Chapter 5: She, Heretic (Valeria's POV)

The data-terminal hums beneath my fingertips, its glow casting pale light over the scrolling text. The infirmary buzzes around me—medicae personnel moving with purpose, the soft beeps of auspex monitors, whispered prayers. My eyes skim over the latest bulletins, propaganda thinly veiled as news. Reports of the ongoing investigation flood the feeds, a relentless tide of warnings and condemnations.

"Executed Heretics Connected to Underhive Insurrection."

The headline snags my attention like a thorn. I hesitate, a knot tightening in my stomach. I tap the link. Names cascade down the screen—strangers, faceless labels of betrayal. Then, a name that stops my heart.

Aurora Daughter of None: Executed for heresy

Her image materializes—a grainy pict capture, but unmistakably her. My breath catches. The world narrows to that single point, the letters blurring as tears well in my eyes.

No! This can't be.

A cold tremor runs through me. My hands grip the edge of the terminal, knuckles whitening. The noise of the infirmary fades, a distant echo. Blood pounds in my ears.

"Valeria?" Sister Elara's voice pierces the haze. "Are you unwell?"

I turn to her, blinking rapidly. Her face swims into focus—concern etched in her eyes.

"I'm... I'm fine," I stammer, forcing the words out. "Just... need some air."

She studies me, doubt shadowing her expression. "Perhaps you should rest."

I nod absently, already stepping away. The walls feel too close, the air too thin. I push through the infirmary doors into the corridor, the cold stone floor grounding me with each step.

Aurora. Executed. Heretic.

The words swirl in my mind, clashing violently with everything I know of her. It's a mistake. It has to be. But the image, the official bulletin—it feels like a blade twisting in my chest.

Sister Helena. She must have known! She would have told me. Wouldn't she?

A surge of betrayal tightens my throat. After everything, to find out like this? I need answers.

I reach a data-terminal mounted on the wall, fingers trembling as I input Helena's locator code. The screen flickers, then displays her current position: the Garden of Heroes.

I turn on my heel, pace quickening as I navigate the maze of corridors. The schola feels different now, the familiar paths distorted by grief and anger. Voices murmur in distant rooms, laughter rings out from a group of novices, oblivious to the storm inside me.

I emerge into the open air, the vast expanse of the Garden stretching before me. The scent hits me first—a heady blend of blossoms and damp earth, rich and overwhelming. The sky above is a wash of grey, clouds hanging low like a shroud.

I step onto the path, my boots crunching over finely crushed gravel. Exotic flowers line the way, their vibrant hues muted in the diffused light. Roses the size of my fist, petals velvety and dark as blood. Lilies with delicate tendrils that sway gently, as if whispering secrets.

The air is thick with humidity, a faint mist clinging to the carefully trimmed hedges shaped into imperial iconography—the aquila, the hammer of the Adeptus Ministorum, the sigil of the Sororitas. Golden statues loom overhead, saints and heroes cast in perfect detail, their eyes gazing skyward in eternal supplication.

Water trickles from ornate fountains, the sound a soft counterpoint to the distant hymns playing from concealed vox-speakers. The melodies twist around me, hollow and mournful.

I barely register the beauty around me, my focus drawn tight like a wire. The garden feels oppressive, the opulence a stark contrast to the turmoil roiling within.

There, ahead—a solitary figure kneels before a towering plinth of obsidian. Sister Helena. She places four wreaths of lilies at its base, her movements precise, almost reverent. The names of the fallen are etched into the stone, a litany of sacrifice.

I approach, each step heavy. The air seems to thicken, my breaths shallow.

"Sister Helena," I call out, my voice sounding foreign to my ears.

She rises smoothly, turning to face me. Her gaze meets mine—steady, unreadable.

"Valeria," she acknowledges. "What brings you here?"

I search her face for any hint of emotion, some flicker of shared grief or regret. There's nothing.

"I just saw the bulletin," I say, the acusation tumbling out. "Aurora's name is listed among the executed heretics. Is it true?"

A silence stretches between us, taut as a drawn bowstring. She inclines her head slightly.

"It is."

A cold wave washes over me. I feel unsteady, as if the ground beneath me has shifted.

"Why didn't you tell me!?" I demand, anger sharpening my tone. "You knew how much she meant to me! You brought me with when we saved her from that… room…" even now memory of Aurora's body, hanging from those hoops of metal and mesh brings the taste of bile to my throat. "How could you let me find out like this?"

Her expression remains impassive. "It was not my place to inform you. The Inquisition has handled it, it is done."

"Not your place?" I echo, incredulous. "You were her mentor! After everything we've been through, you owed me at least that."

She narrows her eyes slightly. "Mind your tone, Novitiate."

I take a step closer, heat rising in my cheeks. "No. I won't be silent. Aurora was my friend—my best friend. She wasn't a heretic. You know that."

"Do I?" she replies coolly. "The judgment has been passed. We all must accept it."

"I won't!" I snap. "She was devoted, faithful. There's been a mistake."

Her gaze hardens and her voice lowers a fraction. "The Inquisition does not make mistakes, suggesting otherwise is extremely inadvisable."

"Then they're lying," I retort, the words charging out before I can stop them.

A flicker of something—disapproval, perhaps anger—passes over her features. "You tread dangerous ground, child."

"Maybe I don't care," I shoot back. "How can you stand there, so detached? Don't you feel anything?"

She straightens, her posture rigid. With two long strides she's right on front of me, staring down with ice in her eyes. "And what, precisely, should I feel for the death of a heretic?"

I hesitate, realizing that everything I'm feeling right in this moment is against, categorically unaligned, with the faith and oaths I've sworn. But all of that is only true if Aurora truly is, was… a heretic, and I can't just accept that!

In my mind I see that scrap of parchment, the poem, those words that just came up from inside me. Words burned away but still resonant inside me like a tide. Now I'll never be able to confide them, not even to Aurora herself…

"I do feel." Helena continues coldly, "contempt." The word hits me harder than a slap to the face, "any other emotion is irrelevant. Duty is all that matters."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" I challenge. "To sleep at night?"

Her jaw tightens. "This conversation serves no purpose. You will cease this line of questioning."

"Or what?" I ask bitterly. "Will you brand me a heretic too? Execute me without so much as a trial?"

"Enough," she snaps, a rare crack in her composure. "You will control yourself, Valeria. You will not dwell on this. You will not have this conversation with anyone else, doing so will only bring you harm."

I stare at her, a mix of hurt and disbelief twisting inside me. "How can you be so cold?"

She takes a measured breath. "I am advising you for your own good. Forget about Aurora. Focus on your duties."

"Forget her?" I whisper, the words like ash in my mouth. "How can I?"

"You will, because you must," she insists. "Associating with a known heretic is dangerous and your association with Aurora is well documented. Feeling remorse, pity, compassion, loss, mourning a condemned heretic?" She pauses for effect, "Do you want to die, Valeria? Do you want to be labeled as part of the rot that the inquisition is excising from our sacred institution? Is that what you believe Aurora would want you to do? Die along with her, for no reason?"

I feel tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "She wasn't a heretic," I say firmly. "And deep down, you know it."

She says nothing, her silence more damning than any response.

"Fine," I mutter, stepping back. "If you won't help me, I'll find answers elsewhere."

"Be mindful of what I've said, Valeria. What I've said has been said as a friend, not as a member of this faculty," she warns. "Curiosity will lead you to ruin."

I turn away, a bitter laugh escaping me. "Perhaps ruin is better than emptiness."

I lurch away, the distance between us growing with each step. The garden's splendor blurs around me, colors smearing into a haze. The scent of flowers turns cloying, the hymns discordant.

My footsteps quicken, almost breaking into a run as I escape the oppressive beauty of the Garden of Heroes. The schola's halls swallow me once more, the familiar architecture offering no comfort.

Faces blur past—novices, sisters, servitors—all moving with purpose, their lives untouched by the void opening within me. I wander without direction, the ache in my chest growing heavier.

Why? Why does it hurt so much?

It's not just how much I… felt for her, not how much I admired her resolve, her ability to stand before a storm, her courage to ask questions that terrified me… it's because I know, I know she wasn't a—

The thought hits me.

Of course she wasn't a heretic!

Of course she never turned her back on the Emperor's light. She would die first, would have died, should have died on at least two occasions first her fall and then beneath the hand of Explicator Sullivan and his barbaric machine. Both times she survived and clung to her faith.

So that's it then, it wasn't her.

God Emperor… It was the marks. I feel my throat go dry just at the thought of them. Sister Helena never told me what they were, but I've heard of the symbols and language of the arch enemy, and I overheard a lot while tending to her for those first two days they let me help stabilize her at the Ordo Malleus complex.

The thought doesn't bring me much comfort, Aurora is still dead. But she wasn't a heretic, she was just marked. Perhaps she truly had eventually succumbed either to the marks themselves or the infection they inflicted. Perhaps listing her as a heretic was just the most convenient way to dispose of her, the evidence, any questions that seeing her body entombed or burned would engender.

But if that's so…

My legs carry me to the gates of the Mechanicus enclave before my mind can catch up. The towering adamantium doors loom ahead, emblazoned with the cog-toothed skull of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The air here is colder, laced with the metallic tang of sacred oils and the ozone bite of charged circuits. Doubt flickers within me, but I press on.

I need answers.

A sensor array scans me—a sweep of crimson light across my features. A chime sounds, and the gates grind open with a hiss of pistons, revealing the austere corridors beyond.

Inside, the world transforms. Gone are the soaring arches and stained glass of the schola. Here, steel and logic prevail. Walls of polished metal house conduits pulsing with dim luminance, inscribed with binaric script and the liturgies of the Omnissiah. The hum of machinery vibrates underfoot, a mechanical heartbeat.

Red-robed tech-priests glide through the passageways, their movements precise, inhuman. Mechadendrites coil and uncoil like metallic serpents, tending to tasks beyond my understanding. Their faces are hidden behind cowls and augmetic masks, eyes glowing with data readouts. They pay me no heed.

I navigate the labyrinthine corridors, the route to Magos Harspes's sanctum etched into my memory from years of visits. The ambient sounds—the clicks, the whirs, the distant hiss of steam—dampen the turmoil within me.

At the door to his chamber, I pause. A knot tightens in my stomach. Am I overstepping? But I need to know.

I press the access rune. A moment passes before a servo-skull detaches from above, descending to eye level. Its optical lens focuses on me, emitting a soft red glow.

"Novitiate Valeria," the vox-emitter crackles with the synthesized voice of Magos Harspes. "State your purpose."

"Magos, I seek audience," I say, striving to steady my voice.

A brief pause. "Access granted."

The door slides open silently. I step into the dim expanse of his sanctum. The air is cooler here, laced with incense and the tang of machine oil. Cogitator banks line the walls, screens flickering with streams of data in binaric code.

Magos Harspes stands at a central console, his back to me. He is a towering figure—a fusion of metal and the barest remnants of flesh. Mechadendrites sprout from his spine, tipped with tools and sensors, moving with a life of their own.

"Magos," I begin, stepping forward. My footsteps echo softly on the metal floor. "I... I have inquiries regarding Aurora."

One of his mechadendrites halts mid-motion. He turns slightly, enough for me to glimpse the side of his face—augmetic implants where human features once were, leaving only a single organic eye, cold and distant.

"Proceed," he intones.

I swallow hard, carefully switching my tone and word choice to match, as best I'm able, the stringent care with which the Magos chooses his words. "I observed the recent dispatch. Aurora has been declared a heretic and executed."

He is silent. The ambient hum fills the space between us.

"I was hoping..." My voice wavers. "I hoped you might have recovered her augmetic limb. It was of your craftsmanship. If I could have a fragment, even a component, it would mean much to me."

He regards me for a moment, expression inscrutable. "The augmetic in question is not available."

Confusion cuts through my grief. "Not available? But surely, with her... demise, it would have been returned to you."

"The limb has not been relinquished into my custody," he states.

"So… they destroyed it!?" For a moment I feel a revulsion nearly equivalent to learning of Aurora's loss. The destruction of—

"The destruction of such a unique and holy implement would not have been undertaken without my personal input, such input has not been sought." The Magos continues, as usual, his ability to continue my line of reasoning borders on mind-reading.

I step closer. "So, if it wasn't destroyed, where is it? Do you know its location?"

He adjusts a cogitator node with meticulous precision. "Its current coordinates are beyond this facility."

"Beyond?" My brow furrows. "Is it still within the possession of the Inquisition?"

He remains silent.

I blink, attempting to parse his words. He's being deliberately vague. Why? The Magos chooses his words with precision. Always.

"Then where... is it?" I ask cautiously.

He continues his work, mechadendrites moving in fluid motions. "I am not authorized to discuss matters pertaining to Inquisitorial operations."

A cold frustration grips me. "So, you can't tell me anything about Aurora?"

He pauses, the faint whir of servos the only sound. "I cannot comment on the status of the individual designated Aurora. I am not authorized to discuss matters pertaining to Inquisitorial operations."

Defeat washes over me. "I understand," I whisper, though I don't. He's shutting me out, just like Sister Helena.

Silence stretches between us. Then, he turns his head slightly, his organic eye fixing on me.

"However," he says slowly, "should you possess inquiries regarding the augmetic limb itself, I am permitted to discuss its specifications and operational parameters for purposes of continuing medical education."

I look up, meeting his gaze. There's a subtle emphasis in his tone, with a member of the mechanicum of his rank, any inflection in tone is the basic human equivalent of jumping up and down and shouting... But why— a flicker of realization sparks. He's offering me a path to continue my inquiry under very specific conditions.

I stare at him for a moment in disbelief.

"Yes," I say carefully. "I would like to understand the limb further from a medical, functional standpoint."

He inclines his head. "Proceed with your query."

I gather my thoughts, choosing my words more carefully than I can ever remember. "Given that the limb was custom-crafted for A— for a specific user, it would require regular maintenance, maintenance unable to be performed by the user, especially after exposure to… to unanticipated and potentially damaging stimulus. Have any recent diagnostics been performed?"

"Affirmative," he replies. "Comprehensive diagnostics were conducted ninety three point two standard days prior."

Hope stirs within me, three months ago! "And the results?"

"Augmetic Limb Serial Theta-47-Zeta was fully restored. Resistance to aggressive, intrusive electrical stimulation exceeded operational expectations. Theta-47-Zeta functions within optimal parameters. Additional redundant pseudo-neural pathways were further implemented during scheduled maintenance seven point two days prior." he states.

I press on, heart pounding, mind racing. "For the limb be functioning, it must interface with a compatible neural network. Bio-mechanical interfaces must be fully operational. Neural linkage must remain intact. Is that correct?"

"Correct. The limb's neuro-link is calibrated exclusively to a singular user's cerebral patterns. This calibration can only be remediated through a total re-build of the limb from base pattern match unique to each individual mind."

"So," I say slowly, unable to keep the tremble out of my voice, "if the limb is operational and interfacing correctly, that would indicate that Aurora's neural patterns are... active."

He does not respond immediately. "I cannot comment on the status of the individual designated Aurora. I am not authorized to discuss matters pertaining to Inquisitorial operations. Addendum, your medical reasoning concerning function is logically sound."

A surge of realization washes over me. He's telling me she's alive, without violating his restrictions. I swallow, a chill running down my spine. He may see it that way, but the inquisition surely wouldn't…

"Magos," I whisper, wiping my eyes on the hem of my robe, "is it possible that Aurora is still... functioning?"

He turns fully toward me, his augmetic eye whirring softly as it focuses. "I cannot provide data on that subject."

"But the limb's status suggests..." I trail off, taking a deep breath. I try to slow my heart and focus, working to understanding the boundaries he's confined by.

He resumes adjusting components on his console. "Data indicates continued operation of the limb's systems."

"Why would they declare her executed if she's not dead?" I whisper to myself, my mind racing in a dozen directions as I collapse onto a bench.

He continues his work, responding as though the question had been asked of him. "Information dissemination by an effective organization unerringly serves purposes aligned with efficient completion of an organization's strategic objectives."

I consider his words. The Inquisition deals in shadows and secrets. Could they have falsified her death for some greater plan?

"Is there any method to verify the limb's operational status independent of direct physical contact?" I inquire.

He pauses. "The limb transmits periodic machine-code bursts for maintenance and performance assessment."

"Have there been any recent transmissions?" I ask, hope rising as I get swiftly back to my feet.

"Affirmative," he states. "The most recent data packet was received twelve point five hours prior."

Twelve hours ago. She's alive. She must be.

"Magos, could I study these transmissions? For educational purposes?" I venture. There's no possibility at all that the transmission location won't be in the log. Giving it to me would be the same as telling me where it is, something he refused to do earlier…

He regards me steadily. "Access to raw data is restricted. However, I can provide you with redacted performance logs for analysis."

"Thank you," I say earnestly. He knows what I want to know. He won't tell me because he can't. I can't believe he's doing this much! Although… from his perspective… does it even occur to him that there's such a thing as the spirit of the law, a spirit which he is clearly violating? I stare into his one organic eye and find absolutely nothing given away in its depths.

"Knowledge must be utilized efficiently," he says, as though reading my thoughts again.

I shake my head briefly, "why are you helping me?"

"Hope is a positive motivating factor," he replies as if the answer were obvious, "amongst my primary directives is the efficient education of ascendants to the mechanicum and, by extension, students seeking knowledge to increase the efficiency of education through supplementary data sharing outside formal classroom structures."

"You're… tutoring me?"

"An oversimplified but adequate comparison." He turns his face back to his work, "do you have additional medical queries?"

I pause, then carefully frame my next question. "Does the limb require any adjustments or recalibrations that only you can perform?"

"Certain modifications are exclusive to my design specifications. Remote adjustments are feasible when necessary. Further, the augmetic possesses a series of modular pathways to prevent cascade failure allowing for significant operation between maintenance cycles. However, modifications to ensure proper proportional fit and balance as the user's body mass increases with maturity are only possible with direct access to the augmetic by myself."

"Then you may interact with the limb again," I say, gauging his response.

He turns again and meets my gaze. "The probability of future maintenance operations is significant."

He's smiling. I don't know how I know, but by the Emperor I know he's smiling at me. He's… proud.

My own sense of pride in the accomplishment is tempered by the fact that, if interrogator Faust were standing here during this exchange, he'd probably execute me.

"Thank you," I whisper, gratitude and relief mixing within me.

He inclines his head slightly. "Further inquiries into the limb's schematics are encouraged for your medical advancement."

"I would greatly appreciate any schematics or technical documents you can provide," I say.

"I will transfer the relevant data to a portable cogitator for your use and highlight sections of particular importance to the continued efficiency of your scholastic pursuits. You may return it at such a time as you feel it no longer serves an educational purpose." he replies.

Exiting the Mechanicus enclave, the cold air of the schola grounds bites at my cheeks. The sky has darkened, heavy with the threat of rain, mirroring the tumult within me. Hope, fragile yet persistent, flutters in my chest.

As I navigate the winding corridors back to my quarters, the familiar sights pass in a blur. Novices bustle about, their conversations a distant murmur. Candles flicker in wall sconces, casting long shadows that dance along the stone walls. My mind churns with possibilities, questions, and the silent promise that Aurora might still be out there.

Pushing open the heavy door to my chamber, I'm greeted by darkness. I step inside, the scent of parchment and incense comforting in its familiarity. Before I can reach for the lumen globe, a soft whirring sound halts me. My heart skips a beat.

A crimson glow pierces the shadows. Hovering near my desk is a servo-skull, but unlike any I've seen before. It's larger, fashioned from the skull of, perhaps an ogryn, or otherwise enhanced humanoid creature I can't readily identify. Intricate circuitry weaves across its bone surface, and dozens of mechadendrites adorned with tiny sensors and tools coil beneath it like metallic tendrils. This is no mere portable cogitator…

"Sacred Omnissiah…" I breathe, finding the lumen switch.

"Novitiate Valeria," it intones in a synthesized voice reminiscent if not a perfect copy of Magos Harspes, yet tonally distinct. "I am designation Harspes-1b. Authorization granted to relay information pertaining to Augmetic Limb Serial Theta-47-Zeta, as per educational directive. Be advised: certain data remains classified and has been redacted."

I blink, the surprise momentarily overriding my composure. "Harspes-1b," I repeat. "May I... refer to you as Bee?"

A pause, then: "Designation abbreviation acknowledged and accepted."

I manage a faint smile and make the sign of the cog. "Very well, Bee. Did Magos Harspes send you?"

"Affirmative. I am tasked with facilitating your inquiry into the specified holy augmetic device."

I pull out the chair to my desk and take a seat. "Thank you. Bee, can you provide me with the coordinates from which the last data transmission from Theta-47-Zeta originated?"

"The requested information is restricted and has been redacted," Bee replies.

I nod, having anticipated this. "Understood. Has Magos Harspes highlighted any data for my immediate review?"

"Affirmative," Bee confirms. "One area of technical operation has been marked as priority data. Priority data encompasses automated transmission protocols and pathways utilized by Augmetic Limb Theta-47-Zeta."

"Please proceed," I say.

Bee emits a soft chime before launching into what must be a direct quote. "Theta-47-Zeta transmits data bursts via encrypted machine-code pulses, utilizing omnidirectional vox, dynamic-channel frequency-hopping protocols. Upon emission, these signals interface with local, active vox-relay nodes capable of retransmission until a node capable of sufficient Mechanicus decryption is reached. The initial relay captures the data packet, which is then routed through sub-networks employing tertiary logic circuits to obfuscate origin points before reaching Magos Harspes's primary cogitator array."

The technical jargon washes over me like a torrent. While I've spent considerable time around the Mechanicus, much of their specialized language remains arcane. I catch fragments: frequencies, vox-relays, channels.

"Wait," I interject, holding up a hand. "You're saying that the data burst is first received by the local vox-relay node?"

"Correct," Bee affirms. "Proximity transmission to an active relay for repeat broadcast ensures optimal efficiency and reduces signal degradation."

A thought sparks. If I can identify the vox-relay that first received the transmission, I might narrow down Aurora's location.

"Bee," I begin carefully, "can you provide the designation of the vox-relay node that initially received the last data burst from Theta-47-Zeta?"

There is a brief hesitation, a soft whirring as Bee's optical sensors adjust. "Accessing relay logs. Cross-referencing with redaction protocols."

I hold my breath.

"Designation of initial vox-relay node is: Gilead Primus Subsector 12, Relay Station Sigma-9, Vox Relay 111-Nu."

My heart leaps. "Sigma," I repeat. "That's... that's within the lower hive, isn't it?"

"Affirmative," Bee confirms. "Relay Station Sigma-9, Sector Sigma services communications within the lower levels of Gilead Primus for use of the arbites and PDF, however volume of traffic suggests that denizens frequently access the system without proper authorization."

The lower hive. If Aurora's augmetic transmitted from there, then she must be somewhere within that realm.

But how, why?

"Thank you, Bee," I say, my mind racing. "This information is... incredibly helpful."

"Further inquiries are encouraged by Magos Harspes for comprehensive understanding," Bee replies.

I pause, considering my next move. As much as my heart is leaping in my chest I can't just venture into the lower hive without sanction, especially after recent events. But if there's a chance to find her... or even contact her…

"Bee, is there any way to enhance the signal tracing to determine a more precise location?"

"Signal triangulation is limited due to the encryption and the obfuscation protocols in place," Bee explains. "However, analysis of transmission intervals and relay patterns could potentially narrow the area."

I pause, trying to parse the words, "meaning that if additional transmissions occur, analysis could be performed to narrow the potential location of the augmetic for… say… recovery purposes." I mentally cross my fingers. "Could you perform that analysis?"

"Affirmative."

"Can you perform that analysis now, based on the last three data blurts from Theta-47-Zeta?"

"Processing request."

As Bee processes, I glance out the narrow window of my chamber. The cityscape of Gilead Primus stretches beyond, a labyrinth of spires and shadows. The weight of the decision settles upon me. Sister Helena's words come back to haunt me; curiosity will lead you to ruin.

"Analysis complete," Bee announces. "Based on available data, the probable transmission origin is confined to a sector radius of approximately 2.7 kilometers within the lower hive."

I exhale slowly. "Can you gather additional data for me if I request it, even if it's not directly related to Theta-47-Zeta?"

"Magos Harspes has authorized me to assist in your educational efforts."

Boundaries…

"Bee," I intone, making a snap decision, "are you familiar with my academic record?"

"Affirmative."

"And would it be the opinion of Magos Harspes that I am significantly ahead of my peers due to my frequent interactions with the Magos?"

"Affirmative."

"Quantify my progress and delineate the difference between myself and my peers in standard educational cycles."

The skull bobs slightly, almost as if listening to an unheard voice, "subject Valeria Progena exceeds the educational pace of adjacent subjects by two point eight eight standard cycles."

I blink several times. I had been hoping for a year, almost three meant… The Magos believed I was already qualified to undergo the trials and be named a full Sister Hospitaller. I snort, well, that's not something Chief Hospitaller Amara will allow but…

"Bee, come with me," I grab my ceremonial shroud and trigger the door. Rain ours down around me, above me lightning plays between the highest spires, "I have someone I need you to repeat that last assessment to…"

The rain is a cold curtain against my skin as I step out from the Mechanicus enclave. Harspes-1b hovers beside me, its crimson optics casting a faint glow in the dimming light. The sky above is a roiling mass of black clouds, pierced occasionally by jagged forks of lightning. The schola's spires loom like silent sentinels, their gothic arches reaching toward the turbulent heavens.

I pull my cloak tighter, the fabric heavy with moisture. My original path was to Sister Amara, but a new thought grips me—a detour that might solidify my plan. I turn toward the Libra Primus, the grand library of the schola, its vast repository of knowledge both sacred and arcane.

"Bee," I say, my voice barely audible over the distant rumble of thunder.

"Awaiting directives," the servo-skull replies, its tone devoid of inflection.

"There's something I need you to help me with before we see Sister Amara."

"Directive acknowledged."

We navigate the labyrinthine corridors, the halls eerily quiet at this hour. Candles flicker in wall sconces, casting elongated shadows that dance along the stone walls. The scent of old parchment and incense grows stronger as we approach the library's towering doors, crafted from dark wood and embossed with the Aquila.

Pushing them open, we're greeted by the vast expanse of the Libra Primus. Rows upon rows of towering shelves stretch into the shadows above, laden with tomes bound in cracked leather and scrolls sealed with wax. The silence here is profound, broken only by the faint rustling of pages and the distant footsteps of a lone scribe.

Prior to entry a servitor stops us and I'm required to towel off and leave my outer robe to meet the library's strict permittable moisture requirements. As I dry, I see entire sections of the library sealed off by temporary walls and barriers, a testament just how bad the explosion and subsequent fire ravaged the building and what great work remains to restore it.

I lead Bee to one of the alcoves equipped with data terminals. Settling into the worn wooden chair, I activate the terminal. The screen flickers to life, lines of code scrolling rapidly.

"Bee, I need you to access the library's cogitator array, recent information, past six months," I whisper, conscious of the sacredness of this place. "Search for sanctioned activities in the lower hive, sector Sigma. Exclude any operations conducted by the Mechanicus."

"Initiating system interface," Bee responds. Its mechadendrites extend, delicate tendrils interfacing with the terminal's ports. Tiny sparks of electricity dance along the connectors.

I watch as streams of data cascade across the screen, too fast for me to follow. My fingers tap anxiously on the edge of the desk.

"Accessing records of sanctioned activities in Lower Hive Sector Sigma," Bee intones. "Data retrieval in progress."

I glance around. The library remains undisturbed. No one seems to notice or care about our activities.

"Compilation complete," Bee announces. "Sanctioned activities within Sector Sigma are limited."

"List them, please," I say.

"Activities include: periodic purge operations by Planetary Defense Forces, press-ganging efforts for labor conscription, and the presence of a singular Adeptus Arbites precinct designated Sigma-1."

An Arbites precinct. My heart quickens. That could be my way in.

"Bee, provide detailed information on Arbites Precinct Sigma-1," I request.

"Processing."

The screen shifts, displaying schematics, reports, and operational logs. I lean forward, eyes widening at the wealth of information unfolding before me.

"Arbites Precinct Sigma-1," Bee begins. "Established 843 standard years prior. Standard objectives: enforcement of Imperial law, suppression of heretical activities, maintenance of order within Sector Sigma. Operational specialty: security of hive critical infrastructure."

"Go on," I urge.

"Operational directives include but are not limited to:

· Protection and oversight of critical infrastructure nodes, including geothermal power substation 1172-bz and corpse starch processing facility 6-yyz.

· Inspection and maintenance coordination of primary aqua-ducts responsible for water purification and distribution.

· Security of vox-relay stations facilitating communication networks vital to planetary defense and governance.

· Monitoring and regulation of underhive gang activity to prevent incursions into sanctioned zones.

· Coordination with the Departmento Munitorum for the retrieval and conscription of able-bodied individuals for Imperial Guard recruitment drives and flesh tithes.

· Execution of sanctioned raids on suspected heretical enclaves.

· Oversight of waste management systems and the prevention of toxic seepage affecting upper hive inhabitants.

· Implementation of quarantine protocols in response to outbreaks of disease or bio-contaminants."

I stare at the screen, absorbing the staggering amount of detail. Each point is accompanied by sub-reports, incident logs, and tactical assessments spanning hundreds of years. It's far more than I expected to access.

"Bee, how are you obtaining all this?" I ask, unable to mask my astonishment.

"Data retrieval is within authorized parameters for educational purposes," Bee replies.

Educational purposes. Is this the Magos's influence? I swallow and decide not to look a gift femur in the marrow and press on.

"Display recent operation summaries," I instruct.

"Displaying summaries of operations conducted within the last six standard months:

Operation Steel Veil

Location: Geothermal Substation, Sector Sigma
Reporting Officer: Proctor Jeremiah Grosch

Objective: Secure Geothermal Substation 3 following reports of sabotage attempts by local gang factions, ensuring uninterrupted power supply to mid-hive districts.

Summary: Intelligence indicated sabotage activities targeting Geothermal Substation 3 by underhive gangs aiming to disrupt power to mid-hive sectors. A contingent of Enforcers, under my command, was dispatched to secure the facility and eliminate any threats.

Actions Taken:

Insertion: The team deployed to the substation's main entrance, achieving complete tactical surprise.

Engagement: Upon entry, we encountered resistance from gang members armed with autoguns and improvised explosives, numbering approximately forty combatants.

Tactics: Utilizing shock mauls and suppression shields, Enforcers advanced methodically, employing disciplined volleys of shotgun fire. Smoke grenades were deployed to obscure enemy lines of sight.

Results:

Enemy Casualties: All hostile elements were neutralized. Thirty gang members eliminated; remaining hostiles fled into deeper tunnels.

Arbites Injuries: Five Enforcers sustained minor injuries due to shrapnel and blunt force impacts. All are expected to make full recoveries.

Outcome: Sabotage attempts were thwarted. The substation remained fully operational, preventing a potential power outage affecting millions of Imperial citizens.

Conclusion: Operation Steel Veil was a decisive success, demonstrating the effectiveness of the Adeptus Arbites of precinct Sigma-1 in safeguarding vital infrastructure against underhive threats. The valor and professionalism of all Enforcers involved upheld the honor of the Emperor's law.

Signed,
Proctor Jeremiah Grosch—"

My mind reels as a dozen additional operations scroll past, demonstrating the vast scope of their duties. The Arbites here aren't merely enforcers; they're the thin line holding back chaos from consuming the hive! Each operation is a testament to a relentless struggle to maintain order against all odds and the valor of the precinct sigma-1 enforcers and troopers. This is exactly the kind of in I need to get close to Aurora…

I collect my robe from the warming stone beside the libra primus entrance, the fabric now dry and warm against my fingers. The storm outside still rages, sheets of rain hammering against the stained-glass windows, lightning casting fleeting shadows across the vaulted ceilings. Bee hovers beside me, its optic sensors flickering softly.

"Bee," I say, pulling the robe over my shoulders, "we're going to see the chief hospitaller, Sister Amara."

"Directive acknowledged," Bee replies, its mechadendrites retracting with a faint whirr.

We set off through the covered walkways connecting the libra primus to the administration wing. The corridors are dimly lit, sconces casting pools of golden light that fight against the encroaching gloom. The air smells of incense and old parchment, a comforting blend that does little to calm the storm within me.

My footsteps echo against the marble floors, each step a beat in the drum of my resolve. I glance at Bee, its presence a silent reminder of the Magos's support. The data I've gathered feels like a weight in my satchel, heavy with potential.

Reaching the double doors of Sister Amara's office, I pause. The carved wood is adorned with symbols of the Adepta Sororitas and the Rod of Asclepius, a testament to the duality of our path—faith and healing intertwined.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "Emperor guide me," I whisper, pressing the chime.

"Enter," comes the firm voice from within.

Pushing the doors open, I'm greeted by the soft glow of lumen globes reflecting off shelves lined with tomes and vials of medicinal herbs. Sister Amara stands behind her desk, her mechadendrites coiling gracefully around surgical instruments laid out for cleaning. Her gaze meets mine, sharp yet not unkind.

"Novitiate Valeria," she says, her voice measured. "To what do I owe this visit?"

I step forward, inclining my head respectfully. "Sister Amara, I seek your counsel on a matter of some importance."

Her silver eyebrow arches slightly. "Proceed."

Bee hovers beside me, and I gesture to it. "Magos Harspes has permitted me the use of Harspes-1b to aid in my studies. Bee, please relay the Magos' assessment."

"Directive received," Bee intones. "Magos Biologis Harspes assesses Novitiate Valeria's academic and practical performance to be equivalent to a candidate two point eight eight standard years ahead of her current educational cycle."

Sister Amara's gaze shifts to Bee, then back to me. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Sister," I affirm. "I've dedicated myself fully to my studies, both theological and medical. The Magos believes I am prepared for more advanced challenges."

She folds her hands atop the desk. "And do you believe you are prepared?"

"I do," I reply without hesitation.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "Confidence is admirable, but humility is a virtue we must not forget."

I nod. "Of course, Sister. I am ever mindful of the Emperor's teachings."

"Indeed." She leans back slightly. "Understand this," she continues after her assessing eyes have passed over me several times. "I have no intention of allowing you to graduate early or attempt your trials ahead of time. The path to becoming a full Sister Hospitaller is arduous and must be walked in its entirety."

"I accept that, Sister Amara."

"However," she allows a faint smile, "I am impressed by your initiative, it is a bold thing to come to me with this assessment and I sense a great conviction behind your purpose here. The Emperor favors those who act with purpose, please, present your request."

I draw a steadying breath, this is it, this is my one chance to find Aurora without leaving the confines of my duty… God Emperor help me... "I wish to request an assignment to Arbites Precinct Sigma-1 for a full educational cycle. The precinct operates in Sector Sigma of the lower hive, an area with frequent engagements against gang elements. I believe the practical experience in treating combat injuries and performing field surgeries would be invaluable."

Her expression becomes thoughtful. "Field assignments are typically reserved for those on the chirurgeon or medicae paths. You aspire to be a Sister Hospitaller, do you not?"

"I do, Sister Amara. But the experiences I could gain there would greatly enhance my capabilities when I eventually serve on battlefields alongside our sisters."

She regards me for a long moment, her mechadendrites stilling their movements. "Your dedication is unquestionable, Valeria. Your academic record is exemplary, and your faith is steadfast."

"Thank you, Sister."

"However," she continues, "assigning a novitiate to such a perilous location is not a decision made lightly. The lower hive is fraught with dangers beyond mere physical harm, a point very poignantly displayed in the recent violence against this very institutional body and its members."

"I understand the risks," I say earnestly. "But I am prepared to face them in service to the Emperor."

She rises from her chair, moving around the desk to stand before me. The absence of her right arm is filled by a complex array of mechadendrites, each one a marvel of the Mechanicus's art. They move with a fluid grace, tools glinting like silver fingers.

"Tell me," she says softly, "why are you so eager to return to the underhive?"

I meet her gaze. "Because our duty is to heal and to serve, wherever we are needed most. The Arbites in Precinct Sigma-1 face constant threats, and their need for medical support is great. I wish to lend my skills where they can make the most difference."

She studies me, eyes searching. "And this has nothing to do with recent events concerning your friends?"

A cold finger traces down my spine. How? How could she know!? "S-Sister?"

"Do not feign ignorance," she chides gently "I know what motivates the fire I see in you. I am aware of the bond you shared with our sisters who died in that costly retreat. You have come in here clearly masking your emotions, hurt, loss, anxiety, and a fearsome resolve."

I nod mutely, not trusting my voice to betray my relief. Not Arora, she doesn't think this is about her…

"Their losses weigh heavily on us all." One of her mechadendrites snakes down from her arm and wraps itself warmly around my wrist, a comforting gesture, but the significance is not lost on me. She is listening to my pulse, tasting my sweat, assessing my response. "I must know that you are not doing this out of some misguided sense of guilt for not being there, standing beside them. Ours is not the way of seeking martyrdom, nor will I tolerate a belief for the need to self-flagellate for circumstances beyond your control."

I lower my eyes. "The loss from that day weighs heavily on me, Chief Hospitaller," I admit honestly. "But my request is not driven by grief. It is driven by only purpose; purpose go and do more than what another year in these walls would allow me." That too is truth, though not all of it.

Silence stretches between us, filled only by the soft hum of Bee's systems. The mechadendrite retreats back into her arm.

Finally, she nods. "Your resolve is commendable. And perhaps a change of environment would serve you well."

Hope flares in my chest. "Then you will consider my request?"

"I will do more than that," she says, a hint of a smile returning. "I will grant it."

"Truly?" I breathe.

"Yes. I have an excellent working relationship with the Lord Marshal of the Arbites. He has often requested additional support, and I believe assigning you will benefit all parties."

"Thank you, Sister Amara! I am deeply grateful."

She stands and walks around the desk to place a hand on my shoulder, her grip firm. "Know this, Valeria. This assignment will test you in ways the schola cannot. You will witness the worst the hive has to offer. Those around you will need you for more than just medical support, but spiritual healing as well. Be sure that in lending that support you yourself are not borne down by the weaker faiths of those outside our order. I have faith that you will uphold the virtues of our order in every way."

"I will not falter, Sister. I swear it."

"Good." She releases me, turning back to her desk. "Prepare your belongings. You depart at dawn."

"Dawn?" I echo, the reality settling in.

"Time is of the essence," she remarks. "And with most scholastic pursuits still restricted by the ongoing investigations I see no reason to delay your departure. And Valeria?"

"Yes, Sister?"

"While you are there, remember that you represent not only the Adepta Sororitas but the entire ecclesiarchy. Conduct yourself with the dignity and honor befitting a Sister Hospitaller."

"I will, Sister Amara."

She nods. "May the Emperor's light guide you."

As I turn to leave, Bee follows silently. My heart races with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. The path ahead is uncertain, but it's a path that leads me closer to Aurora.

Exiting the administration wing, I step into the corridor, the sounds of the schola muted around me. Bee hovers at my side, its presence a comforting constant.

"Bee," I say quietly.

"Awaiting instruction," it responds.

"Thank you for your assistance."

"Gratitude is unnecessary. Fulfillment of directive is its own reward."

A small smile touches my lips. "Even so, I appreciate it."

We walk in silence back to my quarters, the weight of the impending journey heavy yet welcome. The storm outside shows no sign of abating, but within me, a new determination burns bright.

I will find you, Aurora. Whatever it takes.