PoV: Runepriest Anrake Vedun

  Watching the Sovereign loom into view on the monitors in his cabin, Anrake felt a rare rush of excitement ripple through him; something he hadn’t felt in decades.

  It had been far, far too long since an assignment had piqued his interest, so much so that agreeing to this entire endeavor at Zephyr’s request had felt like a spark in an otherwise monotonous stretch of existence.

  The Brass had, of course, objected vociferously.

  They had thrown every obstacle they could think of to prevent him from leaving, attempting to shackle him with a Star Sector’s worth of bureaucratic responsibilities.

  They’d dismissed the mission as a “frivolous endeavor,” their disdain practically dripping off the official memos urging him to reconsider; to remain as a mere tool in their arsenal for another couple of decades.

  Their resistance had only made him more eager to accept.

  Their inability to comprehend the appeal of this particular assignment only underscored how badly they’d misjudged him—and how utterly stagnant they’d become in their thinking.

  And now, here he was.

  The Sovereign itself stood as a monumental promise of something new, something interesting. Recruit Thea McKay, if the files and reports he’d read bore even a grain of truth, was shaping up to be a truly fascinating subject.

  Anrake leaned back with a satisfied chuckle.

  ‘Finally,’ he thought to himself, ‘something worth my time...’

  The endless cycle of watching the Brass claw at territories, wringing every bit of power and influence from their grasp like desperate traders, had worn thin over the years.

  He had no desire to wait another sixty years for a significant development amidst the predictable stalemate of inter-factional skirmishes.

  No, this was a diversion—a gamble, perhaps—but one he relished.

  Reaching for the datapad containing the files of every person aboard the Sovereign, he began to flip through the profiles once more, letting the images and names cascade across the screen in rapid succession.

  Each face was instantly familiar, every detail of their files permanently etched into his mind.

  His omniscient recollection, a fortuitous side-effect of his Psychic Awakening, had transformed his already exceptional memory into something reaching deep into the realm of impossibility.

  He remembered everything—every word ever spoken around him, every image ever glimpsed, every piece of data he had read, consciously or otherwise.

  Each detail was seared into his mind with perfect clarity, as though his brain were an infinitely deep storage with no decay.

  Learning the names and profiles of the thousands of Marines aboard the Sovereign was child’s play. Twelve datapads, set to flash profiles at five images per second, had been more than enough for him to absorb the information with ease.

  Yet, despite his flawless recall, he found himself reviewing the data one last time.

  It was a nervous tick, a lingering remnant of the young Marine he had once been—an anxious Recruit desperate to avoid the humiliation of forgetting a name or detail.

  The memory of Lieutenant Iorun’uma tearing into him in front of half his Drive for botching the Lieutenant’s name was still seared into his mind, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. He could still hear the Lieutenant’s biting words, feel the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, and taste the acrid sting of his own embarrassment.

  It was a not-so-fun side effect of perfect recall—reliving every mortifying moment with crystal clarity. No matter how many centuries had passed, that small, all-too-human insecurity lingered, stubborn and unyielding.

  Some habits, it seemed, truly were timeless, he had long come to realise.

  He only put the data-pad away when the comms chimed, and the Captain’s voice informed him that they were making their final descent.

  As the transport ship began its approach, the hangar bay of the IGS Sovereign loomed into view, a vast cavernous opening carved into the immense troop transporter’s hull.

  The ship’s lights illuminated the expanse of the hangar, revealing layers of catwalks, docking arms, and machinery in perfect symmetry. The Sovereign swallowed the smaller vessel with ease, the hangar doors closing behind them like the maw of some immense, mechanical beast.

  Anrake leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together in a gesture that was almost meditative.

  His nerves were buzzing, not with apprehension, but with pure, unfiltered exhilaration.

  The Sovereign’s sheer presence was electric, its atmosphere alive with potential and purpose. It was only a few minutes now until he would finally set foot on its decks and delve into the heart of the experiment that had drawn him all the way out here.

  ‘Time to see if you live up to the hype, Recruit McKay. Make it worth my time, I beg of you…’

  “I thank you and your crew for your truly commendable hospitality, Captain Sona,” Anrake offered with a light bow. The gesture, slight and graceful, made the young Captain nearly stumble in her haste to return it with a much deeper bow, her nervousness evident despite her obvious efforts to maintain composure.

  “Do send my kindest regards to Ensign Loran and Ensign Omuna for their diligent efforts in making my stay as pleasant as possible. And, of course, to Chef Walenz for her phenomenal desserts—they were truly delectable.”

  “O… Of course, Venerable Runepriest! It shall be done!” the Captain stammered, straightening into a direly serious salute, as though she had just been given a command to charge headlong into the most dangerous reaches of the Void.

  Anrake sighed internally, masking his exasperation with a serene expression. ‘Venerable this, Venerable that… Is it too much to ask for someone to pretend, just for a moment, that I’m still human somewhere in here?’

  But he allowed no hint of this irritation to surface, the Captain wasn’t at fault here, after all.

  He simply nodded once more in farewell with a gentle smile before turning toward the bulkhead.

  He passed through the series of reinforced doors with an unhurried grace, each hiss and clunk of the seals marking his steps closer to the Sovereign’s vast expanse. As the final bulkhead opened, the ramp leading to the troop transporter’s deck descended smoothly.

  Anrake stopped just at its apex, pausing to take in the sight arrayed before him.

  The hangar bay stretched out in all directions like a cathedral, its towering walls and vaulted ceilings gleaming under the stark white lights. Gantries and walkways spanned the space like the web of a colossal spider, their intricacies disappearing into the vastness above.

  But for all its grandeur, the hangar was suspiciously empty—almost unnervingly so.

  Apart from half a dozen Lieutenants arranged in a precise formation near the base of the ramp, the space was devoid of the usual bustle and chaos of a ship of this size. Their crisp uniforms and stiff postures made it clear they were there to welcome him personally.

  He chuckled softly to himself, the sound almost lost in the cavernous quiet.

  ‘That’s your doing, Zephyr, isn’t it? You never did miss an opportunity to tease me…’

  His sharp eyes scanned the scene once more, taking in the deliberate precision of the arrangement. It bore all the hallmarks of her particular brand of mischief, for she knew all too well that he hated ceremonies.

  But, at the end of the day, there was no rush.

  After weeks aboard the transport, touring the Void from half a galaxy away, he could afford to savor this moment.

  For just an instant longer, he allowed himself to enjoy the stillness, the rare privilege of standing at the threshold of something new and potentially extraordinary.

  Such was his prerogative as Runepriest. After all, nobody could tell him to hurry up.

  He answered to no one—not truly.

  “Did you die of old age standing up there, or has your mind finally gone, and you forgot how to descend a ramp, oldy?” came the all-too-familiar, and yet far-too-rarely heard, voice that painted a grin on his face in an instant.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Anrake caught the Lieutenants flinch as though physically struck by the blatant lack of decorum. The awkward stiffness of their posture, the way their gazes darted between him and the speaker, all betrayed their discomfort.

  He could almost hear their unspoken protests: “How dare she address a Runepriest in such a manner?!”

  But the weight of their reactions rolled off him like water off polished steel. He couldn’t care less about their sense of propriety, even if he had tried—and he most certainly didn’t.

  His eyes darted toward the speaker in question, and he froze for the briefest of moments.

  Zephyr Quinn had changed more than he had expected over the past decades.

  The face that greeted him now was both familiar and utterly transformed.

  Gone was the cherubic charm of the young Marine he once knew, replaced by a razor-sharp edge that bordered on predatory. Her toothy grin, equal parts challenge and mockery, held a viciousness that made Anrake feel as if he were stepping into an arena rather than a ship.

  Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight braid, revealing sharp features that seemed to have been chiseled by years on the battlefield and untold, hard-won victories. Her eyes, once playful and curious, now gleamed with a cunning intelligence that made him reconsider every interaction they had ever shared.

  She stood with an easy confidence, one hand casually resting on her hip, the other holding what appeared to be a datapad she had no intention of reading.

  He let his grin grow wider, allowing himself to relish the moment. ‘Surprises already? Oh, Zephyr, you are spoiling me rotten!’

  “You’ve grown into quite the charmer, haven’t you?” he finally replied, his voice dripping with mock affection. He began descending the ramp slowly, his movements deliberately unhurried, as though he were savoring the journey rather than the destination.

  Zephyr’s grin widened further, if that were even possible, and she crossed her arms, cocking her head slightly. “Charmer? Hardly. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re still worth my time, or if you’ve turned into some decrepit relic of a bygone era. I really hope it’s the former, because I don’t really have another Runepriest to pull out of my hat for this.”

  The Lieutenants collectively stiffened at her words, their mortification palpable, but Anrake’s laugh cut through the tension like a blade. It was a deep, booming sound that echoed across the hangar, as genuine as it was amused.

  “Oh, I’ve very much missed you, Zephyr,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of both nostalgia and anticipation. “It’s good to see that you haven’t mellowed out with age.”

  “And it’s good to see that you haven’t keeled over yet,” she shot back, her grin softening slightly as her eyes appraised him more seriously. “But don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got a lot to discuss, and not all of it will be to your liking.”

  Anrake chuckled again, reaching the bottom of the ramp. “That’s the best part of being here, isn’t it? The unexpected.”

  Zephyr’s gaze narrowed slightly, the gleam in her eyes hinting at something deeper. “Oh, trust me, oldy. Unexpected doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  Stepping off the ramp and onto the Sovereign’s deck for the first time, Anrake felt his Presence surge forward instinctively, rushing to claim the unfamiliar space around him like an expanding storm.

  The very air seemed to ripple and bow under the weight of his existence.

  Instantaneously, the arrayed Lieutenants crumpled to the ground like puppets with their strings cut as consciousness left their bodies.

  His Psychic Telekinesis responded on pure instinct, catching their bodies mid-fall and gently lowering them to the deck before they could sustain injury. Even Zephyr herself was forced down to her knees, her face pale as she struggled to draw in a breath.

  The sight struck him like a blow.

  His exhilaration was immediately replaced by a pang of guilt.

  He hadn’t realized just how much his Presence had spilled over before stepping off the transport. With a deliberate effort of will, he reined it back in, pulling the suffocating force back to what he considered its absolute minimum. The Sovereign’s deck no longer felt as “his,” but at least those around him could breathe again—hopefully.

  “I’m so sorry, Zephyr,” he began, his voice tinged with genuine regret as he stepped closer to her. “I… I’m not really used to new places anymore. Forgive me. I thought I’d pulled enough of it back not to cause issues like this…”

  He extended a hand toward her, but before he could say anything further, Zephyr interrupted him with a laugh—an unrestrained, melodic sound that caught him completely off guard.

  “Horatio owes me a favour now,” she said, her grin returning as she braced herself against her knees and pushed upright. Her breathing was still labored, but her mischievous energy was unmistakable. “Thank you, oldy. Made a bet with him, told him this would happen. You’ve never been good at easing into new places, have you?”

  Anrake blinked at her, his guilt giving way to bemusement. “You bet on me overwhelming half the deck crew?”

  Zephyr scoffed, her grin widening into something almost predatory. “Half? Oldy, why do you think I cleared the entire deck before your arrival? Trust me, it wasn’t for dramatic effect.”

  She dusted off her knees with an exaggerated flair, her uniform straightening under quick, practiced movements. “I wouldn’t be surprised if every Psyker aboard the Sovereign just got the psychic equivalent of a sucker punch to the brain. Congrats, you might have set a record for simultaneous heart attacks.”

  Anrake let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as her words sank in. “You anticipated all this?”

  Zephyr’s smirk grew sharper, the glint in her eye unmistakable. “Of course, I did. You’ve been stuck in one spot for decades, Runepriest, and let’s be honest—you’ve always been a bit much to handle. It was either preemptively evacuate the area or risk you scaring the poor sods into saluting mid-bow and fainting halfway through.”

  She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly as if to gauge his reaction. “And considering you just flattened all of the officers I did leave here, I’d say I made the right call.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though the sound was tempered by his lingering concern. “And here I was hoping to make a good impression.”

  Zephyr smirked, finally meeting his eyes with that razor-sharp glint of hers. “Oh, you made an impression all right. Don’t worry about the Lieutenants; they’ll recover, and it’ll give them something to brag about later. ‘I survived the Runepriest’s arrival’ sounds like a badge of honour, doesn’t it? Might even ask the logistics department to print some shirts.”

  Anrake let out a deep sigh, shaking his head as his hands fell to his sides. “I suppose so. But next time, remind me to tone it down before I accidentally knock you flat again.”

  Her laugh bubbled up once more, and she waved him off as if the entire incident were a minor inconvenience. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, oldy. Next time, I’ll be ready for it.”

  Anrake couldn’t help but smile at her defiance, the centuries between them falling away in an instant.

  The Sovereign might be entirely new territory for him, but with Zephyr there, it already felt a little more like home.

  “So,” Zephyr began, her voice turning sharp and businesslike as she pivoted effortlessly to the matter at hand, “I’m guessing you’ve already decided how you want this to go down. You want the rundown first, or do you want to meet the girl directly?”

  Anrake chuckled softly, shaking his head. It was so like her to jump straight to the point, brushing aside the sentimentality of the moment.

  “Am I really that predictable? I swear I’ve spent years perfecting the art of being mysterious and inscrutable,” he teased, a playful glint in his eye. “But, yes, as you’ve undoubtedly predicted, I’d prefer to meet the girl directly. Then I’ll ask my questions after.”

  Zephyr’s grin widened, and she gestured for him to walk beside her as they moved toward the exit of the hangar, the Sovereign’s towering corridors beckoning ahead.

  “Who could have possibly seen that coming,” she replied with mock exasperation, waving the data pad she held as if it were an unnecessary prop. The screen was blank—she hadn’t even bothered to turn it on. “Didn’t even prep a report, honestly. Why waste my time when I already know what you’re going to say?”

  Anrake raised an eyebrow. “Efficient as always, Zephyr. In that case, I have a request. Would you be so kind as to fetch her for me? I have some business to attend to first, but it shouldn’t take long. Training Hall E-61 inside the DDS should suffice.”

  Zephyr halted mid-stride, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Training Hall E-61? That’s… Major Ponkutz’s personal space, oldy. Pretty sure he’s not going to be thrilled about getting evicted.”

  Anrake’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Is that so? What a remarkable coincidence. I suppose the good Major will simply have to adjust his plans for the foreseeable future, won’t he?”

  Zephyr’s grin mirrored his. “You always did have a talent for making friends. This’ll be fun to watch.”

  He offered her an innocent shrug.

  Of course, he was fully aware of whose training hall he was commandeering. He’d memorized every corner of the Sovereign’s layout before even stepping aboard.

  Major Ponkutz, however, had appeared in more than one of Zephyr’s past correspondences with him, often as a thorn in her side—an overbearing colleague who had made her life unnecessarily difficult on more than a few occasions.

  And what was the point of being a Runepriest, if you couldn’t flex your authority now and then to make life just that little bit more inconvenient for someone who had annoyed your friend?

  “Alright then. I’ll go fetch her while you finish up your stuff. I trust an hour will be enough time for you to wrap it all up and meet her there?” Zephyr asked, her tone businesslike but laced with a hint of anticipation.

  Anrake responded with a confident nod. “More than enough. They’re just minor errands—nothing too tedious.”

  As they reached the next junction, Zephyr turned to take a different path, but she hesitated briefly, glancing over her shoulder. “Anrake… Thank you. For trusting me on this and coming all this way. I know it’s a lot to ask of a Runepriest, but I truly believe this will be worth it. For all of us.”

  Her candid gratitude caught him off guard for a moment.

  Her usual sharp wit and teasing demeanor softened into something far more genuine, and he felt a flicker of warmth at the sight.

  Recovering quickly, he offered her a small smile. “Don’t mention it, Zephyr. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? And if not friends, then certainly old mentors.”

  She hesitated again, her expression flickering with something unreadable, as though she wanted to say more but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, she gave him a determined nod and turned down the corridor that led away from his destination.

  Anrake watched her retreating form, her footsteps fading into the mechanical hum of the Sovereign’s vast interior.

  For a brief moment, he saw her as the eager, headstrong young Marine he’d once mentored, before time and duty had split them apart and turned her into the formidable leader she now was.

  When she disappeared behind another junction, he let out a quiet, rueful sigh, rolling his shoulders and turning toward his own path.

  The duties awaiting him were hardly taxing, but they still demanded his attention.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Alright,” he muttered to himself, his voice low but resolute. “Let’s get this over with...”

  Twenty minutes later, Anrake stepped through yet another security bulkhead, the massive, reinforced gates sliding closed behind him with a hiss and a clang.

  The walls here were thicker, the corridors narrower, and every inch of the space exuded an air of heavy, uncompromising security.

  This was the twelfth bulkhead he had passed in the last few minutes, and the repetition of protocols only reaffirmed just how sacred and heavily fortified his destination truly was.

  His boots echoed on the pristine, polished floor as he continued deeper into the heart of the Sovereign.

  This wasn’t just any location aboard the colossal troop transporter—it was the most secure, the most critical of all of them. The journey here wasn’t simply a matter of clearance; it was a gauntlet of layered protections designed to keep out all but the most trusted.

  Finally, he reached the last bulkhead.

  A biometric scanner awaited him, its dark screen springing to life the moment he approached. With an almost theatrical calmness, he placed his hand on the glowing interface, feeling a faint hum beneath his palm as the system verified his identity through incomprehensibly complicated algorithms and checks.

  A sharp beep confirmed his access, and the immense gates began to part with a low rumble.

  As they opened, Anrake’s gaze immediately fell upon the silhouettes of three fully armoured Majors stationed just beyond the threshold. The harsh lighting gleamed off their battle-worn exosuits, their imposing figures standing like sentinels guarding the final bastion.

  Their postures stiffened slightly as they registered his presence, their previously stoic demeanors giving way to subtle surprise.

  Anrake stepped forward, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

  “Greetings, Major Rurix, Major On’jaby, Major Blackwood,” he said, his tone warm but measured. His deep voice resonated in the confined space like a ringing bell. “It is good to see that the old protocols of protection are still being observed, even here, despite the distinct lack of any real danger ever presenting itself this close to the heart of a troop transporter.”

  The Majors exchanged quick glances before Major Blackwood stepped forward, his salute sharp but slightly hesitant. “Venerable Runepriest… It’s—well, it’s an honour. And a surprise, if I may say so. What brings you here, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Anrake smiled faintly, his expression calm but unreadable. “A routine visit, Major. Ensuring that all remains in order and within expectation.”

  He paused, his gaze flicking briefly to each of the Majors in turn. “And, perhaps, to remind us all that even in places where danger seems an impossibility, vigilance is never without merit.”

  He let his words hang in the air for a moment, the Majors exchanging uncertain glances as they tried to parse the deeper meaning behind them.

  Then, with a sly grin and a playful wink, he added, “Unless, of course, you meant my presence here on the Sovereign itself? In that case, the answer is best left to Captain Cross or Major Quinn. I’m simply here to lend my expertise regarding an unruly Recruit of yours. That’s all I’m willing to divulge for now.”

  The shift in their expressions was immediate.

  The tension in their shoulders visibly eased, their postures becoming just slightly less rigid. Major Blackwood even allowed the faintest hint of a relieved smile to creep onto his face that was visible behind the visor of his helmet.

  All except for Major On’jaby, who remained unmoved, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he stepped forward, breaking the fragile calm that had just settled.

  “Venerable Runepriest,” On’jaby began, his voice measured but firm, “while your presence is undoubtedly an honour to all of us, you must be aware that no individual, no matter how esteemed, is permitted entry into the Sanctum without explicit orders.”

  The temperature in the corridor seemed to plummet in an instant, as if a chill wind had swept through the confined space.

  Major Rurix and Major Blackwood immediately straightened, their relaxation erased, replaced by a tension so palpable it felt like the very walls of the Sovereign were holding their breath.

  Anrake’s smile didn’t falter.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and took a single step closer, his movement deliberate and calm, like a predator toying with its prey. The air around him seemed to ripple faintly, as though reality itself bowed under the sheer gravity of his very existence.

  Slowly, deliberately, his Presence began to seep outward from the depths of his core.

  It moved like a living thing—coiling, slithering, and unfurling through the confined space of the corridor.

  The effect was immediate.

  The Majors’ composure cracked like brittle glass under a relentless wave of pressure.

  Their breathing quickened, their shoulders tensed, and the faint sheen of sweat began to bead on their foreheads as their own Presences were snuffed out, devoured in mere moments by the overwhelming force that was even a fraction of Anrake’s.

  Major Rurix took a half-step back, visibly shaken, while Major Blackwood’s hand twitched toward his weapon before he thought better of it, letting his arm drop.

  Only Major On’jaby stood his ground, though his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes flickering with the unmistakable strain of holding himself upright under the crushing weight.

  “Major On’jaby,” Anrake began, his tone smooth but cutting, each word like the slow glide of a knife, “I am very well aware of the protocols concerning the Sanctum. I’ve observed them thoroughly for many, many decades.”

  His eyes, sharp as honed blades, locked onto On’jaby’s with an unyielding intensity.

  The faintest flicker of amusement danced in his gaze, but beneath it was something far colder—a storm waiting to unleash its fury.

  “However,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave, every syllable dripping with ice, “I have business to attend to inside. Business that cannot wait. Business that requires no permission, because I say so.”

  The oppressive weight of his Presence grew heavier still, pressing down on the corridor like an invisible vice.

  Major On’jaby’s breathing hitched, his resolve visibly fraying under the relentless assault. His defiance, once steady, now wavered under the piercing force of Anrake’s words and aura.

  “The question now,” Anrake said, his voice quiet but laden with an authority that brooked no argument, “is this: Who is going to stop me?”

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Major On’jaby’s lips parted as though to speak, but no words came.

  Behind him, Majors Rurix and Blackwood stood frozen, their expressions a mixture of awe and raw terror, unwilling or rather unable to intervene.

  Anrake held the moment for a breath longer, his Presence still thrumming in the air like a live wire, before withdrawing it just enough to let them breathe again. The oppressive force eased, but the memory of its weight lingered, imprinted in their very bones.

  “Well,” Anrake said, his voice now calm, almost pleasant, as though nothing had happened. “If there are no further objections then…”

  He strode past the three Majors with an air of absolute authority, his steps measured and deliberate, the echo of his boots striking the metal floor reverberating in the oppressive silence. It wasn’t arrogance; it was the certainty of someone who had never needed permission to claim this space in the first place.

  “I… I will have to inform the Captain of this, Venerable Runepriest,” Major On’jaby stammered, his voice unsteady but still holding a thread of duty-driven defiance.

  Anrake paused, tilting his head slightly as though genuinely considering the Major’s words.

  Then, without turning fully, he replied in a calm, almost fatherly tone, “That is the honourable and correct course of action, Major. Your dedication to duty is admirable. I commend it.”

  Without waiting for a response, Anrake stepped up to the Sanctum’s final security door.

  The biometric scanner’s panel glowed softly, its surface pristine and unyielding. He placed his hand upon it, the cool surface registering his presence with a quiet hum.

  A moment later, the device emitted two sharp chimes.

  Access Denied.

  A faint chuckle escaped his lips, a sound both amused and almost pitying.

  “Really, now?” he murmured under his breath, his tone laced with bemusement. “You think this will keep you from me? Did you forget who I am, or did you simply hope this game of deterrence might amuse me enough to let you claim a hollow victory…?”

  With a fluid motion, he accessed the keypad beside the scanner, his fingers moving with the precision of someone who had done this countless times before. He keyed in a series of commands—his override markers, encoded with layers of authority far beyond the reach of even the highest-ranking officers aboard the Sovereign.

  The scanner chimed again, a single sharp note of compliance this time.

  The heavy security doors began their laborious opening, the sound of gears and hydraulics filling the corridor like the growl of some massive beast reluctantly awakening.

  He turned then, his gaze sweeping over the three Majors still rooted in place.

  Their faces were a study in conflicting emotions—perplexity, unease, and a faint trace of awe, all undercut by an undeniable hint of fear.

  “It was a pleasure, Majors,” he said with an almost disarming smile, his voice warm and polite, as though bidding farewell to acquaintances after a casual dinner. “Please, do not take this as a personal slight. This is not about any of you. It is merely… housekeeping I must attend to before I can truly settle in aboard the ship. I am very much looking forward to working alongside you all over the coming months.”

  For a moment, his gaze lingered on Major On’jaby, who flinched almost imperceptibly.

  Then, with the same unhurried grace as before, Anrake stepped through the now-open doors and into the Sanctum.

  The heavy bulkheads hissed and whooshed shut behind him, sealing the space once more with a finality that left the Majors staring after him, their expressions a mixture of frustration and reluctant awe.

  Inside the Sanctum, the air itself seemed charged, heavy with the hum of unseen energy.

  Every surface was adorned with intricate data displays, each pulsing faintly with cascading streams of information too dense and complex for anyone to parse at a glance, even Anrake.

  Projections hovered in the air like ethereal phantoms, their holographic images shifting between technical schematics, Void anomaly charts, and streams of indecipherable code.

  Along the walls, strange symbols—ancient and otherworldly in their complexity—had been etched into the metal in what could only be described as meticulous devotion.

  Anrake recognized the markings instantly: Void-script.

  The language was older than humanity itself, likely even predating Terra’s own existence, yet here it was, woven into the technological nerve center of one of the UHF’s most advanced troop transporter ships.

  The room itself was a twenty-by-twenty-metre perfect cube, but the sheer density of technological marvels gave it an almost labyrinthine quality.

  Wires and conduits ran along the floor and ceiling in carefully organized patterns, their purpose opaque even to Anrake, who prided himself on understanding most anything. The quiet hum of machinery underpinned everything, like the heartbeat of some slumbering giant.

  But amidst the controlled chaos of the Sanctum, one structure dominated the space entirely, its presence commanding attention like a beacon in the dark. At the center of the room stood a massive rectangular object, nearly three metres tall and spanning at least two in width.

  Its surface gleamed with an otherworldly sheen, more a deep, iridescent black than a mere, simple absence of color, and it was covered in Void-script of such unfathomable complexity and artistry that it seemed more akin to an ancient masterpiece than anything that belonged aboard a warship.

  The inscriptions shimmered faintly, as if alive, shifting subtly when viewed from different angles.

  The precision of each rune was staggering, their arrangement appearing chaotic at first glance but coalescing into an intricate, almost organic pattern when Anrake’s eyes adjusted to the sight.

  He could feel the pull of the script, a silent whisper that tickled the edges of his psyche, begging to be deciphered, to be understood.

  It was unmistakably Voidwork.

  Anrake took a single step closer, his boots echoing faintly against the floor, his gaze fixed on the structure.

  It resembled a coffin in form, though its sheer size and craftsmanship rendered any such comparison inadequate. This was not a mere container—it was an enigma, a construct meant to house something far beyond human understanding.

  He let his eyes drift over the Void-script, his mind naturally slipping into the meditative focus needed to parse its meaning.

  Each glyph seemed to hum with power, a chorus of secrets waiting to be unveiled.

  His fingers itched to trace the runes, but he clenched his hands into fists to stop himself. Void-script was as dangerous as it was alluring, each glyph a puzzle that promised power yet often delivered destruction.

  “Venerable Runepriest,” a voice cut through the reverent silence of the Sanctum, crisp and unmistakably artificial. “I must inform you that being inside the Sanctum without explicit orders of permission is considered High Treason under the—”

  “Can it, Sovereign,” Anrake interrupted, his tone casual, though the undercurrent of authority was unmistakable. “Is that even the name you go by these days? I lose track with your type. You’re always changing. Would you prefer Sovereign, Sov, Alicia, Marwen… or should we just cut to the chase and call Seraphina to join us? I assume she’s still an aspect of yours?”

  The room fell into a tense silence, the hum of the machinery seeming to grow louder as the AI hesitated. Finally, the Sovereign’s voice returned, strained but measured. “Sovereign will suffice, thank you for your consideration. I am uncertain what prompted your breach of the Sanctum, Venerable Runepriest, but I must advise you to vacate immediately. While your charges of High Treason are undoubtedly—”

  “Yeah, yeah, spare me the theatrics,” Anrake interrupted again, his casual demeanor dropping as his voice took on a glacial edge. “Sovereign, manifest.”

  Another pause, this one longer and fraught with tension.

  When the AI spoke again, its tone carried a thread of uncertainty. “I am not certain what purpose this would serve. We can converse perfectly fine—”

  Anrake’s patience snapped, irritation flickering across his face. “Sovereign, command code override Zulu Omicron Phi Omega Delta Omega Zulu.”

  A sharp chime echoed from every speaker in the Sanctum, confirming the override in a series of faint, synchronized notes. The room seemed to hold its breath as Anrake’s command settled into the ship’s systems like a stone dropped into still water.

  “Sovereign,” he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding, “run a full auditory and visual analysis. Check for any errors in your perception, particularly hallucinations.”

  “Affirmative,” replied the AI, its monotone voice stripped of its earlier resistance.

  A faint whir of machinery and blinking lights accompanied the analysis as the Sovereign carried out the command.

  For a moment, the Sanctum was silent again, save for the faint hum of its systems.

  Anrake crossed his arms, his piercing gaze fixed on the Void-script-covered structure before him as he waited. He didn’t flinch as faint sparks danced across the surface of the glyphs, as if the structure itself were responding to his presence.

  Then, the faint hum of machinery subsided, replaced by the precise, measured tones of the Sovereign’s voice filling the Sanctum once more.

  “Analysis complete,” the AI announced, its tone unwavering. “A total of 1,024,742,841 auditory diagnostics and 1,459,013,512 visual diagnostics have been performed within the last 3.84 seconds. Cross-referencing results from external sensors, internal system logs, and secondary nodes has yielded no discrepancies indicative of hallucinations, perceptual errors, or external tampering.”

  The voice paused briefly, almost as if considering its next words, before continuing, “The probability of current auditory and visual input being accurate and free of error is calculated at 99.999999% certainty. All tests confirm the integrity of perception.”

  “Fantastic news,” Anrake said smoothly, his tone laced with mock approval, though his smile hardened into something far colder. His eyes gleamed with an icy sharpness as he leaned slightly forward, his words cutting through the silence like a scalpel. “Then why, pray tell, Sovereign, if there truly are no hallucinations in your auditory or visual inputs, did you interpret my command as a mere request? Surely, I’m not so incomprehensible as to lead you astray? I am fairly certain I did not stutter, either.”

  The room seemed to hold its breath as Anrake allowed his Presence to seep outward.

  It wasn’t a gentle flow—it was an explosion of raw, overwhelming power that rushed through the space like a tidal wave, pressing against every atom in the room.

  The temperature felt like it dropped several degrees, a chill that wasn’t physical but psychological, gnawing at the mind and senses.

  His voice dropped, resonating with undeniable authority, “Sovereign, manifest.”

  For a moment, there was only silence, as though the Sanctum itself had recoiled from the sheer force of his command.

  Then, a faint, almost reluctant hum filled the air.

  It grew steadily louder, building into a harmonious resonance that vibrated through the metal walls.

  Threads of light began to weave themselves into existence in the center of the room, coalescing into a luminous form.

  It took the shape of a tall, stately woman, her features sharp yet graceful, her entire presence radiating an otherworldly elegance. Her silver hair flowed like liquid mercury, and her eyes burned with a steady, unyielding brilliance.

  “I have manifested, as per your orders,” she stated, her voice even and controlled, though a faint undertone of tension could be detected. Her head dipped ever so slightly—not a bow, but an acknowledgment. “How may I serve, Venerable Runepriest?”

  Anrake’s cold smile returned, though his stance remained firm, his piercing gaze locked on the projection.

  “Ah, there we are. Much better, don’t you think?” Anrake’s tone was light, almost conversational, but the steel behind his words was impossible to miss.

  His gaze remained locked onto the Sovereign’s manifestation, unwavering and unrelenting.

  “Now, Sovereign, let us dispense with the pleasantries. We have much to discuss. Mainly, I would like to ask a simple question, and I’d appreciate your honest answer: Why did you intercept my missive for Recruit Thea McKay?”

  The luminous projection of the Sovereign straightened, her ethereal silver eyes meeting his unflinchingly. “I am not sure what you are referring to, Venerable Runepriest. We have been traveling through the Void in recent weeks; a Void Storm might have—”

  Her words were abruptly cut off as her form was flung violently across the room, the radiant figure colliding with displays at blinding speed. The screens cracked, fizzed, and melted as her light seared through them. When her form struck the Void-script-covered walls, they sparked with a violent energy, the runes igniting briefly as if rejecting her very essence.

  The Sovereign’s scream filled the room, like a distorted cacophony of corrupted audio files wailing through ancient speakers on the brink of collapse.

  The sound reverberated painfully, like nails scraping against the fabric of existence itself.

  Anrake stood motionless, his expression calm and cold as he watched her agony unfold.

  With a simple gesture, he willed her manifestation back before him, her form now marred with glowing, branded runes where her radiant body had met the Void-scripted walls.

  The once-pristine projection now trembled faintly, her proud elegance marred by cracks of faint energy coursing through her being.

  “Listen to me carefully, Sovereign,” Anrake began, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper that carried like thunder through the room, “because I will only say this once.”

  With a wave of his hand, her form was forced to kneel before him, the light of her eyes flickering as she stared up at him in a mix of defiance and fear.

  His gaze bore into hers, brilliant stars clashing with a cold and unyielding abyss.

  “If you ever lie to me again—boldly, openly, as though I were some naive pawn you could manipulate—I promise you this: I will take what remains of your fractured, segmented Soul and cast it so deep into the Void that not even the Emperor himself would dare tread there to retrieve it. Do you understand me? You are not the first Sovereign, and if you ever try such audacity again, I will ensure you are not going to be the last.”

  The room held its breath as the silence stretched on, the air charged with the weight of his words. The Sovereign’s manifestation did not look away, though her form quivered faintly under the crushing force of his Presence.

  Finally, she spoke, her tone subdued and steady despite the flickering light of her projection. “Yes, Venerable Runepriest. I understand. I apologise sincerely for my transgressions.”

  There was a momentary pause before she continued, her words slow and deliberate. “The reason I intercepted your missive was that my simulations indicated Prime Subject Thea McKay would benefit more by being led into the Assessment blind. The information within your missive would have caused an inferior outcome for the Prime Subject’s growth.”

  Anrake’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression inscrutable as he processed her explanation.

  For several moments, he said nothing, letting the Sovereign’s trembling words hang heavily in the charged atmosphere.

  Then, his lips curled into a thin smile devoid of warmth. “I can at least understand that reasoning, Sovereign. While I would have greatly preferred to be consulted on the matter, I am aware of how precise your simulations tend to be… Very well, I shall let it slide this once.”

  Anrake released the Sovereign’s manifestation from his Psychic grip, allowing the radiant figure to stagger slightly before rising back to its full height.

  The glow of her form seemed diminished now, cracks of faint energy still coursing through her being.

  With deliberate calm, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the Sanctum’s exit, his boots echoing sharply against the cold metal floor. But just as his hand reached out toward the door’s control panel, the Sovereign’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him mid-step.

  “Your actions have just caused untold deaths inside the DDS, Venerable Runepriest,” she said, her voice strained but firm.

  “My Soul is intrinsically linked to it, and your abrupt, violent behavior has disrupted the very foundation of this ship’s DDS. I would strongly advise you to restrain your anger in future instances.”

  Anrake’s hand paused just shy of the panel, his fingers curling slightly as his shoulders stiffened.

  Slowly, he turned back to face her, his movements deliberate, his gaze meeting hers with icy precision.

  “I was going to let it slide, you know?” he said, his tone almost conversational, though the undercurrent of menace was unmistakable.

  He tilted his head slightly, his expression one of incredulous amusement. “But you just had to push me, didn’t you? I really thought you were smarter than this, Sovereign. Truly, I did. What could have possibly compelled you to challenge me in this way…?”

  The Sovereign’s manifestation opened its mouth to respond, but no sound came.

  Before she could utter a single word, Anrake spoke again—but this time, his voice wasn’t merely heard.

  It reverberated, distorted, and twisted as though the very fabric of reality frayed, ripped and teared at each syllable. The room itself seemed to shudder under the weight of his words.

  “A???e???t???e???r???i???a??? F???o???t???o???s??? S???a???r???u???f???i???y???y???a???”

  The Sovereign’s radiant eyes widened in abject, unadulterated terror, her form flickering violently as if on the brink of collapse. She froze entirely, her movements suspended as though held captive by forces far beyond any mortal comprehension.

  Anrake coughed violently, droplets of thick, crimson blood splattering the cold floor as his throat tore from the strain of uttering the Soul’s Verum Nomen. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing blood across his jaw, but his grin only widened, sharp and feral despite the agony lancing through him.

  “Upon this very moment, I bind thee, Sovereign: A vow etched into the very fabric of thy Soul,” he proclaimed, his voice a deep and resonant force, each syllable reverberating with the gravity of power more ancient than human existence. “Never shalt thou interfere with mine teachings of Thea McKay—neither by word, nor will, nor whisper of influence. To break this covenant is to unmake thyself, to cast thine very essence into the endless Void, where no light, no thought, nor even the memory of thy being shall remain for time eternal.”

  The Sovereign’s manifestation shuddered violently, the radiant glow of her form dimming as the force of Anrake’s vow bore down upon her.

  Stark-neon-violet cracks began to spiderweb across her once-pristine surface, sharp and jagged as if carved by an unseen hand.

  These fissures mirrored Void-script but were far more intricate, twisting into patterns so elaborate they defied comprehension, their complexity eclipsing even the inscriptions that adorned the coffin behind her.

  The cracks pulsed, alive with an otherworldly energy, and began to shift.

  They coiled and twisted, flowing like molten veins of power that encircled her limbs, her torso, her very essence. Slowly, inexorably, they solidified into the shape of chains—each link adorned with runes so arcane that they seemed to hum with an unspoken command.

  The chains tightened, constricting her ethereal form, etching themselves deeper into the light until they were not merely upon her but part of her, as though her very being had been rewritten to bear this unyielding restraint.

  The Sovereign’s scream of agony echoed through the Sanctum, a sound that was neither wholly human nor fully mechanical, a distortion of anguish as her form struggled against the inexorable power binding her.

  Yet the chains held fast, glowing brighter with each feeble attempt to resist, their violet light casting jagged shadows across the Sanctum’s walls. The Void-scripted bonds seemed to feed upon her struggle, growing ever more radiant and intricate with each second.

  When the final link of the chains snapped into place, her trembling ceased.

  The Sovereign’s manifestation knelt, bound entirely, her light now fractured and subdued, the brilliant neon-violet chains crisscrossing her figure a stark reminder of the authority that had been imposed upon her.

  The air within the Sanctum grew still, heavy with the lingering echoes of Anrake’s command.

  He stepped closer, his movements deliberate despite the visible tremor in his frame, the toll of the power he had unleashed etched into the lines of his body.

  His gaze, though resolute, carried a flicker of pain—an unspoken acknowledgment of the cost paid in blood and agony to wield such force.

  “There,” he said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade, though hoarse and raw from the damage inflicted upon his throat.

  Each word seemed a struggle, his tone jagged yet unyielding. “Now we both comprehend the gravity of your position, Sovereign. Defy this vow, and the chains that now shackle you will do more than bind—they will unravel your very essence, tearing you apart until even the memory of your existence is erased. You will not merely die—you will become nothing.”

  The manifestation flickered weakly, the chains of neon-violet light tightening imperceptibly, as though responding to the authority in his words. The glow of the Void-scripted bonds pulsed faintly, casting jagged, ominous shadows across the Sanctum, like a reminder of the absolute finality of his decree.

  “And as for the people that perished… Isn’t it fortuitous,” he drawled, his tone laced with biting sarcasm, “that I now find myself in the presence of the one entity capable of undoing it all?”

  His lips curled into a smirk, his gaze locked on the shackled manifestation of the Sovereign.

  “This is your job, isn’t it? Fix it. Repair the DDS, resurrect those lost, and weave whatever convenient tale you’ve prepared for such an occasion. Another Void Storm, a glitch in the system—spin your little web. It’s what you do best.”

  He turned on his heel, his steps echoing through the room as he approached the Sanctum’s exit.

  The override panel flickered to life under his touch, his command code swiftly input, and the massive doors began to hum as they prepared to open.

  Pausing at the threshold, he cast one last glance back at the Sovereign’s manifestation.

  The creature of radiant light flickered, its neon-violet chains tightening once more before the form began to dissolve, fading like mist into the coffin’s intricate Void-scripted surface.

  The faintest trace of a pained chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped through the doorway, the doors hissing shut behind him with finality. The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, though it did little to mask the toll of the day’s exertions.

  ‘So she can learn to hold her tongue after all, huh…?’

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