You followed Corax out of the cramped storage room, your bare feet padding against cold concrete. The chill felt good after the suffocating heat of unconsciousness.
He handed you clothing piece by piece. First came a clean linen vest, surprisingly soft against your skin and carrying the faint scent of soap, a luxury you hadn't expected on an industrial moon. Then came work overalls, canvas worn smooth in places but still intact, free of the worst tears and stains. Finally, a pair of round-toed work boots, their steel-plated toes scuffed and dented from hard use.
Your robust, two-meter frame, now fully clothed, barely resembled the typical silhouette of a mining worker.
Corax suggested you shave your head completely bald. It would make you look more like a proper laborer, he said.
You ran a hand through your long gray hair, feeling its weight and length. You met his expectant gaze and shook your head firmly.
Corax's expression turned regretful, almost disappointed. He sighed and reluctantly tucked away the sharp scythe he'd been fingering, as if he'd been looking forward to the impromptu barbering.
He turned and led you deeper into the industrial complex. The temperature began climbing with each step. Soon you were walking through a series of massive smelting factories, their brick chimneys belching endless columns of acrid black smoke and drifting ash that stung your eyes and coated your tongue with the taste of sulfur and burnt metal.
The heat hit you like a physical wall, making sweat bead immediately on your forehead. Your newly acquired vest clung to your back.
Ancient mining carts groaned along rusted tracks embedded in the floor, rising slowly from shafts that plunged deep underground. Each cart overflowed with raw ore, chunks of rock glinting with mineral veins in the firelight from the furnaces.
Beside the primitive smelting furnaces, children worked. Too many children. Their bodies were thin, almost skeletal, and many bore the telltale signs of injury or deformity from accidents or overwork. They labored alongside parents or older relatives, small hands struggling to carry ore from the carts despite the weight being clearly too much for their frames.
Sweat streamed down faces far too young to wear such expressions of grim determination. These were children who'd never known childhood, only survival.
"Lycaeus is a mining moon," Corax said without turning, his long black hair swaying with each step. "A satellite orbiting the industrial world of Kiavahr. It was once their dumping ground for slaves and criminals, a prison in the void. Then the greedy Tech-guilds of Kiavahr discovered the mineral wealth beneath the surface. After that..." His voice grew harder. "The descendants of those slaves and criminals learned that their suffering had only just begun."
Corax spoke quietly, his words carrying the weight of barely contained fury.
Before you could respond, his massive figure vanished.
One instant he was beside you. The next, he'd materialized across the factory floor among a group of laborers. You blinked, still unable to track his movements properly.
He moved among them like water flowing downhill, natural and inevitable. Here, he paused to listen to an older man's complaint, nodding with genuine concern before asking clarifying questions. There, he casually lifted an entire cartload of ore, thousands of pounds hoisted as easily as a child's toy, and repositioned it for a struggling team of workers.
He would occasionally pause to pat a child's head gently, offering words of encouragement. Corax moved like a tireless whirlwind, a constant presence throughout the smelting floor.
You stood watching, and for the first time, you truly understood the gulf between yourself and a true Primarch.
It wasn't just the physical superiority, the inhuman speed and strength. Those were impressive but comprehensible. What struck you was something deeper. Something that resided in the soul itself.
Charisma didn't begin to describe it. It was spiritual gravity, a fundamental force of personality that drew people like planets orbiting a star.
Every worker and child he passed, their faces smeared with ash and sweat, instinctively smiled when they saw him. Not the forced smiles of subordinates greeting a superior. These were genuine expressions of warmth, trust, and hope.
And Corax met every smile with patience. He listened to their concerns, their requests, their fumbling attempts to express needs they'd never been allowed to voice before.
Even when surrounded by dozens of workers all clamoring for his attention, Corax gave each one that same bright smile, that same focused attention, making each person feel as though they were the only one in the room. You watched him listen to their stories with an intensity that suggested every word mattered.
Finally, after the clusters of energized workers dispersed back to their dangerous, backbreaking labor, Corax returned to your side, his expression calm as if the last several minutes of superhuman multitasking had cost him no effort whatsoever.
You blinked and resumed walking, following his lead.
He guided you away from the smelting facilities, the temperature gradually dropping as you left the furnaces behind. The industrial zone gave way to something far more humble.
The shantytown sprawled before you in organized rows. Metal prefabricated houses stood in neat lines, simple structures but maintained with obvious care. Despite their improvised nature, someone had taken effort to make this place livable rather than merely survivable.
Women emerged from the houses in growing numbers, moving with purpose toward the shantytown's center. Their hands were rough and calloused, coated in grain dust or stained with the pulp of unidentifiable plants. They walked in loose groups, talking quietly among themselves.
Against the painfully bright artificial sky, a massive black spire thrust upward beyond the clouds, dominating the shantytown's skyline like a dark monument.
You fell into step behind Corax, joining the river of women flowing through the narrow streets.
As the crowd moved forward, the smell of cooking food grew stronger. Wood smoke and boiling grains, simple but nourishing. Large communal stoves came into view, dozens of them, tended by more women alongside children and male workers who bore obvious signs of injury or disability that prevented them from working the mines or forges.
They worked in efficient synchronization, preparing batch after batch of steaming food for the returning shift workers.
Corax waved and called out greetings as he moved through the crowd, seemingly knowing everyone by name. Workers brightened at his approach, calling back with easy familiarity. You trailed behind, watching this display of connection with something approaching awe.
You reached one of the larger cooking stoves, this one dedicated to preparing noodles. The steam rising from it carried the sharp tang of moss and unfamiliar spices.
"Nia!" Corax called out cheerfully. "Two extra-large bowls of labor noodles! And put extra spicy moss in mine, the chili you've been using lately doesn't have enough bite!"
A young woman looked up from the pot, her brow furrowing. "Corax! Were you born from a Grox? You just ate!" She raised one muscular, sun-bronzed arm to wipe sweat from her forehead, glaring at him with exasperation. "Your stomach is bottomless!"
Corax simply pointed at you, grinning.
The young woman, Nia, blinked. Her gaze traveled over you, taking in your unusual appearance and bearing. Recognition dawned in her eyes, and she nodded knowingly, already turning to prepare the food.
Moments later, you both held large bowls of steaming noodles, the heat from the ceramic warming your palms.
You mimicked Corax's stance, squatting on the ground to eat as the workers did.
A sharp buzzing sound suddenly echoed from the direction of the black spire, mechanical and piercing. You looked up just as the excessively bright sky dimmed, revealing the true night beyond. Stars appeared in patches, countless points of light against the black void of space.
Before you could voice your confusion or ask questions,
Corax explained between slurps of noodles that Lycaeus possessed no natural atmosphere. Humanity's survival here depended entirely on a protective force field maintained by the Tech-guilds, one of their most jealously guarded technological achievements.
You nodded in understanding, lowering your gaze back to your bowl. The noodles smelled better than you'd expected.
But before you could take your first bite, a surge of movement drew your attention. Workers returning from the smelting plants and underground mines flooded the area around the communal stoves, filling the space with bodies and voices.
You watched as exhausted laborers carefully extracted small, meticulously polished metal components from their overalls, passing them to a specific group of workers who moved with deliberate slowness, their builds notably larger and stronger than average.
The metal parts flowed together in practiced hands. Within minutes, crude but functional firearms took shape, solid-round weapons designed for simple reliability over sophistication. As soon as each weapon was completed, it disappeared into plain wooden crates that were quickly carried away from the cooking area, vanishing into the warren of prefab houses.
"Comrade 'King,'" Nia's voice cut through the ambient noise as she approached. "According to Comrade 'Rook,' we've accumulated ten thousand basic firearms. But our ammunition stockpile remains insufficient to support large-scale sustained combat."
She addressed Corax frankly, showing none of the deference you'd expect toward a military commander. Just straightforward reporting between equals.
You straightened, your appetite forgotten, focusing entirely on the conversation.
"Comrade 'Queen,'" Corax replied, his tone shifting to something more formal, more commanding. The casual friendliness evaporated, replaced by crisp authority. "Please inform Comrade 'Rook' that ten thousand firearms is sufficient. Order immediate dispersal and concealment of all weapons to prevent total loss in a single raid." He paused, taking a deliberate sip of broth before continuing.
"Have him accelerate repairs on the heavy mining equipment and conduct a full inventory of our laser cutter stockpile." Another pause. "Finally, inform Comrades 'Bishop' and 'Knight' that surveillance of the overseers cannot slacken for even a moment. We need to track their every movement, every communication."
The transformation was complete. This was Corax the military commander, the revolutionary leader. His presence seemed to expand, filling the space around him with unconscious authority that made even you want to stand at attention.
Nia, codenamed 'Queen,' nodded once, her expression confirming she'd memorized every detail. She glanced at you, offering a slight smile as if acknowledging your presence in this inner circle, then turned and melted back into the crowd.
"Comrade Corax," you said, turning to face him directly. Your voice came out deeper than intended. "What can I do to help?"
"Brother," Corax said, finally setting down his empty bowl with a soft clink. "Your arrival couldn't be better timed. We've gathered supplies and training time through riots and strikes, but our offensive capabilities remain inadequate. We lack experienced commanders who can operate independently." His expression grew grave, lines appearing around his eyes. "When equipment and experience are insufficient, we're forced to pay for strategic gaps with the lives of our comrades. Too many lives."
His deep eyes fixed on you with intensity that seemed to pierce through flesh to examine your very soul.
You held your cooling bowl, squatting motionless, waiting for him to continue.
"Do you see that black spire?" Corax gestured toward the towering structure piercing the false sky. "One of our first objectives is to activate it. That signal will serve as the opening shot of our revolution, a rallying cry to every worker on this moon that the time has come."
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Originally, I planned to personally lead the assault on the spire. But that would delay the crucial task of securing the orbital landing zones and gravity wells when enemy reinforcements arrive. The delay could doom the entire uprising." His jaw tightened. "I have complete faith in the Shadow Warden I've personally trained. What I don't have faith in is leaving victory to chance."
Corax's gaze remained locked on yours as he laid out portions of his strategic plan, trusting you with information that could destroy the rebellion if it fell into the wrong hands.
"Brother," he asked with utmost seriousness, "are you willing to contribute to liberating the suffering people of this moon?"
"That's exactly why I'm here," you answered without hesitation, nodding firmly.
A bright smile bloomed across Corax's pale face like sunrise breaking through storm clouds. He reached out and patted your shoulder with one massive hand, the gesture surprisingly gentle despite his strength.
"Brother, welcome to our revolutionary ranks." His smile widened further. "Now eat your noodles before they get cold. Wasting food is a sin we can't afford here."
You couldn't help but return the smile.
You raised the large iron bowl to your lips and slurped down the thick, surprisingly delicious noodles, savoring every bite.
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