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Chapter 1 – Into the Fire
The transition from the Great Road's humming interdimensional spans to the surface of the planet was a violent re-anchoring of molecular weight. One moment, Sue was suspended in the stable, violet-hued geometry of the multiversal network; the next, she was slammed into the brutal reality of the 41st Millennium. She emerged from a localized rift—a jagged, untamed portal—and immediately felt the Pattern groan under the weight of the surrounding entropy.
The air was a thick, oily soup of promethium fumes and pulverized concrete. Above, the sky was a bruised lung, scarred by the white-hot arcs of orbital bombardment.
Kyrith, her Groveborn Companion, let out a sharp, telepathic neigh of protest as his hooves struck the vitrified soil. His snowy coat shimmered with an inner light, a stabilizing force against the psychic rot of the Warp.
:This place is an open wound, Sue,: Kyrith’s mind-voice echoed, a silver thread of sanity. :The very air tastes of malice.:
:It’s a 40k waypoint, Kyrith. Malice is the local currency,: Sue replied, her Immortality Genes providing near-instant adaptation to the toxic atmosphere. She adjusted her seat in the saddle, her Tactical Skin-Suit shifting into its combat-sealed form as she felt the local connection to the Great Road sever. She was out of range now; there would be no drawing power from the central hubs.
Behind her, hovering on silent anti-grav plates, was Lugia, her carbon-fiber sentient luggage.
"Scans indicate local atmospheric toxicity is at 14% above baseline," Lugia’s voice chirped through Sue’s earpiece. "Also, I am detecting a total lack of Great Road signal. We are officially on local resources, Sue. I've initiated 'Sovereign Island' protocols.".
"Understood, Lugia. Deploy the Smart Bracers and prep the Great Road magitech for local anchor-mode," Sue commanded, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the horizon.
"Processing," Lugia replied. A rotating sensor dish popped from the luggage's lid. "I have located the shepherd teams. They are three kilometers North-Northwest, heading toward Haven. They are being pursued by an Ork warband of approximately six hundred entities. Probability of successful arrival: 22%.".
Sue nudged Kyrith’s flanks, and the Companion blurred into a streak of white light. Rising out of the smoke ahead stood Haven.
The city was a jarring anomaly: a fragment of Valdemaran architecture protected by Pre-Fall magic. Its shields were a shimmering cerulean dome maintained by a circle of Heralds, but the energy was flickering. These people were used to gentle, predictable laws, not the soul-grinding pressures of the 40k universe. To them, the mage-shields felt as fragile as glass against the incoming "dakka".
"Sue, the refugees are flagging!" Herald Keth’s mind-voice was thick with exhaustion. "The local magic isn't holding against the kinetic weight of those scrap-tanks!".
"I see them, Keth. Lugia, I need a hard-light barrier. Use the onboard ZPMs," Sue ordered.
"Tapping the utility belt reserves," Lugia chirped as its lid clicked open.
Sue raised her left hand, her Smart Jewelry pulsing with stored energy. Since she couldn't pull from the Road, she was the battery. She felt her Marrow Implants hum as they governed the massive energy surge from her internal reactor.
She landed Kyrith softly at the rear of the line. The Havenites stared at her in awe as she raised a secondary shield wall—not of flickering mage-fire, but of solid, crystalline magitech. The Ork Trukks slammed into the barrier at full tilt, their kinetic energy stripped away and turned into fine grey dust by the shield's resonance.
"Go!" Sue shouted over the roar of explosions. "I'm the wall now!".
She sat atop Kyrith, arms folded, watching the green tide surge forward. From the south, she detected a new sound: the rhythmic thrum-thrum-thrum of Imperial Valkyries.
"Lugia, status on the incoming psychic signature?".
"It's large, Sue. And very, very sanctioned," Lugia warned. "The Imperium is here, and they don't have a file for 'Sentient Luggage.'".
Chapter 2 – The Sovereign Island
The pressure on the shields was no longer just physical; it was an erosion of the local Pattern. Without the direct feed from the Great Road's central span to anchor the reality of this sector, Sue was forced to rely on her own internal systems and the precious reserves within her Luggage.
"Lugia, the heraldic shields are at thirty percent," Sue reported, her eyes tracking a volley of crude Ork rockets that flattened against her crystalline barrier. "The Heralds are burning out trying to maintain the dome on purely local Gifts."
"Correct, Sue. The velgarth magical interface was never intended to mitigate high-yield kinetic bombardment," Lugia chirped, its lid humming as it processed the data. "I recommend shifting to 'Sovereign Island' mode. I have calculated that your Marrow Implants can handle the reactor load for approximately six hours before we risk neural strain."
Sue nodded, her Tactical Skin-Suit shimmering as it adjusted to a higher defensive frequency. Beneath her, Kyrith stood as steady as a mountain, his mind a calm pool of light that helped ground her against the psychic "noise" of the charging Orks.
:They are close, Sue,: Kyrith’s mind-voice warned. :The one with the metal jaw—he seeks to test the edge of your will.:
"Let him," Sue said. She reached into a side compartment of her Belt and produced a handful of small, shimmering discs—Borg Buttons.
As the first wave of Ork Boyz reached the shield, screaming their primal war cry, Sue didn't use her Force Lance to disintegrate them. Instead, she flicked her wrist with the precision of a Perpetual. Borg Buttons flew true, propelled by her internal Telekinesis.
The tiny devices latched onto the Orks’ rusted armor and green flesh. In a blur of silver nanites, the xenos’ screams were cut short. Their eyes, previously bloodshot with mindless rage, suddenly went dull, then flickered with a cold, blue light. The nanites surged through their systems, overwriting their biological imperatives with the central coordination of Sue's Lugia interface.
"Assimilation complete," Lugia reported. "Fourteen 'Green-Shield' units now active. I am slaving their motor functions to our perimeter defense grid."
The newly "borged" Orks turned around with mechanical synchronicity. They raised their rusted "sluggas" and began firing with unnatural accuracy into the ranks of their former kin.
The Ork Nob stopped his charge, his massive power-klaw clicking in confusion. His own soldiers were now the front line of Haven's defense.
"That's a temporary fix," Sue muttered, feeling the drain on her EndoSkin as she maintained the hard-light wall. "Lugia, what about the incoming Imperial signature?"
"The Librarian is within visual range," Lugia replied. "And he just witnessed you turn xenos into servitors with a flick of your wrist. My 'Diplomatic Empathy' sensors are currently reading 'Extreme Hostility'."
A streak of fire tore through the bruised clouds. A Space Marine drop-pod slammed into the mud fifty yards from Sue’s position, its explosive bolts firing with a deafening crack. From the steam emerged a giant in cerulean power armor, his psychic hood crackling with blue lightning.
The Librarian raised his force staff, his eyes glowing with the terrifying light of the Warp. He looked at the refugees, then at the borged Orks, and finally at the woman on the white horse who felt like a fixed point in a spinning universe.
"Abomination!" the Librarian’s voice boomed, amplified by his vox-grille. "You wield the forbidden arts of the Iron Men! By the Emperor’s light, I demand you stand down and submit to the Inquisition!"
Sue didn't flinch. She adjusted her Smart Jewelry, ensuring her HUD was feeding her the Librarian's psychic frequency.
"I am the Custodian of Haven," she said, her voice amplified by Lugia to match his volume. "These people are humans under my protection. I don't submit to the Inquisition; I manage the Pattern. Now, either help me clear these Orks, or step aside. I have a city to stabilize."
The Librarian’s staff flared. He wasn't used to being told to step aside, especially not by someone who felt as ancient as a Seed-Self.
Chapter 3 – The Librarian
The Librarian did not attack immediately. The air around him shimmered with the heat of a star being born, but he remained rooted, his gaze fixed on the front line. It was a scene of clinical, terrifying efficiency.
The fourteen "Borged" Orks were no longer shouting. They stood in a perfect, silent phalanx. When an un-assimilated Ork lunged forward, the Borg-units didn't just fire; they moved with the coordinated speed of a hive-mind. One unit would parry a choppa with a sudden, nanite-reinforced forearm, while another pressed a silver Borg Button into the attacker’s neck.
The transformation was near-instantaneous. The attacker’s roar would turn into a wet, mechanical gurgle as the nanites rewrote its motor cortex. Within seconds, the new unit would step into the phalanx, slaved to Lugia’s sub-routines. The Orks weren't just being defeated; they were being integrated.
"Cease this witchcraft!" the Librarian roared, his psychic hood flaring as he detected the absence of Warp-resonance in the process. To him, anything that bypassed the Warp was the ultimate heresy: the touch of the Soulless.
"Lugia, handle the perimeter expansion," Sue commanded, her voice calm as she nudged Kyrith forward. The white not-horse stepped over a pile of smoldering scrap, his hooves glowing with the light of the Great Road.
Sue reached into her duster and pulled out a bundle of heavy, ancient vellum. The scrolls were bound in high-tensile carbon-fiber and smelled of ozone and something far older than the Imperium's current decay.
"You speak of mandates and authority," Sue said, her eyes locking onto the Librarian’s glowing optics. "You claim to serve the Emperor. I suggest you check your archives for these."
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the scrolls. They didn't fall into the mud; they floated, propelled by a localized gravity-well, and drifted toward the giant in cerulean armor.
The Librarian caught them with a gauntleted hand. He unrolled the first scroll with suspicious haste, his psychic senses scanning for traps. Then he froze.
The document was a Warrant of Trade, but it was unlike any the Inquisition or the High Lords had ever seen. The seal was made of a liquid-metal alloy that hummed with a low-frequency pulse. The script was High Gothic, but the ink was shimmering, living light.
At the bottom was a signature that radiated a terrifying, familiar authority.
"This is impossible," the Librarian whispered, his voice cracking. "The seal... the signature... this is his hand. But the date..."
He looked up, his face-plate radiating confusion. "This was signed M30.724. The Great Crusade was barely underway. And yet, the ink is fresh. It is... wet."
"Time is a local variable on the Great Road," Sue said, her Immortality Genes flaring as she projected a sliver of her Anchor presence. "I was there when the 'Master of Mankind' was still a man with a vision, not a corpse on a throne. He gave me those warrants to ensure that Haven would always have legal standing in his domain, no matter when—or where—it appeared."
"You claim to have walked with the Master?" the Librarian snarled, though he didn't lower his staff. "You are a Perpetual. Or a Warp-demon wearing a fair face."
"Perpetual," Sue replied. "I am a Citadel Queen. And right now, my 'Green-Shield' units are the only thing keeping this sector from being overrun while your Valkyries are still in transit. Those Orks are now self-replicating perimeter guards. They will hold the line, they will process the dead into corpse-starch for the refugees, and they will obey me."
As if to prove her point, a freshly borged Ork Nob—now sporting a silver interface plate where its eye used to be—stepped forward and saluted Sue with mechanical precision.
"Lugia, give the Librarian a data-burst of our containment protocols," Sue ordered.
"Sending a 'Lite' version of the Multiversal Empire's tactical doctrine," Lugia chirped. "I've omitted the parts about the Gods in the Cube, Sue. Let's not give the poor man a brain hemorrhage."
The Librarian’s vox-unit squealed as Lugia’s high-grade AI bypassed his ancient encryption. Thousands of pages of logistics, containment theory, and legal precedents flooded his HUD.
"You... you are using xenos as servitors," the Librarian gasped, struggling to process the sheer volume of data. "You are violating every tenet of the Lex Imperialis."
"I'm saving lives in a universe that doesn't want them saved," Sue said, her voice turning cold. "The Havenites are Pre-Fall. They don't have your power armor or your faith. They have me. Now, are you going to help me secure the secondary pockets of refugees, or are you going to stand there and let the Orks test my patience?"
The Librarian looked at the warrant in his hand, then at the borged Orks who were currently dismantling a scrap-tank with surgical efficiency.
"I must report this to the Chapter Master," he rumbled. "But... the signature is genuine. I cannot deny the Emperor's own mark."
"Good," Sue said, turning Kyrith back toward the city. "Lugia, tell the Heralds to open the gates. We have three more pockets to ferry in, and I want the Orks to have finished the first batch of corpse-starch by sunset."
Chapter 4 – Haven Arrival
The gates of Haven did not swing open; they dissolved. The Heraldic mage-shields, shimmering with the pale, translucent blue of a Pre-Fall Valdemar, rippled like water to allow the column of refugees through.
The transition was a physical shock to the senses. One moment, the refugees were inhaling the sulfurous, metallic rot of a dying 40k world; the next, they were breathing air that tasted of lavender, ozone, and sun-warmed stone. They staggered onto the clean, white-stone plazas of the intake district. This was no high-tech colony; Haven was a medieval city of spires, timber-framed houses, and cobblestones, plucked directly from the world of Velgarth and anchored here by Sue’s will.
Inside the walls, the architecture was jarringly peaceful. Flowers bloomed in window boxes, and the sound of blacksmith hammers replaced the thud of artillery. But the refugees didn't see the beauty; they saw the impossibility. Many collapsed into weeping heaps as the sheer "weight" of the grimdark universe was lifted.
Sue rode Kyrith through the gates last, the flickering violet light of her Great Road anchor-field trailing behind her like a regal cape. Behind her, the Green-Shield units—the freshly borged Orks—slid into their defensive positions along the outer stone battlements. They stood in eerie, silent rows atop the medieval ramparts, their red eyes replaced by steady blue optics, their movements governed by Lugia’s background sub-routines.
"Lugia, status on the intake," Sue commanded, dismounting with the fluid grace of a Citadel Queen.
"Intake at 84% capacity for the Commons," Lugia chirped, its carbon-fiber lid humming as it hovered at her shoulder. "The Healers are currently treating radiation sickness and shrapnel wounds. However, Sue, the local magic is struggling. This city wasn't designed for a universe where the 'Warp' tries to chew through the stone."
Sue looked up at the sky. Above the medieval rooftops, the shimmering cerulean dome was visible. It was beautiful, woven with the purity of a world that had never known the Fall of Slaanesh, but it was dangerously thin. Against a Chaos incursion or a sustained Ork barrage, these Pre-Fall shields were like glass.
"The Heralds are using Heraldic patterns meant for Velgarth," Sue muttered, her HUD highlighting the stress fractures in the magical weave. "They’re trying to hold back a galaxy of demons with a silk net. Lugia, we need to reinforce the city's spiritual anchors with the Great Road magitech in your reserves."
"I am already stabilizing the ley-lines beneath the well-district," Lugia noted. "But we are on local power, Sue. Every erg of energy I use to harden the stone is an erg we don't have for the Borg Buttons."
"Understood. We’ll have to be efficient," Sue said. She walked toward the central square, the clicking of her boots on the cobblestones echoing in the sudden silence. Kyrith walked beside her, his mind radiating a sense of wary exhaustion.
Kyrith messaged.
Sue replied.
She reached the center of the city, where a group of Heralds stood around a stone fountain. They looked up, their faces pale and streaked with soot. One of them, a senior Herald named Arris, stepped forward.
"The Librarian is still outside the gates, Ma'am," Arris reported. "He’s just standing there, staring at the battlements. I don't think he's ever seen a stone wall he couldn't knock down with a thought."
"Let him stare," Sue said. "He’s currently trying to reconcile a Warrant of Trade signed by his God with the fact that my 'servitors' are currently cleaning their rusted guns on a medieval rampart. It’ll take him an hour just to finish the prayer for 'Confusing Data'."
She turned to Lugia. "Lugia, show me the secondary pockets."
A holographic map projected from the luggage, hovering over the medieval fountain. Three pulsing red dots scattered across the ruins of the Hive City outside.
"The secondary pockets," Sue said, her Immortality Genes flaring as she processed the data. "We can't send the Heralds out there again; their Pre-Fall shields won't take another direct hit from an Ork scrap-tank. We send the Borged units. Lugia, give the Green-Shields the 'Extraction' sub-routine. I want the dead processed into corpse-starch and the living brought here."
"Acknowledged," Lugia replied. "Should I also initiate the flavor-profiling? I've found a recipe for 'Roast Chicken' in the Velgarth archives."
"Yes," Sue said. "And Lugia? Tell the Heralds to stop trying to fight the 40k reality with their bare hands. Tell them to lean on my Anchor. That’s what it’s for."
Sue turned back toward the gates. She could feel the Librarian's psychic presence through the stone—a cold, sharp spike of suspicion. She needed him. If the Imperium officially recognized Haven as a "Sanctioned Entity," she could focus on the Gods of Velgarth's housekeeping without an Inquisitorial fleet burning the city to the ground.
"Kyrith, let's go," Sue said, swinging back into the saddle. "We have more pockets to save, and I suspect the Librarian is about to have questions about why my 'Orks' are better disciplined than his Serfs."
Chapter 4 – The Secondary Convoy
The first wave of refugees had barely been settled into the makeshift barracks of Haven’s lower wards when the alarm bells of the central watchtower began to toll. It wasn't the rhythmic, measured chime of a city at peace; it was the frantic, clattering alert of Heraldic warning-bells, amplified by the city’s acoustics to reach every corner of the medieval streets.
"Lugia, report," Sue commanded, her HUD flickering to life as she strode across the cobblestones of the High Plaza.
"I have detected a massive influx of Valdemaran signatures three kilometers to the South," Lugia chirped, hovering at her shoulder. "It appears the Great Road's instability has vomited out a second, larger pocket. It’s not just a few stragglers, Sue. We’re looking at several entire townships from the Borderlands. Three thousand civilians, minimum. And they brought their livestock."
Sue’s jaw tightened. "And the locals?"
"The Orks have noticed the fresh meat," Lugia replied, projecting a holographic map over the High Plaza’s fountain. "A secondary warband, mostly 'Speed Freeks,' is closing in from the industrial ruins. The Heralds on-site are attempting to maintain a moving perimeter, but they are using Heraldic shields. They’re being shredded by kinetic bleed-through."
From the stables of the Citadel, Kyrith emerged in a blur of white, his hooves striking sparks off the stone. He didn't need to be told the stakes; his mind was already linked to Sue’s, feeling the desperate, terrified pulses of the Heralds in the field.
:They are drowning, Sue,: Kyrith’s mind-voice was a low thunder. “:he 'Rules' of this place are crushing their Gifts. They feel as if they are trying to hold back a landslide with paper fans.:
"Then we’ll give them a wall," Sue said, vaulting into the saddle. "Lugia, divert 10% of the city’s internal battery reserves to my Smart Bracers. We’re going out of range of the city's primary anchor, so I’ll need the ZPMs on hot-standby."
As they thundered through the gates, Sue saw the scale of the disaster. The plain between Haven and the Hive ruins was a sea of mud and panic. Dozens of heavy Valdemaran wagons, pulled by terrified draft horses, were bogged down in the mire. Heralds in mud-caked white and blue were frantically trying to keep the line moving, their Pre-Fall shields shimmering like soap bubbles under a rain of heavy Ork slugs.
"Sue! Thank the Gods!" Herald Keth’s mind-voice broke through the static of the Warp. He was at the rear of the convoy, his Companion's coat stained grey with ash. "The shields won't hold! Every time they hit us with those rockets, the kinetic shock is killing the mages!"
"Fall back to the wagons, Keth!" Sue shouted over the vox. "I'm taking the kinetic load!"
She nudged Kyrith, and the Companion leaped over a stalled cart. Sue raised her left hand, her Smart Jewelry glowing with a fierce, violet intensity.A wall of solid, crystalline magitech slammed into existence fifty yards behind the convoy. When the first Ork 'Warbuggy' slammed into it, the vehicle simply turned into a pancake of twisted iron, its kinetic energy instantly neutralized and converted into a harmless hum.
"Lugia, I need more Green-Shields," Sue said, her voice cold. "That warband is too big to just block."
"Deploying the Borg Buttons," Lugia replied.
Sue flicked her wrist, and a dozen silver discs streaked through the air, guided by her Telekinesis. They found their marks on the lead Ork bikers. In a flash of nanites, the xenos’ roars were replaced by the chilling silence of the collective.
"Assimilation complete. Twenty-four units added to the 'Mobile Perimeter' sub-routine," Lugia reported.
The newly borged Orks pulled their bikes into a tight circle around the wagons, their blue optics glowing as they turned their "dakka" outward. The Valdemaran villagers screamed in terror at the sight of the "monsters" suddenly defending them, but Sue didn't have time to explain.
High above, the clouds parted. The rhythmic thrum-thrum-thrum of Imperial Valkyries grew louder.
"Sue," Lugia warned. "The Librarian is tracking our energy signature. He’s seen the second shield wall. He's currently designating your magitech as 'Apothecary-Grade Heresy'."
"Let him designate all he wants," Sue muttered, watching as the last of the wagons cleared the mud and began the final sprint toward Haven's gates.
Chapter 5 – Secondary Pockets
The tactical overlay on Sue’s HUD pulsed with three distinct red clusters. While the first wave was settling into the medieval safety of Haven, the "housekeeping" of the sector was far from over.
"Lugia, status on the extraction teams," Sue commanded as Kyrith galloped across the vitrified mud, his hooves leaving faint trails of violet light.
"Pocket One is the most critical, Sue," Lugia chirped, its anti-grav plates straining to keep pace. "Four hundred civilians trapped in a hab-block. The Orks have realized they’re there. I’m detecting heavy 'dakka' and at least one Killa Kan breach."
Sue didn't hesitate. She signaled the Green-Shield vanguard—the two dozen Orks she had already borged. They moved in a silent, terrifyingly efficient formation, their motor functions slaved to the city’s defense grid. Unlike the rowdy, chaotic mob they had been, they now moved with the cold precision of a Phalanx.
As they reached the first hab-block, Sue saw the Heraldic defenders. They were a small team of Heralds who had been cut off during the initial shift. Their shields were shimmering, translucent domes of light, beautiful but dangerously brittle. Every time an Ork rocket slammed into the barrier, the mages winced, their life-force being drained by the kinetic bleed-through of a universe that didn't play by Valdemaran rules.
"Heralds! Drop the shields on my mark!" Sue’s voice boomed over the psychic Mindspeech band.
"Who are you?" a desperate mind-voice flickered back.
"The Custodian. Mark!"
As the Heraldic shields dropped, Sue slammed her hand forward. The Smart Bracers flared, drawing from her internal ZPMs. A solid wall of crystalline magitech replaced the soft light, catching a volley of rokkits and turning them into harmless dust.
"Green-Shields: Assimilate and Clear," Sue ordered.
The borged Orks surged forward. They didn't just kill; they pressed Borg Buttons into the necks of the charging attackers. The Librarian, watching from a nearby ridge, saw the terrifying sight of an Ork warband eating itself—not in a frenzy, but in a silent, methodical expansion of Sue’s perimeter guards.
"Pocket One is secure. Moving to Pockets Two and Three," Lugia reported.
The second pocket—Astra Militarum survivors—offered less resistance to the rescue, though they crossed themselves in terror at the sight of the borged Orks. Sue didn't waste time explaining; she simply enveloped them in a secondary shield and directed them toward the wagons.
The third pocket was the most complex: a group of 'Ratlings' and hive-scum who had looted a Chaos shrine. They were surrounded by 'Rogue Monsters'—warp-tainted fauna that defied standard biology.
"Lugia, these aren't just animals," Sue noted, her Immortality Genes sensing the oily residue of the Warp.
"Correct. They are localized reality-fractures," Lugia replied. "Heraldic magic won't touch them. You'll need to use the High-Grade Magitech containment."
Sue drew her Force Lance. She didn't strike to kill; she struck to stabilize. With each pulse of the lance, she stitched the local reality back together, forcing the monsters to discorporate as their tether to the Warp was severed.
By the time the sun—a pale, sickly orb in the 40k sky—began to set, the last of the refugees were being ferried toward the medieval gates of Haven. The Evacuation Procedure was now a refined machine: Heralds handled the people, the Borged Orks handled the perimeter, and Sue handled the reality-anchoring.
Vorenus, the Librarian, approached Sue as the final wagons cleared the ridge. He looked at the growing army of silent, blue-eyed Orks following her.
"You are building a wall of heresy to protect a city of saints," Vorenus rumbled.
"I'm building a wall of logic to protect people from a nightmare," Sue corrected, wiping soot from her brow. "The extraction is complete. Now, we go back to Haven and turn this loot into a larder."
Chapter 6 – Perimeter and Ork Operations
With the last of the secondary convoys secured within the medieval walls of Haven, the city transitioned from a site of frantic rescue to a center of cold, industrial logic. The "housekeeping" of the local sector had begun.
Sue stood atop the North Bastion, her Smart Bracers projecting a tactical grid over the scorched plains. Beside her, Lugia sat on the stone crenellations, its carbon-fiber lid open as it hummed with the effort of slaving the newly acquired "resources" to its sub-routines.
"Lugia, the 'Green-Shield' experiment is holding," Sue said, watching a squad of borged Orks methodically stack rusted scrap into neat piles near the secondary gate. "But the processing overhead is climbing. We’re out of range of the Great Road's central processors. We need to specialize the labor."
"Agreed, Sue. Initiating the Color-Code Doctrine," Lugia chirped. "I am overwriting the xenos' erratic motor cortexes with specialized task-profiles. Efficiency should increase by 40%."
Across the battlefield, the "Green-Shield" Orks began to change. Tiny nanite-projectors within their Borg Buttons emitted faint light, designating their new roles.
Green-Code: The frontline perimeter guards. They stood in silent, interlocking phalanxes, their blue optics scanning for un-borged threats.
Blue-Code: The scavengers. They moved across the mud, following Sue’s Loot Sorting Doctrine.
"Lugia, prioritize the sorting," Sue commanded. "The Heralds need raw materials for the city, but I want the dangerous assets isolated immediately."
The Blue-Code units worked with surgical precision. They didn't just grab scrap; they analyzed it.
Heraldic-Compatible: Wood, stone, and basic iron were sent to the city’s blacksmiths to reinforce the medieval gates.
Openly Tradable: Standard Imperial gear and shell casings were crated for future negotiation with the Librarian’s Chapter.
Contain: Anything pulsing with Warp-light or Xenos-tech was moved to the heavy-lead shielded vaults beneath the Citadel.
"Sue, the 'Black-Code' units are ready for the larder phase," Lugia reported.
Near the rear of the convoy’s path, a group of borged Orks—the Black-Codes—began the grim necessity of 40k survival. Using high-grade magitech heat-vats produced from Sue’s internal ZPM reserves, the biomass of the fallen was rendered down.
"Initializing flavor-profiling," Lugia noted. "I've cross-referenced the Valdemaran archives. Adding 'High-Borderland Onion and Sage' aromatics to the current batch. The refugees need the calories, and the Healers need them strong."
Inside the walls, the first steaming bowls of processed starch were distributed. The villagers, used to the rustic, hearty stews of their home, ate with a desperation that slowly turned to relief. They didn't know the "Larder" was being managed by the monsters they feared; they only knew that for the first time since the "Shift," they were full.
But Sue’s focus was on the Containment Vaults. In the deep stone cellars of Haven, she oversaw the storage of a jagged, black-oiled blade and a pulsating Ork psychic-focus.
"These are leaks in the Pattern," Sue whispered, her hand hovering over the artifacts. Her Immortality Genes flared, projecting a localized field of absolute stasis that froze the items in time. "Lugia, seal them. If the Librarian asks, they are 'Sanctified and Archived' under the Warrant of Trade."
"Sealed," Lugia confirmed. "The Librarian is approaching the Bastion, Sue. He has noted that the battlefield is now cleaner than a Shrine World, and his vox-thrum suggests he is... confused."
Sue turned as Vorenus clanked up the stairs, his cerulean armor scarred by combat. He looked at the silent, borged Orks, then at the smoking chimneys of the processing pits.
"You harvest the dead to feed the living," Vorenus rumbled, his voice thick with a mix of revulsion and grudging respect. "And you treat the tools of the Archenemy as simple cargo. Do you not fear the corruption?"
"Corruption is a lack of logic, Vorenus," Sue replied, her Anchor presence grounding the air around them. "I don't 'touch' the Warp; I isolate it. These people are under my protection. Until the Gods of Velgarth pull them back home, I will use every scrap of matter in this sector to ensure they survive. That is the mandate of a Citadel Queen."
Vorenus looked at a Blue-Code Ork saluting him with a mechanical jerk before carrying a crate of sorted bolter rounds to the Imperial landing pad.
"The Emperor’s mark is on your soul, woman," the Librarian said quietly. "But the Inquisition will call this the Dark Age of Technology reborn."
"Then let them come and argue with the signature," Sue said, looking out over her newly ordered perimeter. "Tomorrow, we start training the civilians. If we’re going to live here, we’re going to do it with discipline."
Chapter 7 – Internal Training
The medieval skyline of Haven was no longer just a silhouette of survival; it was becoming a hive of activity. While the Black-Code Orks maintained the "Larder" and the Green-Codes held the walls, Sue turned her attention inward. The three thousand Valdemarans were safe, but they were idle, and idleness in the 41st Millennium was a breeding ground for the very psychic despair that invited the Warp.
Sue stood in the center of the Great Plaza, her HUD projecting a color-coded census over the crowd of villagers and Heralds. Beside her, Lugia pulsed with a soft amber light, its internal processors managing the logistics of a society that had been uprooted from a feudal world and dropped into a nightmare.
"Lugia, initiate the Civilian Labor Tiering," Sue commanded. "We need to move them from 'Refugee' status to 'Sanctuary Personnel.' If they have a job, they have a purpose. If they have a purpose, their souls are harder to chew on."
"Processing," Lugia chirped. "I have categorized the population based on their original Valdemaran trades. I am assigning them color-coded armbands to match the Green-Shield logistics:
Blue (Logistics): Sorting the non-dangerous loot and managing the storehouses.
Red (Infrastructure): Assisting the borged units with stone-masonry and gate reinforcement.
Green (Observation): Working alongside the Heralds to monitor the perimeter."
As the villagers were organized into their new roles, the air above the city suddenly shivered. The Heraldic shields rippled, not from an attack, but from a deliberate, high-frequency bypass. A localized portal, shimmering with the golden-white light of the Great Road, tore open above the Citadel’s tallest spire.
From the rift, a wing of Gryphons emerged—massive, feathered beasts with the bodies of lions and the wings of eagles, their eyes burning with an intelligence that far surpassed standard animals. They spiraled down, their screeches echoing off the stone walls, before landing with heavy thuds on the ramparts.
The Valdemarans fell to their knees in prayer, recognizing the legendary protectors of their lore. Even the Librarian, Vorenus, stepped out of the shadows of the North Bastion, his hand tightening on his staff as he felt the sheer, uncorrupted power of the creatures.
"Gryphons," Sue noted with a satisfied nod. "Lugia, sync their telepathic bands to our HUD. I want them on high-altitude reconnaissance. Nothing moves within fifty miles of this city without me seeing it."
"Syncing complete," Lugia replied. "The Gryphons are reporting multiple Ork splinter-cells regrouping in the southern craters. They are also flagging a 'Cold Spot' in the Warp—likely an Imperial reconnaissance drone trying to peek through our interference."
Sue turned to the gathered Heralds. "You see them? You are no longer alone. But the Gryphons and the Orks are tools. You are the heart of this city. Starting today, we begin training. You will learn the difference between a Heraldic shield and a kinetic-dampening field. You will learn how to ground your Gifts into the stone of this city so the Warp doesn't bleed you dry."
She walked toward the center of the Plaza, where the Containment Vaults’ entrance was marked by heavy, lead-lined doors.
"Arris," she called to the senior Herald. "Take the 'Blue' tier. Start sorting the Imperial casings. We’re going to need the brass for trade. The rest of you, look to the skies. The Gods of Velgarth are doing their housekeeping, but until they finish, this city is the only logic left in this sector."
As the refugees began their first shifts, the atmosphere of Haven shifted. The fear was still there, but it was being channeled into the rhythmic, comforting sounds of labor. The medieval city was becoming a fortress, not just of stone, but of will.
Vorenus approached Sue, his gaze lingering on the Gryphons now preening their feathers atop the battlements.
"You bring legends to life to bolster the morale of the weak," the Librarian rumbled. "It is a potent manipulation."
"It's not manipulation, Vorenus. It's Alignment," Sue replied, her Immortality Genes glowing faintly as she looked up at the pale 40k sun. "In your universe, hope is a lie. In mine, it’s a power source. And right now, I’m building a battery."
Chapter 8 – The Local Powers
The arrival of the Gryphons had solidified the refugees' faith, but for the Imperium, it was another "unknown" added to an increasingly volatile ledger.
Three days into the training cycle, a heavy vox-ping echoed through the Citadel’s command center. A flight of Black Templar Interceptors had entered high orbit, escorting an Inquisitorial shuttle. They weren't here to rescue; they were here to audit.
"Lugia, status on the 'Dangerous Items' vault," Sue said, her Smart Bracers tightening as she felt the psychic pressure of an approaching Inquisitor.
"The Magitech Containment Vaults are at 100% integrity," Lugia reported, its sensor dish tracking the shuttle's descent. "However, I must point out that the Librarian, Vorenus, has been standing outside the vault doors for three hours. He is currently debating whether to help us or report us. His internal monologue is a fascinating mess of loyalty and logic."
Sue walked down to the courtyard, where Vorenus stood like a blue-armored statue. "The Black Ships are coming, aren't they?" she asked.
"Not a Black Ship," Vorenus rumbled, his optics flashing. "Inquisitor Toth. He is... thorough. He has heard reports of 'Borged' xenos and 'Archived' Warp-artifacts. He will not care for your Warrant of Trade, Sue. He will see a woman hoarding the seeds of a Second Schism."
"Then let's show him how a Citadel Queen manages the garden," Sue replied.
The shuttle landed with a hiss of pressurized steam. Inquisitor Toth stepped out, flanked by two blank-faced Stormtroopers. He was a man of wires and parchment, his face a mask of bionic enhancements. He didn't look at the medieval beauty of Haven; he looked at the Green-Shield Orks standing at attention on the ramparts.
"Custodian," Toth rasped, his voice a mechanical rasp. "I am told you hold items that belong in the Emperor’s pyre. Hand over the artifacts, dismantle these 'Borg' abominations, and submit to a purity scan."
Sue didn't move. She allowed her Anchor presence to expand, a cool, stabilizing wave of reality that made the Inquisitor’s bionics spark.
"Inquisitor, you are standing in a sanctioned Waypoint under a Warrant signed by the Master of Mankind," Sue said, her voice carrying the weight of the Great Road. "As for the artifacts, I am not 'hoarding' them. I am containing them. If you take them out of this city's field, they will resonate with the Warp and tear this Hive City into the Empyrean."
"Lies of a witch," Toth countered, signaling his guards.
"Lugia, show him," Sue commanded.
A holographic projector in the courtyard flared to life. It displayed the Containment Vault below. Inside, the jagged, black-oiled Chaos blade was suspended in a violet magitech field. The blade was screaming—not in sound, but in psychic pressure. The holographic feed showed the field actively stripping the Warp-entropy away, turning the malice into inert data.
"If I give you that blade," Sue explained calmly, "your ship will be a slaughterhouse before you hit orbit. My tech isn't 'Iron Man' heresy; it's a filter. I am cleaning the sector while the Gods of Velgarth finish their housekeeping."
Toth stepped toward the projection, his mechanical eye whirring. He looked at Vorenus. "Librarian. Is there Warp-taint in this room?"
Vorenus hesitated, then spoke with a heavy certainty. "There is none, Inquisitor. The air in this city is... silent. It is as if the Warp does not exist within these walls. The artifacts are held in a stasis that defies our understanding, but they are cold. Totally cold."
Sue stepped forward, her Smart Jewelry pulsing. "The Imperium manages by fire, Inquisitor. I manage by Alignment. You can try to take these items and risk a Sector-wide breach, or you can recognize Haven as a neutral, temporary containment zone. I will even give you the 'Openly Tradable' loot—the sorted Imperial brass and gear—as a gesture of cooperation."
Toth looked at the Borged Orks, who were currently unloading crates of perfectly sorted bolter shells for the Imperial observers. He looked at the Warrant of Trade, which Sue held out.
"A few months," Toth finally said, his voice dropping into a low threat. "If this city remains when the overlap ends, it will be purged. But for now... keep your 'filters' running. We have enough fires to fight."
As the Inquisitor returned to his shuttle, Sue let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"That was close," Lugia whispered.
"It’s not over," Sue said, looking up at the Gryphons circling the spires. "The local powers are watching. Now we have to prove that Haven isn't just a cage—it's a fortress that can actually hold the line."
Chapter 9 – The Gods of Velgarth
The tension with the Inquisition had settled into a cold, watchful truce, but the atmosphere within Haven was changing. It wasn't the "dakka" of the Orks or the psychic static of the Warp that caused the shift; it was a rhythmic, golden thrumming deep within the earth, as if the planet itself were beginning to breathe.
Sue stood in the high balcony of the Citadel, her HUD flickering with anomalies that her scanners struggled to categorize. Beside her, Kyrith was restless, his ears swiveling toward the city’s central well-district.
:The Pattern is being swept, Sue,: Kyrith’s mind-voice was filled with a rare, holy trepidation. :The Great Ones are starting their work.:
"Lugia, confirm," Sue said, her Immortality Genes vibrating in sympathy with the cosmic shift.
"I am detecting massive localized reality-shifts," Lugia reported, its lid clicking rhythmically. "The Gods of Velgarth have initiated 'Housekeeping' protocols. They are untangling the Valdemaran threads from the 40k tapestry. It’s like watching someone pull a silk thread out of a thorn bush without breaking either."
Down in the Great Plaza, the refugees and Heralds froze. The air didn't just smell of lavender and ozone anymore; it shimmered with the presence of something vast and ancient. Three glowing figures—avatars of the Velgarthian pantheon—manifested near the fountain. They weren't Warp-entities; they lacked the chaotic hunger of the Empyrean. They were orderly, luminous, and terrifyingly precise.
The Heralds fell to their knees. Even the Green-Shield Orks on the ramparts paused, their blue optics dimmed as the divine "Housekeeping" bypassed their motor-slave commands.
Sue descended the stairs, her Smart Jewelry glowing to match the divine frequency. She approached the avatars not as a worshiper, but as a peer—a Citadel Queen coordinating with the local management.
"Status on the duration?" Sue asked, her voice steady.
The central avatar, a being of woven starlight, turned its gaze toward her. No words were spoken, but a concept was burned into the air: Three months. The overlap is stubborn. The 'Grimdark' stains the edges. We must scrub the souls before they return.
"Three months," Sue repeated for the benefit of the Librarian, Vorenus, who was watching from the colonnade, his hand trembling on his force staff. He had fought demons and looked into the Warp, but this—this clinical, divine cleaning—was outside his theology.
"Lugia, you heard them," Sue said, turning back to her logistics. "We have ninety days. That means ninety days of feeding three thousand people on corpse-starch, ninety days of keeping the Inquisition from losing their patience, and ninety days of maintaining a Borged-Ork perimeter against a galaxy that wants to eat us."
"Calculations suggest we will need to expand the Black-Code processing to meet the caloric demands," Lugia replied. "Also, the Orks are regrouping. The divine presence is 'irritating' them. They see the golden light and they want to hit it with a hammer."
Sue looked at the Heralds, who were watching the avatars with tears of relief. "Enjoy the moment," she told them. "Then get back to work. The Gods are doing the spiritual cleaning, but I’m still the one holding the door shut."
She turned to Vorenus. "Three months, Librarian. Your Inquisition gets a clean sector, and my people get their home back. All you have to do is make sure no one tries to be a hero and interrupt the process."
Vorenus looked at the avatars, then at Sue, the woman who stood between gods and monsters with a luggage-bot and a warrant. "I will hold the Chapter back," he promised quietly. "But the Warp... the Warp will not let such purity go unchallenged."
"I'm counting on it," Sue said, her hand resting on the hilt of her Force Lance. "Lugia, tell the Gryphons to widen the patrol. If the Warp wants a fight, we’ll give it one."
Chapter 10 – Crisis & Coordination
The "Housekeeping" of the Gods acted like a beacon in the cold dark of the 41st Millennium. To the denizens of the Warp, the sudden presence of untainted, orderly divinity was an intolerable provocation.
"Lugia, the 'irritation' I predicted has reached a boiling point," Lugia reported, its alarm chime sounding like a low, urgent pulse. "A massive warband of Chaos-tainted Orks and 'Rogue Monsters' is converging on our South-West quadrant. They aren't just looking for a scrap; they are being drawn by the reality-thinning effects of the Housekeeping."
Sue stood on the highest battlements, her HUD painting the horizon in angry shades of crimson. A tide of twisted green flesh and jagged metal was surging across the flats, led by a massive 'Beast' that radiated a sick, oily miasma.
"The Heralds can't take that psychic pressure," Sue muttered. "It'll burn their Channels out before the first shot is fired."
Kyrith messaged, his mane glowing with a fierce, pearlescent light.
Sue reached into her duster and pulled out the Spirit Cube. The artifact hummed, a perfect geometric shape that seemed to drink in the surrounding light. She held it aloft, and as she did, she opened her own Mage Channeling Gifts.
In the 40k universe, drawing power was usually like opening a door to a hurricane of madness. But Sue was an Anchor. She didn't just draw energy; she processed it. Using the Spirit Cube as a metaphysical sieve, she began to pull the raw, chaotic static of the approaching warband into herself.
"Sue! Your readings are off the charts!" Lugia warned. "That's enough Warp-energy to level a Hive Spire!"
"I'm not holding it, Lugia. I'm purifying it," Sue gasped, her eyes glowing with a steady, crystalline violet.
With surgical precision, she used her Channeling Gifts to strip the "malice" from the incoming psychic pressure. She acted as a giant, magical transformer, turning the "Grimdark" noise into clean, usable Heraldic energy. She then channeled that purified power directly into the city's Stone and the Heralds' own weary minds.
"Efficiency at 98.7%," Lugia noted in awe. "You're powering the entire city's defense grid using the enemy's own rage."
Below on the ramparts, the Heralds suddenly stood taller. Their blue-and-white shields, once brittle, flared with a blinding, diamond-hard intensity. The Green-Shield Orks, bolstered by the purified energy surge, began firing their looted "sluggas" with the synchronized timing of a single machine.
"Gryphons! Stoop!" Sue commanded.
From the violet clouds, the Gryphons dived. They were no longer just mythical beasts; they were avatars of the purified energy Sue was broadcasting. They struck the Chaos Orks like bolts of living lightning, their talons shredding through tainted armor with ease.
The Librarian, Vorenus, watched from the gatehouse, his jaw dropped. He saw the "filth" of the Warp flowing toward Sue and coming out the other side as a sanctified radiance.
"She is... she is a living reliquary," he whispered, crossing himself.
"Lugia, focus the Black-Code units on the fallen Beast," Sue ordered, her voice straining under the massive energy throughput. "I want that biomass processed before the Warp-taint can settle. And keep that Spirit Cube rotating—I'm not done scrubbing this sector yet."
The assault broke against Haven like water against a cliff. The "Crisis" had become a "Harvest."
Chapter 11 – Operational Refinement
The aftermath of the Chaos assault left the plains around Haven scorched, but inside the walls, the city pulsed with an unnatural, vibrant stability. Sue sat in the command chair of the Citadel, her Smart Jewelry slowly dimming as her Marrow Implants cooled. Beside her, the Spirit Cube sat on a velvet cushion, its surfaces etched with glowing ley-lines.
"Lugia, give me the post-battle audit," Sue said, her voice raspy. "I need to know if the energy throughput damaged the city's foundations."
"On the contrary, Sue," Lugia chirped, its lid hovering open to vent excess heat. "By purifying that Warp-static, you’ve hardened the stone to the density of starship hull plating. The 'Housekeeping' by the Gods is proceeding 15% faster. We have effectively turned the enemy's rage into a construction crew."
Sue looked at the tactical holomap. "And the larder? I saw the Black-Codes moving toward the craters before the smoke even cleared."
"Processing is complete," Lugia reported. "Because you stripped the malice from the biomass during the fight, the resulting corpse-starch is of a higher grade. I’ve even added a lemon-pepper finish. The refugees are actually asking for seconds."
"I never thought I'd see the day where Ork-starch was a culinary request," Sue remarked. She stood and walked to the balcony. Below, children were weaving flower crowns and placing them on the unmoving helmets of the Green-Code sentries. "Look at them, Lugia. They’re calling the borged Orks 'The Iron Silent Ones.' They’ve stopped screaming when they see the green skin."
"It is a fascinating psychological pivot," Lugia replied. "They have associated the monsters with the safety of your shields."
Kyrith leaned his head against Sue’s shoulder, his mind-voice a warm hum. :The air is sweet here now, Sue. You have made a garden out of a graveyard.:
"It's a temporary garden, Kyrith," Sue reminded him softly. "Lugia, what about the containment vaults? Did the surge rattle the artifacts?"
"The 'Dangerous Items' are under total stasis-lock," Lugia confirmed. "I’ve even managed to de-frag the logic-engine of that looted Shokk Attack Gun. It is currently being used as a high-efficiency trash compactor."
A heavy clank sounded behind her. Librarian Vorenus approached, his helmet off for once. His face was lined with deep, contemplative exhaustion. "You have turned the weapons of the enemy into farm tools," he rumbled, gesturing to the compactor below. "And you have fed the hungry with the purified flesh of the heretic. I have consulted the Chapter's scrolls. There is no precedent for you, Custodian."
"That's because I'm not part of your Pattern, Vorenus," Sue said, turning to face him. "I'm just a temporary fix. My goal is to return every one of these people to a world where they don't need to know what a bolter is."
"And yet," Vorenus countered, "they will remember. They will remember the woman who rode the white horse and the monsters who held the gate. You are creating a myth that will haunt this sector long after Haven vanishes."
Sue looked out at the horizon where the Gryphons were returning. "As long as it’s a myth that gives them hope instead of nightmares, I can live with that. Lugia, prep the next training modules. I want the Blue-Codes starting on electronics repair tomorrow. We optimize every second we have left."
Chapter 12 – External Threat Management
The sudden absence of psychic turbulence over Haven acted like a vacuum, drawing the attention of the Imperial Navy’s local command. Within a week, a specialized reconnaissance team arrived, led by a high-ranking Interrogator named Vane. He did not arrive with the bluster of the Inquisition, but with the cold, calculating scrutiny of a man looking for a flaw in a perfect diamond.
As Vane’s sleek, black-hulled shuttle touched down in the Great Plaza, Sue met him at the base of the ramp. She didn't offer a traditional greeting; she simply stood with her arms crossed, the Spirit Cube humming in a holster at her side. Vane stepped out, his eyes immediately darting to the Green-Shield Orks standing atop the medieval ramparts.
"The Navigators are calling this sector the 'Silent Void', Custodian," Vane said, his voice as thin as a razor. "They say the Warp has simply stopped speaking here. In my experience, when the Warp stops speaking, it is usually because something much worse is holding its throat."
"Or perhaps someone has simply closed the window," Sue replied, gesturing for him to follow her. "Efficiency is born of logic, Interrogator. If you would like a tour, follow me. But keep your Stormtroopers’ safeties on. My sentries are programmed for defense, not politics."
Sue led him through the training squares, showing him the Blue-Code refugees who were currently disassembling a pile of looted xenos weaponry.
"How do you justify this?" Vane asked, pointing a gloved finger at a borged Ork. "You have replaced the holy human form with xenos filth slaved to a machine. This is a tech-heresy that surpasses the Dark Mechanicum."
"I justify it with results," Sue countered calmly, her Smart Bracers projecting a holographic record of the Warrant of Trade. "They are motor-slaved tools. They have no will, no culture, and no 'Waaagh.' They are currently the most efficient laborers in this sector, and unlike your servitors, I don't need a Tech-Priest to keep them from walking into walls."
The tension spiked when they reached the Black-Code processing pits. Vane watched a borged Ork load a rendering vat with the remains of the recent Chaos incursion.
"You feed your people with the flesh of the enemy," Vane hissed, his hand drifting to his needle pistol. "It is an abomination."
"I feed them purified protein," Sue corrected, her Anchor presence expanding until the Interrogator’s bionic eye began to spark. "I stripped the malice from that biomass myself. If you’d prefer they starve while waiting for an Imperial tithe ship that will never come, feel free to file a complaint with the High Lords. Until then, my people eat."
Vorenus joined them, his presence a silent, cerulean weight. "The Custodian’s words are true, Interrogator," the Librarian rumbled. "I have personally witnessed the purification. The air here is clean. To disrupt this work is to invite the discord back."
Vane looked from the towering Marine to the woman who stood unshaken. He took a manifest Sue offered—a list of crates of perfectly sorted Imperial munitions ready for the fleet’s use.
"Take the supplies, Vane," Sue said. "I am a guest doing the work the Imperium is too busy to handle. If your ships stay outside my perimeter, the Silent Void remains stable. If not, the 'window' might just open again."
Vane took the manifest, his expression unreadable. "A few months, Custodian. Do not think the Inquisition forgets." He boarded his shuttle without another word.
"He'll be back," Lugia chirped as the craft rose.
"Let him come," Sue said, watching the Gryphons circle above. "By the time he brings a fleet, we'll be ancient history."
Chapter 13 – Training and Moral Growth
The departure of Interrogator Vane left a lingering chill in the air, but Sue used that tension to sharpen the city's focus. It wasn't enough for the refugees to be fed and sheltered; they needed to be part of the "Sovereign Island’s" defense. The medieval city of Haven was becoming a school where the curriculum was survival and the textbooks were the shattered remains of the 41st Millennium.
Sue stood in the lower courtyard of the Citadel, watching a group of Heralds and "Green-Tier" civilians practice defensive channeling. The Spirit Cube sat on a stone pedestal between them, acting as a controlled tap for the purified energy Sue had anchored into the city.
"Don't fight the pressure, Arris," Sue called out, her voice echoing off the stone. "The Warp is a flood; your Gift is the levee. If you try to hold it all with your bare hands, you’ll break. Channel it into the stone. Let the city take the weight."
"It feels... different, Sue," Arris gasped, his forehead beaded with sweat as he touched the glowing stone. "In Valdemar, the magic is like a stream. Here, it’s like trying to hold onto a lightning bolt."
"That's because this universe doesn't have a safety rail," Sue replied. She walked over, her Smart Jewelry pulsing to steady the flow. "But look at your Companion. He isn't afraid. He’s grounding you. Trust the link."
The moral weight of the city's operations, however, remained a point of quiet debate. During a break, a young Herald named Elara approached Sue, gesturing toward the Black-Code Orks moving methodically toward the processing pits.
"Sue, the people are starting to ask questions," Elara said softly. "They see the 'Iron Silent Ones' working the vats. They know what’s being rendered. Some of the elders say we are losing our souls to save our stomachs. They say using the monsters makes us like them."
Sue stopped and looked the young woman in the eye. "Elara, do you know what happens to a soul in this galaxy if it doesn't have a body to stay in? It doesn't go to the Havens. It gets eaten."
She gestured toward the horizon. "I’m not asking you to like the Orks. I’m asking you to recognize that in a universe of infinite hunger, efficiency is a moral virtue. We purify the biomass so the dead can serve the living one last time. Is it pretty? No. Is it 'Heraldic'? Perhaps not. But it keeps your children from becoming Warp-bait."
To drive the point home, Sue moved the training session to the Containment Vaults. She led the senior Heralds down into the lead-lined depths where the jagged Chaos blade was held in stasis.
"This is your final lesson for the day," Sue announced. "This is a Shard of Discord. It wants to turn your hope into a weapon. I am holding it in stasis, but I want you to feel the 'temperature' of it through the shield."
As the Heralds reached out, their faces paled. The sheer, oily malice of the artifact was a physical shock.
"You see?" Sue said, her voice dropping to a steady, commanding tone. "This is what we are fighting. Not just Orks or soldiers, but the erosion of reality itself. We use the 'Iron Silent Ones' and the 'Larder' because they give us the resources to keep this vault closed. We are the Custodians. Our morality isn't found in being 'pure'; it’s found in being the wall that stays standing."
Vorenus watched from the shadows of the vault, his psychic hood humming. "You teach them the hard truths of the Long War," he rumbled. "You are preparing them for a world they will never return to."
"No, Vorenus," Sue corrected, heading back toward the light. "I'm preparing them to appreciate the world they will return to. When they get home, they’ll never take a peaceful sunset for granted again."
Chapter 14 – Countdown to Resolution
The golden thrumming beneath Haven had intensified from a rhythmic pulse to a steady, vibrating hum that made the glass in the windows rattle. The sky above the city was no longer the bruised, oily purple of the 40k universe; it was beginning to bleed into the soft, twilight indigo of Velgarth. The "Housekeeping" was reaching its crescendo.
Sue stood in the central command hub of the Citadel, her HUD scrolling through thousands of lines of logistical data. Beside her, Lugia was whirring with frantic energy, its internal fans spinning at maximum velocity.
"Lugia, give me the final countdown on the reality-alignment," Sue commanded.
"The Gods are finishing the spiritual scrub, Sue," Lugia chirped. "The anchor-points are detaching from the local planetary crust. We are currently 88% decoupled from the 41st Millennium. Estimated time to full extraction: forty-eight hours."
Sue turned to the holographic table, which showed the status of every "Code" group in the city. "Status on the 'Green-Shield' units? I don't want a single borged xenos following us through the portal."
"The decommissioning protocols are staged," Lugia replied. "As soon as we hit the threshold, the Borg Buttons will initiate a total nanite-dissolve. The Orks will be left behind as inert biomass. The 'Iron Silent Ones' will simply... cease."
Sue walked to the balcony and looked out. The city was a hive of controlled movement. The Blue-Code refugees were crating the final batches of sorted Imperial munitions—her "parting gift" to Librarian Vorenus—while the Red-Code teams were dismantling the temporary support structures. There was an air of suppressed excitement, a quiet hope that was almost tactile.
"Arris! Elara!" Sue called out as the two Heralds crossed the plaza. "Final audits. I want every civilian accounted for. If someone is out in the Hab-blocks looking for a lost heirloom, find them and bring them back now. When the 'Housekeeping' finishes, the door slams shut."
"We’re ready, Sue," Arris shouted back, his face bright with a relief he hadn't shown in months. "The people are packed. Even the children are standing by the gates."
Sue felt a heavy presence behind her. Librarian Vorenus clanked onto the balcony, his armor reflecting the strange, dual-colored light of the sky. He looked out at the city that shouldn't exist, his psychic hood flickering with the feedback of the impending shift.
"The 'Silent Void' is collapsing," Vorenus rumbled. "My Navigators say the Warp is rushing back in to fill the space you are leaving. It will be a violent transition, Custodian."
"Which is why I’m leaving you the 'Containment' manifest," Sue said, handing him a data-slate. "I’ve stabilized the artifacts as much as possible, but once we're gone, the stasis is your problem. My 'Iron Silent Ones' will be dead meat by then. You’ll have to handle the cleanup."
Vorenus took the slate, his gaze lingering on her. "You are leaving this galaxy a little better than you found it. That is a sin in some circles of my Order, and a miracle in others."
"It's just housekeeping, Vorenus," Sue said with a faint smile. "Lugia, initiate the final power-down of the non-essential grids. Divert everything to the Spirit Cube. We’re going to need a hell of a kick to get this whole city back through."
The ground gave a sudden, violent lurch. A golden pillar of light erupted from the well-district, piercing the clouds. The extraction had begun.
Chapter 15 – Final Operations
The world was screaming. Not with the roar of Orks or the thunder of cannons, but with the sound of reality being torn apart. As Haven began to uncouple from the 41st Millennium, the "Silent Void" was failing. The Warp, feeling the departure of such a massive pocket of uncorrupted order, surged forward like a tide of black oil seeking to drown a candle.
Sue stood at the main gate, her Force Lance planted firmly in the earth. The sky was a chaotic swirl of golden Velgarthian light and the sickening, bruised purple of the Empyrean. "Lugia, the decommissioning! Now!" she shouted over the psychic gale.
"Initiating 'Rust-to-Dust' protocols!" Lugia shrieked, its internal speakers crackling. "Severing the motor-slave link in three... two... one!"
Across the ramparts, the Iron Silent Ones—the borged Orks—simply stopped. The blue glow in their optics flickered and died. Within seconds, the Borg Buttons at their necks hissed, releasing a specialized nanite-wash. The massive xenos bodies began to dissolve into grey, inert ash. The "wall" that had protected Haven for months was vanishing, leaving only the stone and the will of the defenders.
:The Warp is hitting the primary shield!: Arris yelled, his Mind-voice strained to the breaking point. :Sue, we can't hold the gate! The pressure is too high!:
"Back to the Citadel! Everyone!" Sue commanded. She turned to find Vorenus standing in the center of the plaza, his bolter roaring as he fired at the shadowy horrors beginning to materialize at the edges of the city.
"Go, Custodian!" the Librarian bellowed, his voice amplified by his vox-grille. "Your Pattern does not belong here! I will hold the breach until the transition completes!"
"Vorenus, take the data!" Sue threw him a final, shielded drive. "It's the frequency to stabilize the vaults! If you don't use it, this whole sector goes up!"
She scrambled onto Kyrith, the horse’s coat glowing with a blinding, pearlescent radiance.
Kyrith messaged, his Power Armored hooves barely touching the ground as the city began to lift.
Sue reached into her duster and slammed her hand onto the Spirit Cube. "Lugia! Redirect all ZPM reserves into the Anchor! Give the Gods a target!"
A massive, crystalline pulse erupted from the Cube, matching the golden pillars of light descending from the heavens. The Warp-shadows shrieked as they were vaporized by the sheer purity of the energy. For a heartbeat, Sue saw the entire sector from a distance—a tiny, brilliant diamond of light being pulled out of a sea of shifting, hungry darkness.
She saw Vorenus, a lone blue giant amidst the rising ash of the Orks, raising his fist in a silent salute. Then, the world turned white.
The roar of the 40k universe was replaced by a sudden, jarring silence. The air was no longer thick with the smell of ozone and rot; it was cold, crisp, and filled with the scent of pine needles and damp earth.
"Sue?" Lugia’s voice was small and tinny in the sudden quiet. "Biometric check complete. We are... we are in the Borderlands of Valdemar. Gravity is normal. Warp-taint at 0.00%."
Sue opened her eyes. The stone walls of Haven were still there, but they were sitting in a lush green valley she recognized from the old maps. The refugees were stumbling out of their homes, falling to their knees as they felt the soft, familiar grass of their own world.
"We made it," Sue whispered, leaning her head against Kyrith’s neck. "Lugia, shut down the combat systems. Tell the Heralds to start the census. We have a lot of people to help get home."
Chapter 16 – Aftermath and Re-integration
The morning sun rose over the Borderlands, not as a pale, sickly orb, but as a warm, golden presence that chased away the last lingering shadows of the Grimdark. Haven sat in the valley like a mountain of displaced history, its stone walls still scarred by bolter fire and stained by the vitrified mud of a dead world. Inside the gates, the silence was absolute, broken only by the soft sobbing of refugees who had finally realized they were breathing the air of Valdemar.
Sue stood by the main gate, her duster caked in the dust of two different realities. She watched as a flight of Valdemaran Heralds on their white Companions crested the nearby ridge. They stopped dead, their Mindspeech likely a chaotic jumble of shock as they stared at the massive, fortress-like structure that had appeared overnight. Beside Sue, Lugia was busy recalibrating its sensors, its metallic body reflecting the morning dew.
"Lugia, keep the high-grade magitech out of sight," Sue instructed softly. "I don't want to give the Council a heart attack before we’ve even fed these people. And for the love of the Gods, hide the 'Shokk-Compactor'."
"Already concealed behind a localized perception filter, Sue," Lugia chirped. "Though I should mention that the refugees are currently refusing to eat anything that doesn't have the lemon-pepper flavor profile. They’ve become quite attached to our industrial rendering standards."
The Heralds descended into the valley, led by an older woman whose Companion moved with a regal, measured pace. As they rode through the gates, their eyes widened at the sight of three thousand people dressed in a bizarre mix of homespun wool and jagged pieces of Imperial flak-armor. They saw children playing near the piles of sorted brass casings and men sharpening medieval wood-axes with industrial-grade whetstones.
"I am Herald Seval," the leader announced, her voice trembling as she looked at Sue. "We were told a 'Shift' had taken the convoys. We thought they were lost to the Void. Who are you, and... what is this place?"
"I'm Sue, the Custodian," Sue replied, stepping forward with a calm that signaled she was no longer in "Combat Mode." "This is Haven. Your people were caught in a reality overlap. They’ve spent the last few months as guests of a Sovereign Island while the Gods did the housekeeping. They’re tired, they’re a bit strange now, and they’ve developed a taste for processed starch, but they’re all here."
Seval dismounted, her gaze lingering on the Spirit Cube still humming faintly at Sue’s side. She reached out with her Gift, touching the psychic atmosphere of the city. Her eyes filled with tears. "The resonance... it’s so clean. It feels like the heart of a Temple, yet it smells of iron and fire."
"It was a hard-won peace," Sue said, looking back at the Citadel where the last of the golden Velgarthian light was fading. "They learned how to hold the line when reality itself was trying to break them. You’ll find they’re a bit more disciplined than the average villager now."
As the Heralds began the monumental task of organizing the trek back to the interior of Valdemar, Sue prepared to depart. She had fulfilled her mandate as a Citadel Queen. The "Sovereign Island" would remain as a permanent outpost, a gift of stone and stability to the Borderlands, but her own journey through the Great Road was never truly finished.
Kyrith messaged, his armor shimmering in the midday sun.
"Let them tell the stories," Sue said, mounting up and signaling Lugia to follow. "As long as the stories remind them that even in a galaxy of shadows, there's always a way to find the light."
With a final nod to Seval and a quiet command to the Great Road, Sue and her companions vanished into a shimmering ripple of air, leaving behind a city of survivors and a legend that would forever change the history of Valdemar.