Sister Prudence stood in her office, hands clasped behind her back, her expression carefully neutral as Brother Ha'ken loomed before her desk.

  The Space Marine's presence dominated the small room, making everything else—the simple furniture, the religious iconography on the walls, even Sister Prudence herself—seem insignificant by comparison.

  "I have made a decision regarding the children," Brother Ha'ken said, his deep voice resonant in the confined space. "But it is not one I can execute immediately."

  Sister Prudence inclined her head. "I am listening, Lord Astartes."

  "I will consult with my chapter first," he continued. "The situation is... unprecedented. Gene-seed experimentation, Navigator genetics, Blank manifestation—these are matters that require counsel beyond my own judgment."

  "A wise approach," Sister Prudence said carefully.

  "However," Brother Ha'ken's glowing red eyes met hers with absolute certainty, "my intent is clear. When the time is right, I will bring the children to Nocturne."

  Sister Prudence's carefully maintained composure cracked slightly. Her eyebrows rose. "To... Nocturne, Lord Astartes? Your home world?"

  "Yes."

  "May I ask why?"

  Brother Ha'ken was silent for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal.

  "They may be connected to our heritage," he said finally. "The eyes alone suggest possible Salamander gene-seed origin. The golden flames... they resonated with something in me. Something I cannot fully articulate. But I believe—no, I am certain—that these children are, in some way, our spiritual kin."

  Sister Prudence studied him carefully. "You believe they belong with the Salamanders."

  "I believe they deserve protection that only we can provide. And understanding that only our Apothecaries and Librarians can offer." He paused. "They cannot remain here forever. The risks are too great. But neither can they be cast into the Imperium's standard institutions. Nocturne offers a middle path."

  Sister Prudence nodded slowly, processing this. "I understand. And I will support your decision, Lord Astartes. However..." She hesitated, then continued. "You should know that the Inquisitor—the one who examined them when they first arrived—has assigned operatives to observe the orphanage. He is still watching them."

  Brother Ha'ken's expression hardened. "The Inquisitor?"

  "Inquisitor Rathken of the Ordo Hereticus. He deemed them non-threatening during his initial examination but maintained surveillance. If he learns the full truth of what they are..."

  "He will not," Brother Ha'ken said, his tone brooking no argument. "I will handle the Inquisitor. If he interferes, he will answer to the Salamanders."

  The absolute confidence in his voice was both reassuring and slightly terrifying.

  Sister Prudence managed a small, tight smile. "Then I will leave that matter in your capable hands, Lord Astartes."

  "What happened today—the fever, the golden flames, our conversation—all of it must remain secret," Brother Ha'ken continued. "Tell only those sisters who already know. No records. No reports to the Ecclesiarchy. Not until I return with guidance from my chapter."

  "Understood. You have my word."

  Brother Ha'ken nodded once, then turned toward the door. He paused at the threshold, his massive armored form filling the doorway.

  "The children trust you," he said without looking back. "Do not betray that trust. They have suffered enough."

  "I would never dream of it, Lord Astartes."

  He left without another word, his heavy footsteps echoing through the orphanage corridors, gradually fading into the distance.

  Sister Prudence stood alone in her office, staring at the empty doorway.

  Then she sat heavily in her chair and let out a long, shaky breath.

  "Emperor preserve us all," she murmured. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

  Brother Ha'ken walked through the streets of the upper hive, his presence clearing a path through the crowds as effectively as a tank.

  Citizens pressed themselves against walls, their faces mixtures of awe and terror. Children stared with wide eyes. Even gangers and enforcers gave him a wide berth.

  But Ha'ken barely noticed them.

  His mind was still in that medicae ward, replaying everything he'd seen and heard.

  The golden flames.

  They had resonated with him in a way he couldn't fully explain. Not heat—he was a Salamander, son of Vulkan, born of a volcanic world. He knew heat in all its forms, from the gentle warmth of a hearth to the searing fury of plasma fire.

  But these flames had been something else.

  They had felt... right. Pure. Like the fire of creation rather than destruction.

  Perhaps the Emperor watches over you, he had told the child. Or perhaps something else does.

  But what could that something else be?

  The question gnawed at him.

  They might be our spiritual kin, he thought. The eyes. The flames. Something in my soul recognizes them as... belonging. But how? Why?

  And then there was the other mystery: Eve.

  Lilith had claimed her sister was a Blank, implanted with Pariah gene-seed. But Eve had seemed perfectly normal. No aura of wrongness. No instinctive revulsion. No soul-deep chill that Blanks typically radiated.

  She suppresses her nature, Lilith had said. When I woke up, something changed.

  A psyker and a Blank, balancing each other. Suppressing each other's most dangerous aspects.

  It was elegant. Almost poetic.

  And it made perfect tactical sense for a Magos creating weapons—one to counter psykers, one to wield psychic power, each stabilizing the other.

  But to experiment on children...

  Ha'ken's hands clenched into fists, his gauntlets grinding softly.

  The Navigator's Eye burned in his mind like a brand.

  Navigator genetics were sacred to the Navigator Houses. Jealously guarded. Controlled. To steal samples and implant them in a child as an experiment?

  It was violation of the highest order.

  And the eye is blind, he thought. Lilith said she cannot see through it. Cannot use it. Why?

  The answer came to him as he walked.

  Eve severs her connection to the Warp. The Navigator's Eye requires that connection to function. So the eye remains dormant—blind—as long as they stay together.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  It all fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

  But the picture they created was troubling.

  Two children, engineered as weapons, their very bodies altered by forces that should never have touched them. Failed experiments by the standards of their creator, but successes in ways the Magos had never intended.

  They had survived. Escaped. Found sanctuary.

  And now they had found him.

  Or perhaps I found them, Ha'ken thought. Perhaps this was the Emperor's will. Or Vulkan's guidance. Or simple chance.

  It didn't matter.

  What mattered was that they needed protection. And he would provide it.

  The District's Great Cathedral came into view, its spires rising above the smog. His Thunderhawk waited there, along with his battle-brothers.

  He needed to report to his chapter. To seek counsel from those wiser and more experienced.

  But he already knew what his recommendation would be.

  Bring them to Nocturne. Keep them safe. Let the Apothecaries examine them properly. Let the Librarians assess the risks. And if they truly carry Salamander gene-seed...

  Then they are ours to protect. As Vulkan would have wished.

  The Thunderhawk's interior was spartan and functional, all metal and purpose.

  Brother Ha'ken sat in the transport bay with four of his battle-brothers—Brothers Kha'ven, T'kaar, No'van, and Vel'cona. All veterans of the Third Company. All warriors he trusted with his life.

  They had been waiting when he arrived, asking no questions about his prolonged absence. Salamanders understood that their duty extended beyond the battlefield.

  Now, as the Thunderhawk lifted off from the cathedral's landing pad and began its ascent through Armageddon's toxic atmosphere, Ha'ken finally spoke.

  "Brothers," he said, his voice carrying easily over the rumble of engines. "I have encountered something... unusual."

  Four pairs of glowing red eyes turned toward him.

  "Speak, Ha'ken," Brother Kha'ven said. The veteran sergeant was the oldest among them, his dark face scarred by centuries of warfare. "What troubles you?"

  Ha'ken took a breath, then began.

  He told them everything.

  The orphanage. The fevered child. The golden flames that defied explanation. The confession—gene-seed experiments, Navigator genetics, Pariah implantation. The massacre aboard the Mechanicus ship. The children's desperate escape and survival.

  He told them about Lilith's mismatched eyes and her severed Warp connection. About Eve's suppressed Blank nature and her unwavering devotion to her sister.

  He told them about his decision to keep them secret. To protect them. To eventually bring them to Nocturne.

  When he finished, silence filled the transport bay.

  Then Brother No'van, the youngest of the group, spoke hesitantly.

  "Gene-seed experimentation on children. That is... heresy of the highest order."

  "Yes," Ha'ken agreed.

  "And you believe they carry Salamander gene-seed?"

  "I suspect it. The eyes are too similar to be coincidence. And the golden flames..." Ha'ken struggled to articulate it. "They felt like home. Like the fires of Mount Deathfire. Pure and cleansing."

  Brother T'kaar, the company's Apothecary, leaned forward. "If they truly carry our gene-seed, corrupted and experimented upon, that is a matter for the Chapter. The Forgefather will need to know."

  "I intend to inform him," Ha'ken said. "But carefully. These children are not threats. They are victims. I will not have them treated as specimens."

  "Of course not," Brother Vel'cona rumbled. "We are Salamanders. We protect the innocent. Even when they are... unusual."

  Brother Kha'ven stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The Inquisitor watching them. That is a complication."

  "I will handle him," Ha'ken said firmly.

  "Will you? Inquisitors do not take kindly to Space Marines interfering in their investigations."

  "Then he can lodge a complaint with the Chapter Master." Ha'ken's tone was absolute. "I will not allow those children to be handed over to the Inquisition for dissection. They have done nothing wrong."

  Kha'ven smiled slightly. "Spoken like a true son of Vulkan."

  The veteran sergeant stood and placed a hand on Ha'ken's shoulder guard.

  "You did the right thing, brother. Compassion is not weakness. It is our greatest strength. If these children need our protection, they will have it."

  The other battle-brothers voiced their agreement—deep rumbles of assent that resonated through the transport bay.

  Ha'ken felt the weight on his shoulders lighten slightly.

  He had made the right choice.

  Now he just had to tell the rest of the chapter.

  Meanwhile, back at the orphanage, Lilith sat on the edge of her cot in the medicae ward, slowly eating a bowl of the same gray slop that passed for food in this place.

  It tasted like cardboard mixed with chemicals, but her body desperately needed the calories.

  Her regeneration was already working—she could feel it, that strange internal warmth that meant her body was repairing itself, returning to its baseline state. The fever had burned through her like wildfire, damaging tissues and depleting resources, but now that she was conscious and eating, everything was being restored.

  Weird how I can feel it happening, she thought. Like there's a progress bar in my head showing 'Health: 73%' or something.

  But even as her body recovered, her mind wouldn't stop churning.

  The golden flames.

  "Eve," she said quietly, setting down her bowl. "The Salamander said there were golden flames. Covering me. Is that true?"

  Eve, who sat beside her on the cot as always, nodded. "Yes."

  "What did they look like?"

  Eve was quiet for a moment, as if searching for words.

  "Beautiful," she said finally. "Warm. Not burning. Just... there. Like you were wrapped in light."

  Lilith's hand unconsciously went to her chest, as if she could still feel some remnant of those flames.

  Naic.

  The name surfaced in her memory.

  That strange entity in the white void. The one who'd refused to give her power but promised "something else" instead.

  Was it the flames? Did he... did he put something inside me?

  The thought was equal parts terrifying and oddly comforting.

  She didn't feel any different. No new abilities. No strange sensations. Just... herself.

  But the flames had saved her life. Had burned away the Warp's corruption and left her whole.

  I don't understand any of this, she thought, frustration welling up. I'm just a guy who died in his sleep and woke up in a nightmare universe. I'm not supposed to have mysterious cosmic benefactors or golden healing flames. I'm supposed to be dead. Or at least normal.

  But "normal" had never been an option here.

  She sighed, running a hand through her long black hair.

  "Everything's so complicated," she muttered. "I just want one day—one single day—where something isn't trying to kill me or use me or experiment on me."

  Eve pressed her face against Lilith's hand, the gesture achingly familiar.

  Lilith's expression softened. She gently cupped Eve's cheek, feeling the warmth of her twin's skin.

  At least I have you, she thought. That's something. That's everything, really.

  Then Eve spoke, her voice small and hesitant.

  "Sorry."

  Lilith blinked. "For what?"

  "Broke promise."

  "What promise?"

  Eve pulled back slightly, her red eyes meeting Lilith's mismatched gaze.

  "Told sisters. About us. About ship. About... everything."

  For a moment, Lilith didn't understand.

  Then it hit her.

  She confessed. She told Sister Mercy, Sister Prudence, and Sister Marian about what we are. About what happened.

  The revelation should have terrified her. Should have made her angry or panicked.

  But looking at Eve's guilty, worried expression, all Lilith felt was a strange calm.

  "It's okay," she said gently.

  "You said... if I tell, they separate us."

  "I know what I said." Lilith squeezed Eve's hand. "But you did the right thing. You were trying to save me. I can't be mad at you for that."

  Eve's eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Scared. You were dying. Didn't know what to do."

  "I know. And you did exactly what you should have done. You asked for help." Lilith pulled Eve into a hug, holding her close. "That took courage. Thank you."

  Eve buried her face against Lilith's shoulder, her small body trembling slightly.

  Lilith held her, her mind drifting to the implications of Eve's confession.

  The sisters know. And they told the Salamander. That's how he knew to examine us so carefully. That's why he understood the situation so quickly.

  She thought about Sister Mercy's kindness. Sister Marian's medical care. Sister Prudence's stern but fair protection.

  They didn't betray us. They tried to help.

  And then there was Brother Ha'ken.

  A Space Marine. A literal demigod of war.

  And he'd chosen to protect them instead of executing them or handing them over to the Inquisition.

  Is that a good thing?

  Lilith still wasn't sure.

  On one hand, having a Salamander on their side was probably the best protection they could ask for in this universe. Space Marines were powerful, respected, feared. If Ha'ken had decided they were worth protecting, that meant something.

  On the other hand...

  How did Sister Mercy even find him? Space Marines aren't exactly in the phone book. You can't just call them up and ask for help.

  The logistics bothered her.

  She must have had contacts. Or known someone who knew someone. Or just got incredibly lucky.

  Or maybe it was fate. Or the Emperor's will. Or Naic's interference. Or just random chance in a universe that runs on narrative logic as much as physics.

  She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

  There's no point overthinking it. It happened. We're alive. That's what matters.

  Eve pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes.

  "Are we safe?" she asked quietly.

  Lilith wanted to say yes. Wanted to promise that everything would be okay now, that the Salamander's protection meant they were finally secure.

  But she couldn't lie. Not to Eve.

  "Safer than we were," she said instead. "The Salamander... I think he genuinely wants to help us. And the sisters have been kind. So our chances of surviving just went up."

  "How much?"

  Lilith thought about it.

  The Inquisition was still watching. They were still gene-seed experiments with dangerous abilities. The Navigator Houses would want them dead if they found out. The Mechanicus might send another Magos looking for revenge. And Chaos—the Chaos Gods who'd marked her in the Warp—they were still out there, still waiting.

  We're still in danger. We'll probably always be in danger.

  But they had allies now. Protection. A plan, however uncertain.

  "Maybe one percent," Lilith said finally.

  Eve blinked. "One?"

  "Yeah. Our survival rate probably went from zero-point-nothing to maybe one percent." Lilith managed a weak smile. "In Warhammer 40k, one percent is actually pretty good odds."

  Eve looked at Lilith with confusion, then nodded. "One percent is good?"

  "Yeah. It is."

  Lilith leaned back against the wall, Eve nestled against her side.

  One percent.

  It wasn't much.

  But it was infinitely better than nothing.

  And in the grim darkness of the far future, where there was only war and suffering and death around every corner...

  Sometimes one percent was all you needed to keep going.

  We're going to survive this, Lilith thought, closing her right eye and letting exhaustion pull her toward sleep.

  So, scratching that unfortunate and sad situation (i feel better as i'm writing this). As always, happy reading everyone!

  P.S

  Didn't expect that some will get the wordplay on Naic (Cain) immediately lmao