The assembly hall had been a cathedral once — long before the forge-world had forgotten what prayer meant.
Now its walls were blackened by years of soot, its statues gutted for metal. Light came from half-dead lumen strips that hummed and stuttered above the war table. The air smelled faintly of oil and old incense, like sanctity left to rust.
Elias stood at the table's head, both hands flat on its cold surface.
A map of Graia-Theta's underhive glowed across it — a lattice of tunnels, hives, and reactor shafts drawn by Kairon's mechadendrites. Three red marks pulsed faintly on the display: the Rustborn strongholds still resisting eradication.
Volst, Malk, Selene, Lirae, Kairon, and Fira Vorn stood in a half circle before him. Hendryk Vael stood apart, near the door, the red of his commissar's coat stark against the ash-gray walls. He looked like he didn't belong here — and maybe that was the point.
Kairon's vox-filter buzzed as he pointed at the largest red mark."Delta-Nine. The core. The Rustborn remain entrenched. I believe they're feeding on the dead machine spirits of the reactors — sacrilege upon sacrilege."His voice rose with fervor, and one mechadendrite twitched like a sermonizing finger.
"They're repairing themselves," Lirae added, tone even. "I've seen their signals in the lower tunnels. Adaptive patterns, same as before."
Malk spat a curse. "Then we hit harder. You want ghosts? Fine. We'll give 'em hell."
Volst leaned over the map, eyes cold and sharp. "We can't throw bodies down there. We'd drown before we reached the heart."
Elias listened, silent. The hum of the map cast faint light across his face, making the edges of his eyes catch orange — reflections
Fira Vorn broke the rhythm first. Her voice was quiet but steady, carrying the kind of authority only medics earned from seeing too much blood. "If you're planning a final strike, I need triage stations ready. Wounded won't survive the surface transport; we set up care posts in Sector Three and Nine."
Volst looked up. "You think there'll be wounded?"
"I think there'll be people," Fira said. "That's usually enough."
It silenced the room for a beat.
Elias looked at her — really looked. Her sleeves were rolled, hands scarred with old burns, bandaged fingers stained from antiseptic. She hadn't slept, but her voice hadn't cracked once.
"You'll have what you need," he said.
She nodded once and returned to her notes.
Vael finally spoke, breaking the uneasy calm.
"You're all assuming command authority you don't possess," he said evenly. "This is still an Imperial world. The Inquisition has eyes here, and what you call 'reclamation' borders on unsanctioned warfare."
Volst snorted. "Then report us."
Vael didn't rise to the bait. "I already did," he said. "They're listening."
The words fell like weights.
Kairon stiffened. "Blasphemy—"
"Truth," Vael interrupted. "And since you insist on playing savior, Mercer, I'd prefer to understand your endgame before they arrive. Because when they do, they won't care what you did— only what you became."
All eyes turned to Elias.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he traced the Delta-Nine mark with a fingertip, slow and deliberate. The projection flickered briefly as though it recognized him.
"We finish this," he said at last. "As for your concern commisar.... the forge, this system will be reborn..."
"Reborn under whose authority?" Vael asked.
Elias looked up. The orange reflection in his eyes deepened, faintly, briefly. "Under mine. For now."
The silence that followed was not surprise — they had all known this was coming — but something heavier: acceptance edged with fear.
Volst was the first to move. "You'll need timing. Two teams. If you're going for the core, we collapse the peripheral tunnels to drive the bastards in. Controlled demolition along the upper shafts — I'll take care of it."
Malk grinned. "About time we got loud."
Kairon clicked his augmetic fingers together. "My acolytes will prepare disruption hymns for the machine-spirits. We can silence the Rustborn's chorus for exactly nine minutes before overload."
"Then nine minutes is all we'll need," Elias said.
Selene stepped forward, quiet as frost forming on glass. "I'll lead the forward unit with you."
He met her gaze. There was no debate. Only mutual understanding.
"Good," he said softly. "We go at dawn."
As they began to disperse — orders, tasks, planning murmurs — Fira lingered by the table. Her hand brushed the edge of the map, leaving a faint print in the dust.
"Commander," she said quietly. "You look worse than your soldiers."
"You haven't eaten. Your hands are shaking."
"I'm fine."
"Keep the men alive," he said. "If this goes wrong, they'll need you."
"And you?" she asked.
He smiled but, didn't answer. She didn't expect him to.
When the room finally emptied, Hendryk Vael lingered at the door.
"You believe you can hide from the Inquisition?" he asked, voice low, almost conversational.
Elias's back was turned. "No. But I can make them see something worth hesitating for."
Vael studied him for a moment — the man who didn't pray, the heretic who saved a world.
"You know I assigned you to Black file, thinking you would die here.. where you were supposed to... and believe me when I say this, the Inquisition will not.. not for anyone; hesitate"
.....
"I'll hold your silence, I suppose this place is your yard now.. " he said.
Then he left.
The hall went still again, the old machines humming faintly like heartbeats under the floor. Elias stood alone with the map, the red lights pulsing softly — like wounds yet to close.
He closed his eyes, exhaled, and whispered under his breath :"I feel it, something big is coming."