been said to Remudes or come to his attention. To him… he looks at them the same way he sees any Mechanicus construct: suspicion and indifference.

A full head taller than the others in the chapter, save of Brother-Captain Madras, the Primaris Marines mark themselves out as outsiders by their very being. Their armour, their weapons, even their mannerisms were different to the Firstborn of the chapter. Aloof, disconnected, their only true ties to the chapter was the colour of their armour, the markings of their company and chapter… and the blood of their gene-sire and Primarch.

"If we remain sensible about this situation," Captain Jonah responded after a moment, "Approach the people of Remnant as lost elements of the Imperium of Man and not as enemies, but still keep our wits about us being in uncharted space. I feel that it will work."

"Trust but verify." The cool, measured voice of Chief Librarian Nemon speaks out among the room. "Matters must be attended, facts must be made plain."

"And what facts do you present to us, Chief Librarian Nemon?" Zar'Garscon says, something akin to excitement coming to his flesh-voice, though his face betrays nothing. Equally, Nemon's blindfolded visage betrays nothing of the psyker's own emotions.

Taking no cue from the other, the Chief Librarian steps forward, quickly speaking to 3rd Captain Sharas in chapter battle-cant. The holographic images of the three veterans of the chapter and Colonel Creed are shrunk down partially to allow an image of the fleet's dispersion and positioning around the planet and its moon to be made. The details of Remnant's surface and the surface of its moon are much clearer now; coastlines, islands, mountain ranges and valleys are present on the planet, while craters and ridges on the moon are shown in detail. Like small pins in use on low-tech planning boards, the ships of the fleet appear. A small number are arrayed in the protective shadow of the broken moon and its asteroid field, while the rest of the fleet stays further back.

Nemon speaks to all. "Discussion between the astropathic choirs, the Navigators and my fellow pyskers from my own chapter and the psykers attached to the Cadian regiments has become more streamlined and easier. Though we are not as of yet sure of the reason for our… disjuncture from our planned course, we are now more sure of our position. And what that means for us."

"Explain, Brother Nemon." Remudes asks, his attention fully on the chief psyker.

"A demonstration will serve better."

Once in the centre of strategium, almost directly beneath the holographic display, Nemon reaches down the belt at his waist and pulls off a small, simple, leather pouch, tied together with a drawstring of leather and large enough to fit comfortably in the palm of the Librarian's gauntlet. It looks so simple and so low tech, but, Remudes knows, therein lies the power of the Astartes Librarius. From the vaunted Ultramarines and Blood Angels to the reclusive Dark Angels and the battle hungry Space Wolves and all in between, each chapter's Librarians adorned themselves just that bit differently and tacitly, to further augment their powers and strengthen their will in battle. While Nemon's is truly the most mundane of the accoutrements Remudes has seen on Librarians, the chief battle psyker wields it masterfully.

Carefully, Nemon undoes the drawstring, opening the pouch before he turns his hands over, letting the contents spill out. Grains of sand, darker brown from Sigilis IV, the sand fell to the floor in a stream. In a second, the temperature in the room dropped slightly, enough for a single exhale to come out as a mist, but that split second was all it took for the sand to suddenly swerve up into the air and away from the ground, towards the holographic display of the planet and the fleet.

Like a swarm of flies disturbed from a carcass, the sand particles fly high into the air and begin to gather around the holographic display. A master of the geokinetic discipline, it doesn't take much effort for Nemon to split each sand particle into a smaller piece, doubling the number, then tripling the amount of sand he held in his pouch. In a few seconds, the images of Remnant and the fleet are surrounded in a ball of sand, rotating gently on an axis. It is not an impenetrable wall, for glimpses of the holograph within, distorted slightly by the blocking of the light emitting devices it relies upon, can be seen. But it illustrates much more than any words the Chief Librarian could say.

All eyes watch the rotating orb of sand, observing the display in silence. A silence that allows Remudes to scrutinize his battle-brother closely. Nemon is staring up at the ball he's created, and even though his eyes are covered by the dracon-skin band, the Chapter Master can see the look of scrutiny furrowing Nemon's eyebrows.

"What… exactly are we looking at, my lords?" A Cadian officer, a lieutenant-colonel, their uniform a light blue and grey for arctic operations, asks as she looks between the orb in front of them and the Astartes officers.

Seemingly jarred out of his reverie, the action forming in a quick snap of his head to look at the speaker, Nemon nods his head once before he begins to walk below the ball of sand he created.

"This… is the best representation of the phenomenon that the fleet passed through on our travel through the warp." The pysker says, raising a hand, palm up beneath the ball, like he was trying to lift it. "It is… unique, that much is clear."

"But what is it?" A Sister Superior, tawny-coloured face marked with devotional tattoos covering her left side, asks in a clipped voice before her voice drops. "Other than a witch showing off their Emperor-forsaken skills…"

Ignoring the slight, Nemon continues to speak. "It is… a shroud, of some sorts. Something akin to a sphere of null energy. Yet, it only blocks the power of the Empyrean in one direction. A pysker can draw their power from the Warp, but that is all they can do. Several Navigators and my fellows from our Chapter Librarius with the skill have tried to throw their souls past this barrier, but they find their passage blocked."

At the psyker's words, Remudes looks up at the ball of sand again, seeing it in a new light. This planet is protected by something that keeps the Warp at bay, in a fashion.

"A similar phenomenon was detected at Cadia through the xenotech pylons of the necrontyr race." High Magos Zar'Garscon says, a hint of understanding dawning in his flesh voice. "Rumination: no such devices or architecture has been detected on the surface of the planet Remnant."

"Have you checked under the ocean?" Brother-Captain Sharas says with a cocky smile, which earns a dismissive wave from the tech priest.

"No, such a thing has been considered but no scans indicate such a thing."

"Could it be the work of the eldar?" Reclusiarch Akios asks, the holographic image turning to look at his chapter master. "Such things are not entirely beyond their ken."

"Further investigation is needed for discovery of further xenotech on the surface." The holographic display of the tech-adept Carish, attached to the forces on the surface of the planet, points out. "Though, to accelerate such a task would require the allowance of Imperial elements to range further afield on Remnant to allow such observations to be conducted."

Remudes nods his head. "Indeed it would, Adept Carish. With that in mind, let us turn to that topic in full. Brother-Librarian, please remove this… ball."

Nemon nods his head, putting up the hand containing the pouch the sand was originally in. A small charge of light ripples through the ball, and it collapses, gravity finally exerting itself fully on the sand. As it drops, it spirals into a single point, funnelling itself into the pouch. Quickly, the leather pouch is filled and Nemon deftly ties it back up and attaches it to his belt again before he returns to his place in the circle, letting the Chapter Master speak again.

"The situation before us demands we act," Remudes says, addressing all in the strategium. "However... the peculiarities of the situation require a softer touch. The touch of the diplomat, over the hand of the warrior. Brother-Sergeant Donato?"

The leader of the Dracon's Guard stomps forward, his armour resplendent and dignified as ever for the leader of the bodyguard of a chapter master.

"My lord?"

"Summon the Herald Ordinary. Have him briefed on the situation and given all the information that we have on this world and its peoples. He shall be the voice of our chapter on this planet."

At Remudes' words, a commotion springs up from the Ecclesiarchy delegates, High Deacon von Stollish suddenly trying to stand up from his seat. "My lord Astartes! This is not acceptable! I must protest."

"I can have him thrown out, my lord." Captain Marakov says sotto voce, looking angrily at the interruption, though Remudes shakes his head at the idea.

"I am aware that this is not how things are done, High Deacon." Remudes admits. "The Adeptus Astartes do not take part in politics. Nor are we trying to. It is our chapter's tradition that we have among our ranks, a person suited for diplomacy, for those who have not seen the Adeptus Astartes before. He is my Herald Ordinary, and he speaks with my voice.

"But," Remudes stops as he quickly scans the Ecclesiarchal element of the strategium. "It would not be false to say that our interests would be seen solely as the interests of the Imperium, if such a meeting with only one diplomat were to take place."

Understanding dawns on von Stollish's face, a smile spreading across his withered face before he turns and speaks in High Gothic, a command to come forward.

Answering his call, a member of the Sororitas steps forward. Though she wears the same blue armour of the Order of the Azure Blade, her form is largely covered by the trappings of a Sister Hospitaller; a cream and off-white habit and tabard, a plain thing though the edges are picked out in simple stripes of red. A simple golden fleur-de-lis on the crest of her habit above her stern pale face is the only true adornment on the Sororitas' uniform, which marks her as Sister Superior Sabritta Casareigo.

"Sister Casareigo," High Deacon von Stollish address the woman. "The God-Emperor's own angels have given us a task, one to bring a new world into the loving fold of His divine light. Do you have one of your number who is up to the task set before us?"

The Sister Superior nods her head. "I do. Sister Agaethe, of the Order Famulous. She often times has to delegate with other orders and planetary groups to allow our order to operate to its fullest. I feel this task falls well within her remit."

A pleased look passes over von Stollish's ancient face as he sees the nod of approval from Remudes before he turns to face the sepulchral looking high magos.

"I will not submit one of my own ambassadors to this undertaking." Zar'Garscon says simply. "The situation is… delicate, as you said. To submit a member of the Mechanicus to the delegation would be seen as overbearing and intimidating. Based on my knowledge of such encounters where all three organizations of the Imperium are present, the potential for in-fighting rises heavily to sixty-seven-point-seven percent, while the potential for hostility from outside parties rises to sixty-nine-point-nine percent."

Remudes' biological eye furrows at the refusal to learn more about this new world. Such an act is contravene to the basic principles of the Adeptus Mechanicus. 'Knowledge is power', as they are so fond of saying. But Remudes cannot make an issue of it. Unity is needed here. So, again, he just nods his head.

"However, as a proposal," Zar'Garscon continues. "Allow my forge world's skitarii to supply the escorts along with the Kasrkin specialists of Cadia. We have many skitarii who are augmented for operations where overt signs of augmentation are too untoward."

'So that is your game, then.' Remudes thinks to himself. 'Be present at the negotiations, but not be a part of the negotiations.'

It's exactly the sort of thinking that the chapter master has come to expect from the Mechanicus. But… he cannot say a word against it. So again, he acquiesces to the idea.

"Very well. So the matter is settled." Remudes says, addressing the crowd once more. "The delegation for Remnant will assemble in forty-eight hours to the city of Vale. Our selected ambassadors will be briefed on the matter during that time and given the fullest extent of information we have on the situation. All in favour?"

A full chorus of 'ayes' fill the room, leaving no room for dissent. Unity.

Remudes once again nods his head. "Very well. Now, we shall move onto other matters."

---

It has been an hour of discussion, of working the internal politics that plagued the branches of the Imperium's armed might and all Remudes has to say from the end of it: he has more admiration for the brother of his chapter's Primarch now.

The Cadians were easy to deal with. They were soldiers, plain and simple, even the officers, and all mortal soldiers of the Imperium look up to the gene-forged Astartes, that is a fact. So when Remudes spoke that Colonel Creed should be promoted to general of the Cadian forces in Vale, his suggestion was accepted readily.

To the Ecclesiarchy and the Mechanicus, Remudes voiced for patience. While the regular groups from both would be sent alongside their assigned Cadian regiments when the time for their deployment came, both groups would hold back efforts to land larger contingents until the diplomatic situation with the governments of Remnant was satisfactorily completed. Any information that would be relevant to them would be given freely.

And finally, to the Imperial Navy under Commodore Valask, the order was given to try their best at breaking through the 'barrier' around Remnant's system to try and contact the Imperium. Through whatever means they could; vox, date-pulse, astropathic, all measures were to be taken to contact the wider Imperium.

It was an hour of politicking and talk before the last members of the groups left, leaving the Astartes captains to remain.

"Is there anything else you wish me to add to these minutes, my lord chapter master?" Lexicanum Ni'jain asks, holding the writing quill in his hand expectantly.

Remudes shakes his head as a small smile plays at his lips. "Just that 'playing politics is always a tiring endeavour'."

That draws a ripple of laughter from the other Astartes present, even proud Nemon smiling slightly at the comment. "That will be all, Brother Ni'jain. Prepare the paper for internment then return to quarters."

The Lexicanum bows his head as he prepares the meticulously written copy of the meeting for storage, pouring sand harvested from the deserts of Sigilis IV onto the paper to soak up the excess ink. The sand of the desert world is thirsty and drank up liquid quickly, leaving the letters marked out in sheer black and proudly done High Gothic calligraphy, ready to be stored in the chapter's hall of records.

"Is there any more business that must be discussed, my lord?" Captain Marakov asks, placing both his hands over the head of his mace.

"Only matters that Chief Librarian Nemon and I must discuss with the Master of the Watch. In private."

Jonah's head jolts slightly in shock at the command, but he says nothing as the other captains and their lieutenants depart the room. Wordlessly, each captain and their two seconds exit the room, their heavy adamantium footfalls echoing loudly through the strategium against the stone, Brother-Sergeant Donato and Lexicanum Ni'jain among them.

As he watches them, Remudes makes a note of the Primaris Marines among the new high command of the chapter. It was not just Jonah who was new among the commanding ranks of the Steel Drakes. Captain Ammianus of the 9th Company, Master of Relics, is flanked by the form of Lieutenant Mordaen, the Primaris lieutenant walking steadily beside the 'Firstborn' Lieutenant Sepand, while Captain Canaris of the 8th Company, the Lord Executioner, converses freely with his lieutenants, both Primaris and Firstborn. The officers of the 2nd Company, the company made up the most of Primaris Marines, tarry slightly. Lieutenant Castor, his Mark III helmet plumed with a red and white horsetail held under one arm, stands beside Lieutenant Volk, as they both look at their new commander unsurely. A curt nod from Captain Jonah is all they need to join the exiting group.

As they are passed, the two brothers guarding the doors to the strategium, both dressed in the steely Tartaros-pattern Terminator armour, turn to look at their master.

"I ask for time alone with my brothers, guardians." Remudes says. Wordlessly, both Astartes bow their heads in acknowledgement before they turn to leave for the outside of the room, pulling the doors behind them with a deafening boom.

With the great doors shut, Remudes looks at Jonah sympathetically.

"I can imagine that… spying, for lack of a better word, on our allies would not sit easy with you." The Chapter Master says, a sigh leaving his lips. "It never sat right with Brother Tirello. But considering our history with the Mechanicus, I feel that is prudent."

Jonah nods his head. "I understand my lord. Brother-Lieutenant Castor filled me in on the… historical events between the Steel Drakes and the Mechanicus forces of Malash. While… While I feel that the events might not be repeated again, I followed the instructions I was given. I have the results here."

Detaching a datapad from the belt at his waist, Jonah steps closer to Remudes to pass it to him. As Master of the Watch, Jonah's duty is to oversee the safety of the Chapter fleet, thus to him falls the duty of scrutinizing all: information of the space around them, information on the fleet elements with them, information of the planet they would wage war on. And information from untrustworthy allies.

Quickly scrolling through the screed of data, Remudes reads what he already knows he will read.

"Metal elements suitable for use in armour repair, likely positions of deposits of raw promethium, mineral composites of interest." The chapter master comments on the particulars of the data he has been given. "Standard fare for a Mechanicus exploratory probe, all in basic binaric."

"Not all that exciting or… treacherous, I know." Jonah says, an apologetic look on his face for not getting the information he was meant to get. "But… look at the data flow past the data. At the encrypted data."

Pressing the necessary buttons, Remudes brings up another screen of data. All of it in binaric again, but not the basic binary that he knows the Mechanicus used. This one was unique to forge world Norstra, unreadable to those without the lingua-tech skills or implants. Such as Remudes or any Astartes.

"How did you obtain this information, Captain Jonah?" Nemon asks, moving to stand closer to the Primaris Captain. "Surely, this must have been something the adepts of Norstra would have been adamant at hiding from you."

"On the contrary," Jonah replies. "It was decidedly easy. I made no attempt to hide my scans of the information that was being passed on Remnant, along with the information that was being sent from Fort Tempest to the fleet. It was not at all hard to just… dip in and take some of the Mechanicus' information too."

Remudes can't help the way his eyebrow arches upwards in surprise at the confession from the Primaris captain. That was clever.

"Clever, Captain Jonah." Nemon echoes from beside the Chapter Master. "Though, since my eyes cannot see such information, and I imagine that our commander will be hard-pressed to find the information you've recovered, perhaps we could skip to the main focus of your surveillance gathering?"

Jonah bows his head, the gesture looking awkward in the hood of his Gravis Plate armour. "Yes, my lords, of course. As I said, I had to look at the data flow, past the data, to trace it back to the source of the transmission, which should have been Fort Tempest. Only it wasn't."

A scowl passes across Remudes' face. Of course. "Where was the source of the transmission then?"

"I can't say with certainty, my lord." Jonah replies, remorse plain and clear in his voice. "The transmission was powerful, but very focuses and very brief. A compressed data-squirt if there ever was one. All I can say from conjecture is that it was either sent from an atmospheric probe… or maybe from the surface of Remnant itself. And it was the latter, it certainly wasn't from anywhere close to Fort Tempest."

Not saying a word, Remudes switches off the data-slate before he holds it in both his hands as he lets out a deep sigh. "They cannot help themselves…"

"My lord?" Jonah asks, but Remudes ignores him as he continues speaking, pacing away from Jonah and Nemon.

"I give them explicit orders to only monitor Remnant for useful material, and to not go galivanting about like some warp-damned junky hive juvie! And do they listen?" He flings the data-slate back at Jonah, the captain's Astartes reflexes stopping him from being smacked in the face by the tablet as he catches it. "No they do not! Because they cannot help themselves"

The shout reverberates around the strategium, Jonah and Nemon watching Remudes in silence as he reins in his choler.

"We cannot approach them about this." Nemon says simply.

"I know." Remudes replies, returning back to where he stood before. "This early in the situation… damage control is what we need to focus on for now. If damage has been inflicted. Captain Jonah, inform Brother-Sergeant Donato and the Herald Ordinary of this development. Stress to both of them that if a situation has developed from the actions of the Mechanicus, we must do our utmost to contain it. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord." Jonah replies, slamming his fist into his cuirass, the sound of metal on metal ringing in the chamber. "Is that all?"

With a shake of dismissal and a word to be passed to the guardians outside, Jonah exits the hall, leaving the two veteran Astartes alone.

"They cannot help themselves…" Remudes hisses out as the giant doors slam shut once again behind the Primaris Marine.

"Do you refer to the Mechanicus on the planet… or to our new Primaris brethren?" Nemon asks, putting both hands behind his back.

The Chapter Master looks at his psyker comrade coldly. "You use that word too easily for these abominations."

"Abominations given to us by order of the Lord Commander Gulliman." Nemon counters easily. "Abominations which, I might add, allow to reach full strength faster than we could after our losses against the World-Burner and his Waaagh."

"Yes, thank you for reminding me of the losses of my own chapter, Brother Nemon." Remudes snaps, quickly turning on the Chief Librarian. "Forgive me for noticing, but I did not hear you addressing Captain Jonah as your 'brother'."

Nemon is silent, his blindfolded eyes looking Remudes directly. It is several seconds before he speaks.

"Brother Tirello was as close a brother as I could have in this chapter. You know this, Remudes. His passing hurts us all. You included." Nemon breathes deeply before he continues speaking. "It will take time, but I do think that I will be calling Jonah my battle-brother some time."

Remudes scoffs as he turns away, moving towards the door.

"You will too."

Remudes says nothing as he hears Nemon walk closer to him.

"They are our blood-kin. The blood of our Primarch, Rogal Dorn, flows through them as much as it does us. Yes… their creation is… abnormal, but they are weapons for the fight to save humanity, as are we. Why do you deny that?"

"Because they are not our brothers!" Remudes barks, turning with a snarl on his face to look at Nemon directly. "Yes, they wear our colours, our emblems. Yes, they are Astartes. Those facts are plain. But they know nothing of this chapter! Nothing of its heritage, its glory, its virtue and its loss. They do not have the same resolve that beats in their hearts as it does in ours! Our battle cry, our chapter motto, is just words to them."

Controlling his temper again, Remudes turns and marches towards the door.

"They share our blood, but we are not brothers."

Those are his final words as Remudes, Chapter Master of the Steel Drakes, opens the great doors to the strategium and exists, leaving Nemon alone silently in the great chamber.

Alone in the chamber, Nemon quietly speaks. "Those same words were said to me, my brother."

---

In a distant star system, far from Remnant, the stars continue their celestial motions through the aether. Against the empty-blackness of the void, they are single motes of light that keep the darkness at bay. To the eyes of ages past, they were scintillating points of mystery, will-o'-wisps to fuel the imagination of man and drive them to adventure.

Now those stars are tainted. Besieged by the daemonic, the heretical, the alien, they promise naught but the death and destruction of the adventurous.

Such terrors were kept at bay by the strong, by those willing to serve, to give their lives in the defence of Humanity. And, ultimately, by those willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

The figure gazing out of the armaplas aperture in the hull of the Gloriana-class battleship, Macgragge's Honour, is an individual of the latter. Tall and proud, the figure is feminine elegance, beauty and lethality combined. Dress in an exquisitely worked suit of carapace armour that is as functional as a suit of armour in the most lethal combat zones as it is a piece of formal wear at an Imperial court, its metallic blue surface reflecting the lights around it , even as the black half-skirt trimmed with white hanging from the back trails behind her enough to touch the floor. Their hair is tall and well groomed, rising above their head in black and silver curls like a cliff.

If they had been anyone except a member of the Inquisition, they would probably have found numerous partners to converse with aboard the flagship of the Primarch Reborn. But not a member of the Ordo Xenos. So they stand apart.

A hooded figure, their cloth the green of the Astra Telepathica, makes their way through the throng of bodies, their psychic nature and the pair of dark green carapace armour glad guards, hellguns clasped in hands and dragoon helmets worn over gas masks, forging a way through the people until they reach the Inquisitor.

"My lady Alistana." The astropath says, clutching his staff in gnarled fingers as he bows to the woman before him. "I have a message from The Brazen Spear."

At the mention of the ship's name, the Inquisitor turns and faces the astropath. Lady Inquisitor Alistana, the only name and title she goes by, is a tall but thin woman, and her face reflects that. Given just the barest tinges of rejuvenant treatment in her pale skin, she looks to be a woman of sixty standard Terran years, even though her true age approaches nearly double of that. But even for such an advanced (by normal standards) age, with the right assortment of wrinkles around her left non-augmetic eye, the other an elegant combination of brass, steel and emerald, and her mouth, she perfectly acts the part of an older socialite in her more discrete dealings.

At the moment, her dealings have no need for discretion, hence the carapace armour.

"And?" Lady Alistana asks in reply, eagerly awaiting the answer.

"There has been no sighting of the fleet of the arranged coordinates." The astropath lets out a weary sigh. "My fellow upon The Brazen Spear can only report a faint psychic echo of their travel through the Empyrean, but all I can say is…"

The psyker trails off, not needing to say the rest, for the sigh of resignation that Lady Alistana lets out tells the truth enough.

"Lost. With all hands, I take it." The inquisitor says as she turns back to look out the viewport. A strike-cruiser of the Aurora Chapter flies past in the void, the forest green colour of its flanks stark against the void as it moves to join with the rest of the Indomitus Crusade.

A crusade now down a fleet. A worthy fleet, from Lady Alistana's experience.

She is in the midst of the largest gathering of Imperial might, across every faction and element of the Imperium of Man, since the legendary days of the Great Crusade, headed by the Primarch Reborn. It is a time of renewed hope and faith in humanity and the God-Emperor. But with this news… Lady Alistana feels her spirits fall.

"My lady?" One of the guards asks, uncertainty in his voice.

"Come." The inquisitor simply says as she swiftly turns on her heels and begins walking. "I have been summoned by the Primarch. We best not keep him waiting."

The group makes their way off from the external viewing ports, deeper into the bowls of the mighty flagship of the Indomitus Crusade. As they walk, the number of people increases until the interior of the mightiest vessel still in operation in the Imperium has the same bustling atmosphere as a hive-spire. Serfs of various Astartes chapters, predominantly those in the colours of the successors to the Ultramarines and other notables, follow behind or cluster around their masters, all giants arrayed in the immense panoply of war and the livery of their various chapters, some of the Firstborn generation, others the newer Primaris Marines. Around them in throngs and crowds, stroll the officers of the numerous Militarum officers of the fleet; generals, field-marshals, brigadiers, talking strategy and tactics, various cultures coming together. Between them all, architects, sculptors, bureaucrats, artisans, priests and all the other non-military elements of the Imperium, and those called upon by Roboute Gulliman to help rebuild the Imperium Nihilus.

Watching over all of them, the golden forms of the Adeptus Custodes stand watch. Their unmoving forms, once beholden to guarding the entrance of the Imperial Palace on holy Terra, the Eternity Gate, and the immobile and undying form of the God-Emperor on his Golden Throne, now bestrode the galaxy, the praetorian guard of a Primarch once thought to be beyond death.

All now living knew they lived in strange times, that was easy to see. But still, all who stood before Lady Alistana parted from her at the sight of the Inquisitorial Rosette hanging before her chest.

Moving quickly through the crowds, the inquisitor and her retinue reached one of the turbolifts, quickly being conveyed up from the masses to the sanctum of the head of the Crusade, the doors opening to a very simple looking door, or as simple as a door can get on a ship constructed for the Primarch of the 13th Legion; a door taller than the tallest man and marked with an alabaster inverted Omega emblem.

"Hold." One of the two door wardens, a pair of Firstborn Ultramarine veterans, fully armed and armoured, their helmets and pauldron trim glittering ebony white in the lights of the antechamber, each accompanied by a floating servo-skull. "Identify yourselves."

"Inquisitor Lady Alistana, Ordo Xenos, Martekan Conclave, and her retinue." Lady Alistana says simply and flatly, brooking no argument as to who she is, even as the pair of servo-skulls, floating forward, subject her to a facial and biometric scan.

"Identity confirmed." The pair of floating skulls chime together, moving back to their original positions beside the Astartes veterans.

"Your bodyguards will remain outside." The second Victrix Guard says. "Only the Inquisitor and her astropath may enter."

The door slides open, allowing Alistana and the astropath into another place of dreams.

---

"Lady Alistana, welcome." The sonorous, commanding voice fills the space and the lady inquisitors ears like water in a vase.

As a member of the Ordo Xenos, she has faced so many of the terrors that fill the galaxy and has not paled. She has fought against the perfidious mind-shattering powers of the Aeldari and the rampant, piratical torture-slash-combat of their darker kin. She has stood unbowed against the horrors of the all-consuming horrors of the Tyranid Hive Fleets and the void-quaking might of the Ork Waaaghs!. She has fought the Hrud, the Rak'Gol, the Slaugth, the Enslavers, and all so much more beside. She has fought all, killed all, and stood undaunted against their might.

But here, before the face of the Primarch Reborn… Lady Alistana's knees give way underneath her. Though she has the presence of mind still to turn her fall into a kneel, one armoured knee hitting the floor beneath her before she bowed her head.

Before Roboute Guilliman, she would not come as an awestruck novitiate, but as a lady inquisitor of the Holy Inquisition.

The small cry of pain, followed by the clatter of a staff on the ground and a body hitting the floor, tells Lady Alistana that her astropath has other ideas.

"The sun… the son… a star… a star…" The psyker quietly gibbers to himself, his face pressed against the ground like he was afraid to rise for fear of pain.

A low sigh, less than an audible murmur, fills the room.

"We… apologise, for the intrusion, my Lord Guilliman." Alistana says, lifting her head. "I received urgent news and felt bound to… report it…"

Her words trailed off. It was daunting to speak to one such as him. He was as much a man as he was a mountain. A figure of granite and marble encased in cerulean and gold. He towered over all not just in his mighty suit of armour but also just by his sheer presence. It was like a child standing before an Astartes, but even an Astartes, Firstborn or Primaris would be as like a child compared to Roboute Guilliman.

Lady Alistana finds her words stick to her throat.

"I can only apologise for the interruption, Your Majesty." Lord Guilliman's voice is polit and frank, even if Lady Alistana's well versed ears can detect the absolute barest hint of annoyance in his words as he addresses the woman seated before him.

If the Primarch is a mountain, the woman seated before him is a flower, though Lady Alistana would never say that out loud. High Queen of House Dimitrescu, Avalina de Kelemen von Balic de Dimitrescu, Lady Paramount and High Protector of Charis Prime, pilot of the Knight Warden, Honoured Fury. Where Guilliman's face was the weathered façade of a statesman and warrior, High Queen Avalina's face was the pale, porcelain smooth visage of royalty; unblemished by war and cheeks touched lightly with rouge, her soft demure lips tinged lightly with blue, matching the large cream and blue gown, highlight with small bits of red ermine that does nothing to hide the regal form of her armoured and form-fitting bodysuit. She is definitely younger than Lady Alistana, though whether through her actual age or through rejuvenant treatment, the inquisitor cannot say. Even her hair is a beautiful cascade of jet black curls.

"It is quite all right, My Lord Primarch." The woman says, a demure smile on her lips as her soft golden eyes look at the Primarch, then to the kneeling form of the representative of the Holy Ordos. "I know how the Inquisition operates, especially those of the Ordo Xenos. My House has carried out many undertakings with them in the past. If it is urgent, then we can reconvene on this matter at a late time, or when Chapter Master Remudes appears to present himself to us…"

"You should stay, Your Majesty." Lady Alistana says quickly, finding her voice again as she stands upright. "This matter involves a… mutual ally of ours."

Instantly, Guilliman's body changes. He becomes focused, more alert and ready to listen. He says nothing, though as he puts an armoured finger against his chin in a posture reserved for learned men listening to others speaking. High Queen Avalina just looks at the inquisitor in confusion.

"Since the formation of the fleet outside of Voranteus II, I've been aware that the 46th Fleet has been absent for longer than expected." Lady Alistana says, prompting the Primarch to nod his head.

"Indeed, taking into account the situation in the Warp due to the Great Rift and it's affects on the tides of the Warp and the strength of the Astronomican. As to be expected." Guilliman says easily and simply, saying that knowledge that he already knows by heart. "Thirty years is not too outside the margin of error for Warp travel dilation. Have they finally made contact with us?"

Lady Alistana's eyes fall to the floor.

"Lady Inquisitor?" High Queen Avalina says promptly. "What are you not telling us?"

"My astropath and his colleagues detected a wave in the Warp from the direction of the Koraten shipyards, I'm afraid to report… that the 46th Fleet, and the Steel Drakes' chapter has been lost to the Empyrean, all hands."

"I see…" Is all Guilliman says before he reaches beside and draws out a datapad and stylus. His fingers are a blur as he writes quickly. The speed is phenomenal, faster than anything Lady Alistana could imagine for a being of his size.

But out of the corner of her eye, the inquisitor sees something that draws her attention, something even more unexpected. The High Queen of Charis Prime is crying silently, tears falling from her eyes.

"Your Majesty…?" Lady Alistana says, unsure of what to say or do in the situation.

Hearing her words, Lord Guilliman glances at the inquisitor before his eyes turn to Queen Avalina. The cold mask he has on his face falls slightly, replaced with something softer.

"I'm sorry for you to be here to hear this news, Your Majesty. The loss of any Chapter, and so many servants of the Emperor, is a blow to the Imperium."

High Queen Avalina shakes her head ruefully, her hair shaking slightly. "No, it's not that, My Lord. That I know what has befallen those tied to my House through oaths of honour and courage… it pains me, in ways I never thought possible."

Instantly, Guilliman becomes intrigued. "Your family's House is tied to the Steel Drakes Chapter?" Quickly, his digits dance across the datapad in his hand, calling up information for him to view.

Lady Alistana beats him to the quick. "The Steel Drakes took an oath of kinship with House Dimitrescu in the time of High Queen Avalina's fourth-great-grandmother, helping the House slay the Mad High King and protecting them from the… rightful interceding of the Ordo Hereticus. They vouched save for the new High Queen and her followers, and personally led the attacks on the final bastions of the corrupt king's followers. And they have fought numerous battles since."

High Queen Avalina shoots a dangerous look through teary eyes at the inquisitor but says nothing against her. The archives of the Inquisition cover all.

"I see." Guilliman says intrigue, writing away with his stylus again. "As for you, Lady Alistana? I take it you have some connection to the Chapter as well?"

"I do." Lady Alistana says with a nod of her head, turning her head slightly as she watches her astropath stop doing his impression of a Carenag caterpillar. "Long before the opening of the Great Rift, I undertook a mission to cleanse a border world by the name of Calden's Reach to subdue a Genestealer Cult that had taken root there. I seconded a number of Imperial forces to my retinue, including the Chapter of the Steel Drakes under the command of Chapter Master Remudes.

"We've worked together numerous times since then, and though they have had… grievances with aspects of the Inquisition, when we have worked together against xenos threats, they have shown courage, honour and valour that are the content of many stories, My Lord Guilliman. Their history is illustrious and valorous. It's been an honour to work with them."

Pausing his scribing, Guilliman nods his head in understanding before he finishes writing down his notes.

Putting the stylus down, the Primarch raises his head to look at High Queen Avalina. "I see now why you were so insistent about placing your forces alongside the Steel Drakes in combat, even though such a combination is… quite strange, I must admit." He flashes a small smile. "In any case, after hearing of your connection to the Chapter, I would have granted the concession."

A rueful smile comes to High Queen Avalina's face, making her appear as a child before the aged schola teacher.

Turning, Roboute Guilliman looks square at Lady Alistana. "I thank you for your report, Lady Alistana. Such information, even if it is such dark news. An Astartes chapter is a loss that is hard to replace, even in these times. And I feel right to say that the Steel Drakes would have been a boon to our order of battle, not least the compliment of Cadians and Mechanicus personnel they were with."

It does not surprise Lady Alistana that the Lord Commander of the Indomitus Crusade knows the disposition of his various fleets by heart, yet still it does. Purely that a being like the Primarch can call such information out of the air so easily when any other commander would need to consult a number of aides to do the same.

The High Queen rises from her seat. "Since we have nothing further to discuss, My Lord Guilliman, I shall take my leave."

Guilliman rises, his armour lifting the bulk of the Primarch easily, before he bows respectfully. "You may, Your Majesty. I regret that I could not grant you your wish."

High Queen Avalina, gripping the sides of her gown, curtsies deeply to the Primarch. "The fault is not yours, My Lord Guilliman. These times try us all."

With that as her farewell, the High Queen turns gracefully and leaves, putting on the stoic airs of nobility, even though she feels the loss of such honoured fellows deeply. Lady Alistana says nothing as the other woman moves past her.

"Our next meeting is not for several hours, Lady Alistana." Guilliman says moving to stand by a large viewscreen, screeds of information rolling down it. "But I thank you for sharing this information as soon as you received it. A rare move from your order."

Lady Alistana says nothing, knowing the jab when she hears it. The Primarchs disdain for the Inquisition is well known to their ranks. So she says nothing, simply bowing her head as she asks for his leave, which is quickly granted. Gripping a hold of the astropath's arm, the inquisitor exits the room, leaving the Lord Commander alone to take in the information before him.

---

AN: FINALLY DONE! This story is some times fun to write, but often times VERY hard. So much characterization I had to fret and worry about getting right on this one! Especially the big R.G. at the end.

For the bit with Torchwick and Talon, that is a sidestory that is on the Space Battles forum for A Light Against The Darkness, titled the Price of Data by Vox95, and the bit with Marauder is another sidestory called The Chase by DragonBlitz85, so reading those will make some bits make more sense.

Not much to say on this, except a big thank you for being so patient with me on this, and also to check out my , Ciaran's Curios, for updates and preview, and to also check out the Space Battles forum for A Light Against The Darkness if you want to stay more up to date on the goings on in the story.

Thank you for reading and enjoying my work.