---
The corridor grew darker, quieter. Tovarin didn't say much. Cassian just followed, eyes scanning the walls for those subtle signs: a purity seal here, a faded prayer scrawled there.
They reached a massive metal door cold and heavy. Tovarin pushed it open with a grunt.
The chamber was dim but warm, stone walls etched with old scripture and illuminated by embedded glow panels that gave off a honeyed hue. A long circular table occupied the center, its surface cluttered with half finished plates, flasks, and datapads. It was a war council by way of a half drunk family dinner.
The people here weren't stiff or formal. They lounged like old soldiers passing time comfortable and watchful.
Cassian followed Tovarin in, the hum of the vault door hissing shut behind them.
Tovarin didn't announce anything. No stiff introductions. He just muttered, "Help yourself on the food, we can talk later," and gestured toward the table.
Cassian blinked.
The food was strange but smelled decent. Thick cuts of something that looked like roast grox, seared black around the edges, next to soft slices of saffron dusted rootfruit. Beside it, tiny white berries in a cold, violet syrup, something sweet and bitter all at once. One bowl was filled with crackling shards of nutrient glass fragile, edible starch sheets flavored with amasec and lho spice.
Cassian didn't hesitate. He walked over, poured himself a finger of whatever passed for wine here deep red, thick, smelled like blood and burnt sugar and grabbed a slice of grox with utensils, faevelith had drilled etiquette in his skull.
He enjoyed the food in silence.
The Inquisitor seeing Cassian almost finished with his food, stepped forward and let his voice carry. "Cassian. These are the ones you weren't supposed to meet for another ten years. But things move faster now. Gentlefolk, this is the one from Desoleum."
That got a ripple of reaction from the people dining in the room. Quiet, but visible.
The robed man straightened a little. The woman's brows lifted slightly. The gruff one leaned forward.
Tovarin gestured across the table. "That man is the Cardinal of Savavarn. The Pilgrim World's own iron shepherd. If he tells someone to march naked into the sun for the Emperor, they'll do it smiling."
The Cardinal gave a nod, folding his hands. "Finally, the one with the arbites badge."
Cassian shrugged, lips twisting in nostalgia. "I still have that badge, kept it as a keepsake of one of mine friend."
"You'll fit in fine, then," the gruff man cut in. His voice was deep, like gravel soaked in oil. "You've got the look."
Cassian glanced at him.
Tovarin filled in. "Admiral Spire. Lord Commander of Battlefleet Obscurus. The only reason the Segmentum isn't one giant Warp rift already."
Spire raised his glass. "And the only one here who still has to take orders from people who don't matter."
Cassian gave him a half smile. "That sounds painful."
"More than you know."
Tovarin turned next to the woman. "Lady Varelin. Navigator. High blood, Terra born."
She didn't smile. Just swirled her glass and gave Cassian a slow, unreadable look. Before nodding at him.
"They've read your file," Tovarin said quietly beside him. "But that's all numbers. None of them know what it felt like to be on Desoleum when the warp cracked open."
"I'm used to it," Cassian said. "People see what they want to see. As for Desoleum." Cassian paused as he struggled to express it in few words, "You ever seen a hive crack open like an overworked courtesan's ass? That was Desoleum. Only more screaming."
"Pfffttt"
Admiral Spire snorted, nearly spitting out his wine. He covered his mouth with a rough hand, coughing and then chuckling.
Lady Varelin merely took a delicate sip from her glass, her nose wrinkling in quiet disgust.
The Cardinal leaned back. "You're not what I expected. You're thinner."
Cassian snorted. "Appetite's been better lately."
Spire raised an eyebrow. "You still have an appetite. That's more than most survivors."
Tovarin, then took over the conversation, "Everyone here is a trusted comrade. Every single one of us has went through daemonic possession and came out through our own tenacity." Tovarin then turned to Cassian as he says this, "That's why we value you so much, only few ever survive that nightmarish ordeal and all the other warp anomalies you have gone through. Despite that you are sane."
"It makes you eligible to be part of the illuminati's inner circle." The Cardinal continued, clearing Cassian's doubt about why he was trusted so much.
Lady Varelin and Admiral Spire nodded at that before they started talking with each other again. Relaxing and enjoying there wine.
The Cardinal leaned back in his chair, cradling his wine like it was a sermon in glass. "I still say the rations on Malfi taste better than what they serve in Sector Command. And that's saying something. At least Malfi didn't taste like recaff runoff."
Spire grunted. "You ever had recaff runoff, Your Eminence?"
"Regrettably, yes," the Cardinal replied. "Back when I was just a clerk. Used to chew salt tablets to mask the aftertaste."
Lady Varelin waved a hand lazily. "Your suffering humbles us. Truly. Meanwhile, I spent twelve hours yesterday untangling a psychic navigation tangle that would've melted the skull of a lesser navigator."
"You say that like it's not every week," Tovarin muttered, not looking up from his data slate.
"Oh, this one had emotion stuck in it," she said, twirling her drink. "Some desperate pilgrim screaming into the warp while dying of lung rot. He was convinced the Emperor had cursed his bloodline."
The Cardinal raised an eyebrow. "Did He?"
"He was singing off-key into the warp," she said. "If He didn't curse him, I would've."
Spire grinned. "And yet I'm the one they say drinks too much."
"Because you do," Tovarin said.
"Slander," Spire said, raising his cup. "I drink the exact amount needed to survive meetings with you lot."
Cassian just silently drank his wine and just watched the conversation. There's not much he could say really, he did not know these people well enough to talk to them informally. But for a clandestine group named illuminati they were suprisngly normal.
---
The last plate was pushed aside, the flasks half empty, datapads flicked open. Warmth gone. No one said it, but the tone of the room shifted.
Tovarin leaned forward, voice dry but pointed. "Enough. Let's talk. Can't you see we're ignoring our guest?"
Chairs creaked as backs straightened. Even Spire put down his glass and muttered, "Well, here we go."
Cassian nodded once. No preamble.
"I need a communication channel to the Mechanicus. High level. Preferably someone in the upper echelons of mechanicus. Real authority."
That got a reaction. Not shock. Curiosity.
Spire tilted his head. "Straight to the top, huh? Not subtle."
Cassian didn't blink. "Not trying to be."
The Cardinal sipped his drink. "We can do that. That's not a difficult ask. You're not requesting some lost saint. You're asking for Barnum Doscentis, aren't you?"
Cassian inclined his head slightly.
"Barnum Doscentis's still operational," Varelin confirmed, checking her slate. "He sits on the Segmentum Council as a Mechanicus attaché."
"I just need a direct channel. No noise, no delay. That's all."
Tovarin glanced across the table, as if waiting to see if anyone wanted to object. No one did.
"All right," he said. "We'll set that up. Consider it done."
Cassian gave a slow nod. "Appreciate it."
The Cardinal raised an eyebrow. "Personal matter?"
"Something like that," Cassian said, tone flat. "Nothing illegal. Nothing that puts you at risk. I just need to talk to him directly, no filters."
Spire grunted. "You're not exactly handing out context here."
Cassian shrugged. "I didn't think the Illuminati were in the business of demanding full disclosure."
"We're not," Tovarin said, cutting in smoothly. "But you're asking for a favor from people who know how many favors become debts."
Cassian met his eyes. "And I'll repay it. One way or another."
That sat well enough.
"Good," the Cardinal said. "Let's not drag it out with false suspense. We'll have the link within forty eight hours. Barnum Doscentis's used to our reach."
Spire leaned back in his chair. "I just hope you're not planning on starting a crusade with whatever you're about to pull."
Cassian didn't answer that.
Varelin studied him for a second longer. "You know something."
"I know a lot of things," Cassian said. "Most of them useless."
"Mm," she murmured, unconvinced.
Tovarin turned back to the table. "We'll make the call. You'll get your channel."
Cassian took a long pull from his glass, then set it down with deliberate calm.
"While we're on the subject," he said, voice low but direct, "I want to know about what Imperium or illuminati specifically has on biological augmentations, you know I am a part of Magos Biologis myself."
Varelin raised an eyebrow, surprised not by the question itself, but by Cassian's angle. "You mean beyond the usual prosthetics, ceramite plating, and mechanical replacements?"
Cassian shook his head. "Yes, nothing much. Just surface level glance. I do have a favour that I owe after all."
Spire grunted, folding his arms. "You're asking for secrets from a room full of secrets. Most people don't even admit those projects exist."
Tovarin leaned forward, fingers tapping a datapad. "You're right to ask. Not many outsiders know what we're actually working on. The Afriel Strain, the Gland Warriors those are just the surface. We have more lines, more experimental stuff."
The Cardinal gave a faint nod. "We aren't just throwing gene sequences around blindly. There's method and measured risks. Some programs focus on enhancing muscle density, others on neural acceleration. Some involve cellular regeneration at rates faster than natural healing."
He tapped the datapad again, sliding it across the table toward Cassian. "Here. This is a sanitized technical summary it omits names and sensitive protocols, but it gives you a look at what's being done."
Cassian's fingers hovered briefly before he started scrolling through the files.
The first section covered the Afriel Strain: soldiers bred for speed, reflexes, and heightened senses. The trade off was a known susceptibility to catastrophic organ failure under stress. They were described as "albino phenotype," with "reduced melanin synthesis" and "enhanced neuromuscular coordination," but cursed with poor survivability rates.
The first thought that came to Cassian's mind seeing the strain was Lord Solar Alexander Macharius, the famous Alexander of space from his previous life, he was not born yet but he was rumoured to have been from Afriel strain.
The next segment detailed Gland Warriors, engineered specifically for bioadaptation in hostile environments especially against Tyranid biochemical warfare. Gene splicing combined with glandular modification increased hormone production for rapid energy release and resilience. It also mentioned extensive conditioning programs to stabilize aggressive tendencies.
"Lite level marines, could not copy the brilliance of Emperor's gene seed method"
Cassian mused.
Further down, the file described experimental augmentation protocols,
Genetic therapies aimed at accelerating cellular mitosis, enhancing muscle fiber density, and improving mitochondrial efficiency.
Neural synapse enhancements designed to reduce reaction times by up to 15%, achieved through targeted gene activation paired with nano-scale bio-conductors.
As Cassian was absorbed in the file, Spire shook his head, a grim smile twisting his mouth. "Most of it's trial and error. Some subjects don't make it past the first phase. Others come back altered... less human."
Cassian's eyes didn't waver. "Failures teach us more than successes. I want to see everything flaws included."
The Cardinal's tone softened. "Fair enough. As you prove yourself, you'll get deeper access. For now, this is the window."
Cassian nodded once, folding the datapad away. "Good enough. It's a start."
The meeting pivoted from there. Talk shifted to logistics. Data. Movement. The normal grind.
Cassian sat quietly, nodding where necessary, waiting. He knew they didn't understand what was coming. They had hints strange signals, warp anomalies, rumors from the fringes but none of them had seen the map.
He had.
The Gothic War was coming. And this favor was step one. The plan was coming to fruition.
---
Word Count: 2025
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