+Rewrite date: 22nd February 2019.+
+Changed some parts of the origin in order to make the fall of Avalus make it actually feel like a war. +
+As opposed to a single sudden skirmish that took out a whole planet. +
+ A Knight world, especially one so astronomically close to its provided Forge World would be better defended.+

+ Flashbacks have been removed entirely and the scenes relayed have been replaced with scenes to make them flow better. +
+This is the plan of all flashbacks in the future.+
+I admit that I've never been the most fond of flashbacks and neither has Tech Jammer. So this is the plan going forwards +

+ Chapter I: Knightfall +
+ 001. M.42 +

+ Ark Mechanicus: Faber Ferracius +

+ Lower Knight Sanctum Deck +

A heavy air prevailed within the blessed Knight Sanctum of the Faber Ferracius like weight upon the very souls of all those within. Even with the constant bang, hiss, and sizzling of mechanical constructs performing their functions. As well as the drone of prayers and litanies recited in both the binaric cant of Lingua technis and heavy tones of High Gothic by passing servo skulls overhead.

Like a hive of gold, stone, and steel, multiple floors housed towering figures looming in their repair alcoves. Massive constructs taking the rough form of the Terran knights of old. Still as statues they were some were upright with heads above the shoulders while others hunched over like crabs leveled to the shoulder pauldrons. Illuminated by the many lumen strips, the machines spirits displayed their colourful heraldry proudly, as they displayed their newly acquired battle scars upon their Adamantine plate.

Dents, gashes, craters, and cooled blobs of molten metal marred their once painstakingly decorated plates. Entire sections of inches-thick ceramite composite rent asunder by all form of unholy weaponry from traitorous kin. Weapons-limbs in various states of damage and wear had been removed, building-sized chainswords having their bladed belts replaced and engines or casings repaired. Cannonade of enormous sizes reloaded or stripped down and their heat-warped barrels replaced; amongst a myriad of other repairs.

These 'Knights' stood, attended to by mechanical waldoes, tendrils, and servo arms tipped in tools that welded, cut or replaced armour plates and internal components. At their feet the red robed Adepts and tech priests recited the necessary litanies and prayers of repair, redemption and revenge to the undoubtedly frustrated machine spirits. Soothing their rage and hopefully tempering it for their operators in the battles to come. Away, the wearers of the Knight Titans looked for some way to busy themselves with their own devices; some sparred, some prayed or meditation while others still simply wandered.

Many did nothing else but stew in their emotions. Their atmosphere was an acrid mix of grief, outrage, bitterness and loss amongst the gathered warriors. They had lost all they had, their home, their loved ones, their way of life. Those fortunate enough to rescue a few of their family.

Such was the case for two siblings that stood next to each other before their own Knight Titans. Their plated piloting suits painted in burnished silver trimmed in gold over an undersuit of royal blue, mimicking their war machines: the colours of proud house Regis. They looked to each other, nodding in acknowledgment before reaching for their helms, depressurising their plated headgear with a hiss and a heavy metallic clank when the locking latches and breathing apparatus finally disengaged.

The helms lifted to reveal their feminine features; both having skin pale from a lack of exposure to the sun, eyes of almost glowing emerald, and heads of blonde rich hair.

One was tall, possessing youthful regal features and toned, well endowed body belonging more to a pampered noble lady than a battle hardened High Queen of a Knight World of the Imperium. Her hair hung in loose bags framing her face and braided around a bun that kept her long hair from getting in the way of her helm. The beauty projected an aura of authority that commanded and a calmness that cooled the fury of many an overeager novice Knight. This was High Queen Artra Draconia Regis, High Queen of the what was the ruling House of Avalus since the start of the Age of the Imperium.

"How many of our number remain?" High Queen Artra asked, her voice warm but firm.

The other woman was her sister, Mordra Draconia Regis, the Baroness's half-sister. While sharing the same general features as the older woman; she was clearly different. Barely more than a teen, bearing a petite yet athletic form and a face similar, but more wild than her sister. Her hair bore no elaborate braid or courtly style; only a band of red ribbon that bound her head of wild, messy blonde hair into a high ponytail.

Mordra loosed an indignant huff, setting her helm under her arm. "One hundred and ninety three. Less than half our house are lost; most of our number consist of helpless whelps barely capable of riding their mounts and our vassal Armigers."

Ignoring her sister's infamous temper flaring up again; the Knight Queen set her helmet upon a nearby crate. Her features allowing the barest hint of disappointment for a moment before she resumed her previous calm.

"They can be taught, if by no one else then by our hands, dear sister." She smoothly reassured.

Mordra loosed a sarcastic chortle. "Thank the God-Emperor that won't be needed, Our old Master-at Arms, Sir Ralith, is on board as well. He's training the whelps in the simulacrum as we speak. The old boot always has been too stubborn for death to take him so easily."

Artra smiled, the man Modra spoke of was the one that had taught them both how to first fight years ago. It was a relief to hear that the grumpy old man had made it off their doomed homeworld safely. Her smiled died as soon as it appeared when she thought of her people and their lost world. Her House Regis was fortunate, their territory lay at the center of the supercontinent that was their home. Surrounded by the vassal houses under them, the foe had to go through them before even considering striking at House Regis's strongholds and keeps.

"Of our other houses? How did they fare?" Artra braced herself for the news, gripping the handrail of the gangway.

Mordra's face fell. Her fury now turned solemn. "Not well. House Targus has a quarter their number, around fifty in all. House Coltan suffered less, retaining seventy mounts out of their original hundred and fifty. Caelum is at half strength, one hundred Knights. House Zelius… well."

Following her sister's gaze, she saw a wholly pristine suit of Knight-Errant Armour. Untouched by battle and painted in the heraldry of House Zelius: metallic dark grey Carapace, pearl white shoulder and knee plates surrounded by silver trim. The iconography of the Aquila was the only feature highlighted in gold. Its face bore the parted eye slits and sloped front visor of the visored Barbute helm. A pattern of olden horseback knights designed to deflect blows to the face, like most ancient designs of humanity.

The knight was left in an unlit alcove within the hangar, bearing the symbolic coat of arms on it's shield. A silver sword pointing upwards with a weighing scale balanced on the blade's tip over a field of pure white.

She swallowed features darkening. "The reports speak truth, sister. Our Kingsward was annihilated. Only Casten remains."

Artra breathed a heavy sigh of loss. Thick with poisoned relief by the gravity of of such tragedy. The House that had been the Kingswards of her own House Regis for ten millennium. House Zelius had strode to battle protecting the rulers of Avalus since the dawn of the Age of the Imperium. Has been reduced to a fledgling of one..

Still, her expression turned to bitter sorrow. "How is he?"

Mordra shook her head slowly. "Not well. He hasn't left the temple in… hours? His charges had reported he hasn't been responsive, simply muttering the same prayers over and over. I was about to see him..."

"I will attend to him." Artra suddenly declared, turning to leave.

The younger sister said nothing to dissuade the High Queen. Despite the clear need for the Houses to be bolstered by the presence of their High Queen and the many issues yet to be resolved, this was important to her Queen. Her Kingsward, her friend, and what had been promised her their youth, needed her.

+ Arc Mechanicus: Faber Ferracius +

+ Cathedral deck B4 +

The Cathedral section of the Faber Ferracius lay barren save for a single individual: a young man kneeling before a single, massive statue depicting the Emperor-Omnissiah. Clad in a suit of golden armour bedecked in gold that stood beneath a series of glaring spotlights, surrounding it both on the pedestal and the ceiling above. The way the Master of Mankind appeared in his prime, during the Great Crusade.

The rest of the cathedral was poorly illuminated by the myriad of candles and lanterns. Dim lumen globes lined every wall, casting shadows from the rows of pews and statue of venerated saints that seemed to stare at him from the walls. Reflecting off dark metallic grey and silver trimmed carapace armour. It felt as though they were silently judging the worth of all that stepped in to pray.

If that were the case, the praying youth felt sure they found him wanting.

Casten Zelius wasn't exceptional in height, right at the range of what would be considered above average for a baseline human his age, five feet and ten inches. Built lean and muscular body frame; broad shoulders, long limbs that gave him good reach and narrow hips. A swordsman's build gained over a full childhood of training in the way of the sword and pistol. Such as the Hecate-pattern chainsword and plasma pistol holstered at his belt.

His hair was black, cropped in a short crew cut as to not get in the way of his helm. Possessing what some thought mixed blood, his eyes the characteristic sharp, narrow Chogorian yet still bearing the well squared jaw dark blue iris' of a citizen of Maccrage. Many had commented he would be considered handsome in a… rugged way if he didn't seem so unapproachable; always scowling slightly no matter the situation.

Still, he prayed; one hand formed in the diagonal open palm of the Imperial Aquila and the other in the half folded fingers of the sacred cog of the Cult Mechanicus. Some would have balked at such display; not the Knights of Avalus. They had always been seen as ones of dual loyalties no matter how fierce those loyalties were. They understood that without both the Emperor of Mankind and the Techno Arcana of the Adeptus Mechanicus; the Knights of Avalus would never have cast off the darkness from the Age of Strife. Thus , Knights of Avalus preferred the use of this symbol, the Aquila Mechanis.

Unlike some, he wasn't here to find any peace. He was looking for clarity. Reflecting the events that transpired in the past months. A painful start to this blood soaked new millennium.

"We are The Emperor's Knights.

We are a House, born for War

We serve the one True Emperor, we bear his banners.

We will serve his will

We will never accept defeat

We will advance when all else fails

We are harbingers of death, the grinding cogs of the god machines; we are the armoured warriors of the Omnissiah.

We bare the arms of his great design

We will fight all that stand against Humanity, whether human or xenos

We are Knights, warriors of the Imperium."

Emotions were at war within his heart even as he prayed, grief festering from within while hate tore away at his heart. Acceptance of the circumstances tried to calm the inner storm and lamentation of his ill fortune tempered the hate for those that had destroyed his house… his home… his world.

His fifteenth year since birth. It was to be his coming of age. The day he was supposed to enter the Chamber of Echoes of his House drew near. He was to bind his soul and will to that of the Throne Mechanicum and honour his ancestry by striding into battle within a mighty Knight Titan.

It was to be his greatest trial and triumph to date. What came instead was indeed his greatest trial. The triumph however was woefully short lived..

His grandfather taught him to reflect, to look for something he could have done differently. Anything he could have done differently. He was looking for something to confess to the Master of Mankind. Some flaw within him that he could repent for, hoping that it would give him clarity, if not peace.

The memories came back in vivid detail with each verse of prayer.

A sudden Warp Storm engulfed the outer system monitoring stations and automated defensive platforms. Ships emerging from the purple twisting haze of the Aetherium engaged Volund and Avalus' orbital defenses.

Multiple fortress keeps fell day by day as traitors landed. His own home, Vigilatem Sacriae the keep of House Zelius for ten millennium, was besieged by a traitor Titan Legio. Grandmaster Aidan, his grandfather had issued everyone a command, the last he would ever hear from the man that had raised him.

Convoys of relics and people that had lived under his House since before the Age of the Imperium were to be guarded to get them sanctuary off planet. Forced to fight on the ground whilst close and distant relatives fell around him, many he didn't even know. He watched each fight and fall, wreathed in smoke from their dying war engines amidst volleys of warp fire or rent asunder by warp forged weapons of greater daemons. Many more fell to the screaming shells of battle tanks and Lascannons that broke their Ion shields, or buried beneath hordes of screaming mutant abominations.

It wasn't even a war. It was their end. People and places he had been raised in disappeared in a sea of screaming flesh valleys. The fields where he and other young Scions were taken to train with dull training swords and paint-loaded bolt pistols. All littered with corpses desecrated in ritualistic sacrifice. Not even in death were the people of Avalus spared to be left to rot. Traitors and their daemon ilk feasted on the flesh or carved them into heinous trophies to mock the defenders.

The worst of them were the followers of Slaanesh. Screaming children, flayed alive and still screaming, hung from grotesque banners made from wrought iron and the flayed skin of their victims… They were too much to bear remembering, but he swore a bloody oath of vengeance to all their foul worshippers for the rest of his living days.

"Par est enim ad mortem domus, et imperium…"Casten mumbled.

The sentence felt like a dagger to his heart. Since he was still alive, not dying with his House felt less like a blessing with each passing moment. At least now he was done, perhaps by some miracle it would bring him some clarity of purpose. On what he should do now.

"Forgive me, God-Emperor. Forgive this Knight, for he has failed."

He stood, hands falling at his side. His gaze stared up at the mighty, resplendent statue of the Master of Mankind. Dark thoughts filled his mind. Knowing that he could have done nothing. He would know no peace of mind.

The clatter of metal plates turned his attention to the cathedral's entrance; he saw the High Queen that his House had been beholden to for generation beyond memory. She had also been his playmate as a child. Belonging to the House that was entrusted as Kingsward, it was customary to form strong bonds of fealty at childhood. Though she was a decade his senior, she was often the one that he followed around.

He hadn't seen his Queen for years. Not since she had left to lead her first crusade against alongside the Crimson Fist Astartes chapter against the Orks. His grandfather, Grand Master Aidan, had brought him along to the palace of House Regis. Teaching him the history and duties expected of House Zelius as Kingswards through banners and relics of past glories in the ancient halls.

That was a lifetime ago now. She had changed; they both have. "Casten Zelius."

"My Queen." Casten bowed his head, folding his hands over his chest to form the sign of the Aquila Mechanis.

She regarded him coolly. Perhaps she would do so now that he was of no worth. The scion of an extinct House. A massive number of serfs and technical adepts; yet single measly Knight suit that Casten was not bonded to; and could not pilot to battle.

"My Queen, if I may-" Casten began, only to be then cut off by Artra's raised gauntlet.

She frowned; that made Casten uneasy. Cool reception was better than a cross one. "You may not."

His head cast back down, like a child having been told off; until an armoured finger lifted his chin to meet her gaze. "Sit with me." She was smiling now; he struggled to return one.

"I'd hesitate to do so now, lest I find a blade at my throat from your wards." Casten weakly joked.

She did not find that amusing in the slightest, her voice hard as iron. "You are one of those 'wards' Casten."

So they sat beside each other on the front pew, mood solemn but otherwise tranquil. He couldn't find the words. He had so much he wanted to say, to apologize for, yet he didn't know what to apologize for. Yet nothing came, so he simply leaned back and against the cold stone backrest, deflated.

Thankfully, High Queen Artra spoke for him. "Your family fought bravely. I expected no less from House Zelius."

"I did my duty. The grandmaster…" Casten trailed off before looking to her. "My grandfather expected no less."

"Indeed." She offered him a small, gentle smile.

He sighed with relief, the slight abated, his pitying spirit returned. Lest he spiraled down further he took small comfort by staring at the stained mural of the Primarch Sanguinius, his radiant form depicted in flight with pure white wing spread, watching over at all the faithful below.

"What will you do now?" Artra asked.

His gaze were locked onto the primarch's pearl white wings, wondering if he could find salvation. "I don't know..."

She allowed him a moment of silence. She could not blame him, others were still reeling at the death of their home world. Artra sadly could not afford such luxuries. She was their Queen, she had to be strong to reassure her stricken people.

"Well, you shouldn't keep them waiting." Her statement brought a raised eyebrow from the young man.

After a moment, he figured out to who she referring to. His charges. The very people he had been tasked with saving. Every House had lands and people to protect, some tied to the Knightly Houses since the Age of strife. His own people, he had nearly forgotten them since he boarded the ship. He had been immersed in his own grief to remember that there were those that still looked to him as their lord.

He looked to his Queen. "What do I say to them? I'm not even a bonded Knight."

The queen's bright emerald eyes stared frostily into his navy blue. For some time, neither could tell what lay in each other's gaze until the queen stood. Almost on instinct, Casten stood to follow the woman he was always told he was to guard with his life. It was only a few steps before they both reached the carpet that ran the center of length of the cathedral.

She turned on her heel to face him in one smooth motion; drew her power sword. Every detail of the relic power weapon seemed to gleam under the glow from the Emperor's statue behind her. The silvery blade, ornately carved with inscriptions of devotion with a golden Aquila-shaped crossguard leveled in front of her.

"Kneel." She commanded.

Armour creaked and rattled as Casten took a knee before her, his chainsword pointed downwards. Flat tip braced against the carpet beside him. Artra held her blade over his head, shifting it slowly to the side. One after the other, the silver sword's blade tapped against each of the kneeling teen's pauldrons.

"Casten, of House Zelius," High Queen Artra began. "As the sole survivor of your House. I, High Queen Artra Draconia of House Regis, offer to pardon you of the oaths of your House and the title of Freeblade."

For a moment Casten fell silent, shocking giving way to deep contemplation of the gravity of what was offered. He would give up his station as Kingsward, Artra's personal guard and council. All that he had been groomed and trained for in his life until now. In exchange… freedom from the responsibilities he had always been expected to perform as a member of House Zelius.

"I…" For just the barest of moments, there was hesitation in his voice. "...accept."

Artra's feature softened to another gentle smile. She sheathed her power sword and placed a gauntleted hand onto Casten's head. "I hereby dub thee Freeblade Casten Zelius. Questoris Errant in service to the Emperor and Omnissiah. May the Emperor witness your worth in the trials to come."

+ Later +

"Hail, my fellows. My thanks for coming on such short notice." Casten's deep voice traveled far in the large corridor outside the cathedral.

The queen's bestowing of him the title of Freeblade Knight hadn't even been an hour ago. Thus, he had one last duty to perform for his dead House. The tall, arched windows had been closed by armoured hatches. Normally opened to the starry void; they were shuttered off whilst in warp transit. Lest the madness by looking into the Aetherium take their sanity.

Three groups stood before the newly christened Freeblade.. One was a rabble of civilians; some young, some old. He didn't know these faces, or maybe he did. Simply didn't bother to commit them to memory. The obvious conclusion being that these must be the citizens that were all under the protective aegis of Zelius. Meaning that they were humble folk of traders, fishers, or ministers of small-folk towns.

They bowed deeply with greeting. "My Lord."

"Hail to you my su-" He stopped forgetting of his current position "My...former subjects…"

Already the mood dipped cold for the humble group of people.

The other two ,however, felt no such change. Disappointment in this galaxy is practically an expectation; Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment.

Cadians were always a familiar sight no matter wherever they are in the galaxy. Officers of the 778th Armoured Regiment stood beside what few officers of the House guards and PDF militia remained. All clad in neatly pressed uniforms and standing at attention, many sporting new bionics provided by the Magos Biologis.

"Ave Imperator, milord." Colonel Don Collien of the 778th casually greeted him, tipping his helm showing the scars that riddled all over his scalp. His bionic eye twinkled in cynical amusement before placing his helmet back on covering whatever patches of cropped blond hair that still grew.

Casten returned the greeting with grace. Both hands over his chest, half in the Aquila, half in the cog and bowed lightly. He had become familiar with the man and his regiment. Casten came to his assist when the Colonel's Leman Russ Vanquisher was rushed by crazed cultists chainsword and plasma pistol in hand. It was before Casten was due to bind with his machine that he fought with everyone else on the ground assisting the Colonel. Whether by luck or fate, they essentially clicked in a way and Casten attached himself to the regiment ever since. The 778th and Knights of Zelius fought a near constant fighting retreat until the calamitous final battle of Stellaris spaceport.

In all his time with the Colonel as brief their time was. He never got around to ask what did he do get the nickname "Wardaddy" as his men called him.

"Omnissiah's blessings, Freeblade." A vox-corrupted simulacrum of a woman's voice intoned.

It came from hooded figure in the gunmetal grey robes and rust red cog-teeth of Volund. A jointed Adamantine corset around her waist hissed where a powerful servo arm and a multitude of tool tipped waldoes attached at its back. All four of her limbs were bionics of silver, made slim and gilded in gold inscriptions of a pattern that he couldn't fully see. She stood at the head of a group of similarly hooded and robed figures, the Sacristans and Tech Priests that once maintained the Knights Titans and technology of House Zelius. None of them were shocked, likely the news had been already plucked the information in the Faber Ferracius' data manifest.

"Its true. I've taken the Laurels Fidelis." He announced. There was a silence as they took in the supposed shocking news.

He took in their grieving faces of hopeless acceptance, maybe he expected them to say that he rethink his decision, to help them lead, to take his position as the new grandmaster of Zelius. He didn't know if it was ego or pride, but the blank faces of defeat was made it all the more crushing.

"Our home is gone… our way of life is gone. I'm not blind to my shortcomings. Nor do I believe that I can serve you as our late Grand Master did. The High Queen, in her magnanimity, has offered me the Laurels of the Free...and you the choice to serve under House Regis or seek service to the other Houses. The choice is yours. I... thank you for your faith and apologize that I can do no better than this."

He hoped that his meager speech would at least rouse something, yet they all looked at him an empty, almost pitying gaze. He saw the truth for what it was, for they share the same thing he was feeling all this time. Defeat. A defeat so complete the spirit itself has become a leaden weight that dragged them down to the dirt.

Some silently left, going back to handling their own crisis among themselves. Those who stayed shrugged their shoulders at the Knight's plight before leaving as well. If he felt defeated before, all this did was add his hopelessness onto the weight on his soul.

Casten wanted to leave, walk away from all this. He had made a promise to himself and his grandfather, that so long as Avalus stood, he would show no weakness. Shed no tears in memory of his deceased parents. His grandfather thought he would be proud of that vow, only to shake his head and saying such foolish thoughts. How cruel is the prophetic irony now that the moment has come?

He cried. Small rivulets ran along his cheeks no matter how hard he tried to stop them. He waited for the possibly mockery that for sure would come. Only silence awaited him, he looked up to see the solemn gazes of the guardsman and the small folk who no longer looked at him with pity in their eyes, but with warmth despite the bleak hopelessness. Both groups know his pain, thus his pain is divided, and now shared. For a brief moment he could feel what his grandfather felt in his position; his happiness was the people's happiness, misery is their was misery.

"I s'pose I'll see you in the field." Colonel Don Collium ran his fingers through his hair. The Freeblade gave him a nod in turn, shame preventing him from making proper eye contact.

"Watch yourself kid, you know where to find us." Don waved to the Freeblade "Take some time to yourself. Then lets share a drink sometime."

With that, the Guardsmen left, a whistle in the air as he walked away. His men followed, patting his shoulders on the way in condolence the small gestures of comfort quenched his spiraling sadness.

That left the hooded Sacristan still standing before him. This one, he didn't recognize.

"What of you?" Casten asked. He sucked in a breath, emotions still riled; but he held on to preserve what dignity he had.

The woman's slim, silver bionic fingers reached up to draw her hood back. Her features were… surprising to the young man. She appeared a beautiful young woman fair skinned and topped with a head of straight, center parted platinum blonde hair kept at shoulder length in a bobcut, tapering up to expose the MIU ports behind her head. Unusual for a member of the Machine Cult; she seemed at first to bear no bionics on her face… at first.

Upon closer inspection, however, her eyes weren't the right colour, the rings of her blue iris' were too bright, and they also seemed to move. Her features too flawless and fair; her hair lacking even the mildest of fraying. Artificial skin, pict lenses for eyes and polymer filaments. All colours to paint a portrait of a young woman. Casten didn't bother asking why she deliberately chose the

"Brigid. young Freeblade Zelius, I am to be your Sacristan." She spoke candidly, subtlety was never the forte of the members of the Machine Cult.

For a moment, Casten was taken aback. He did know that a Sacristan was to be appointed to him when he was bonded to a Throne Mechanicum, though he never thought she would be dispatched before the Ritual of Becoming. Even less that she would stay now that he was a Freeblade.

"Firstly," He raised two fingers. "I am a Lord no longer. Second, I am sorry, but I have little to offer you-" he began.

"That matters not." She interrupted him. "I owe your family a great debt. I was to serve you before the collapse. Freeblade or not, I will serve you still."

He wanted to dissuade her. By his own words, he was no longer a lord, thus couldn't tell her what to do. Pragmatically though he knew that he needed her. Whatever her reasons, if she wished to be his Sacristan then... he would thank the Omnissiah for her service.

"...My thanks." He formed his fingers into the interlocking teeth of the Cog Mechanicus. A gesture that she returned.

Suddenly a groaning filled the air as the very halls of the ancient vessel seemed to tilt. Klaxons screamed out blaring warnings and red emergency light replaced the yellow lumen globes. The ship lurched and all found the deck shaking like the heaving entrails of a great serpent.

"Hold on!" Casten yelled, grabbing Brigid's arm as his other hand went to a handrail.

Elsewhere in the hall, other adepts and Imperial servants too scrambled to hold onto whatevers bolted down. For the briefest of moments, the ship went vertical. The whining machine spirits of the deck's artificial gravity plates unable to counter the extreme change in pitch. Now they hung above the doors of the cathedral like dangling from the edge of a cliff.

The young Knight's grip strained on his new Sacristan. He was strong, but 'heavy' understated her weight. Almost full body bionics, tools, and a servo harness lent to her mass. Muscles burned as he tried to keep hold of her. Thankfully, she was fully aware of this and her Servo arm hissed to clamp around a beam that framed the wall.

"Look out!" Brigid's warning came just in time for him to look up to see a thick dataslate falling towards his face, dropped from someone above.

A brief flash of pain, then darkness.

+ Later +

+ Medicae Deck #H-37 +

Casten woke with a throbbing groan, sitting up from the cot with pounding a headache. The last thing he remembered was everything shaking, him holding onto Brigid to keep her safe before...whatever knocked him out..

"Oh holy Emperor…" He grumbled through the migraine.

The young Knight winced as he touched his forehead to feel the bandage patch where the dataslate had struck him. The smell of minty, bitter disinfectant making it easily identifiable where he is.. He was laid in a medicae ward, the other cots empty aside from him. Someone had taken him to the medicae, he realized. Brigid, most likely, though she was nowhere to be seen.

"Freeblade Zelius. Your presence is requested at the command Sanctum." The dull monotone of the intercom servitor announced.

Casten sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the cot to stand. He fought against the nausea that threatened to overcome him.

+ Arc Mechanicus: Faber Ferracius +

+ Bridge: Command Sanctum +

Casten's arrival was met with some stares, hooded Techpriests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, ranking Knights from the three other Houses and the High Queen all gathered around a holo-table.

"I was summoned?"

A cloaked figure rose, in the rust red robes of the Technoloclasts Cult of the Omnissiah and covered head to toe in a mass of cables,and artificial musculature fused to the ship itself. An electronic simulacrum of a voice called out from the figure speaking in the binary cant of Mars. This was the shipmaster of Faber Ferracius, linked to the vessel in body and soul. All called him Shipmaster Zetros, they all owed him a debt of gratitude.

The Mechanicum and Knights of Avalus have been allies since the Age of Strife, long before the Emperor arrived to bring the two planets into the Imperial fold. Both having grown so close that their fates had become one in the same for thousands of year like one complex machine.

"The turbulence earlier was our forced ejection from the warp. Fluctuation in the light of the Astronomicon and the clouds of the warp has blinded our Navigators." The ancient Shipmaster said.

Casten nodded, pointing to the patch on his head. "I'm well aware, it left me a gift."

Shipmaster Zetros ignored it and continued.

"We have been deposited in stable orbit before an unregistered planet in an unknown system. The light of the Astronomicon is no longer visible, the warp storm that had consumed Avalus has stopped spreading but barred us from the galaxy and the Omnissiah's light. Our Navigators are blinded and our Astropathic choir has been silenced."

There was a terrible silence. Being separated from the Emperor's guiding light often spelled doom; there would be no Astropathic messages for reinforcements, no warp travel, no escape. Moreover, few know how long such blackouts would last. It could be days, months, years… or millennia. Their situation was perhaps not the worst, however, it was still dire.

Zetros continued, unfettered by their plight. "We have managed to evacuate many, however, our Agri facilities are being stretched to capacity. Much of the populous are useless to us, few showed promise in the rites of the Omnissiah or are useful as troops."

The High Queen was first to break the silent panic. "What of the planet below? Is it inhabited or habitable at all?"

Another hooded figure strode forwards, this one wearing armour over his robes and bearing a rebreather mask that doubled as a vox-speaker. He bowed. "Greetings, I am Explorator Madus. While we were conducting repairs to our blessed vessel, I have been permitted use of the Auspex and the ship's sensorium, as well as dispatched a surveyor pod with chemical sampler Servo Skulls below. Behold."

The pict cameras at the table whirred to life, filling the room in their glow as they loaded a top-down map taken from the ship over the planet as it spun. A map of cracked, dry earth, and dotted by greenery that bordered only it's coasts. Ruins of civilization having been reclaimed by nature. Though the images were of poor quality, there was little mistake. The planet was and may very well still be a human populated world.

One of the Knights in the crowd sputtered. "This world is unregistered!?"

Zetros nodded in confirmation. "There exists no planet that matches this planet in the database of the Faber Ferracius's charts."

"Perfect then!" The Knight exclaimed. "We can reclaim this land in the name of the Imperium! It seems habitable, and this is a Fabricator vessel! Surely we could-"

"Silence." Artra raised a gauntlet and poked at the map, the image zoomed in, showing a perfect circle of red and white that broke the yellow, dry, earthen landscape.

Casten leaned in for a closer look. "Is that-?"

"Yes, some sort of native construct. It looks to be a form of functioning mobile hive, see here." She pointed at a small collection of dots on the map and enhanced the image again.

Vehicles, giant, pod like vehicles were moving across the desert when the image was taken, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. "The construction certainly looks to be a form of the Omnissiah's will," A Techpriest among the crowd observed.

Artra noded to Zetros. "We must establish contact and a foothold on this world. Perhaps we have found wayward kin to be brought into the Imperial fold once more."

"It shall be done, by the your will and the will of the Omnissiah," Zetros exclaimed, retreating to address his vox servitor and Adepts.

+ Plantation 13 +

+ Command In Control +

Nana stretched, spine popping from moving after such a long time sitting slouched in front of a monitor. It was honestly the boring part of the day. Air traffic had delayed the transport of their VIPs. The Doctor's antics with his staff had delayed the entire flight for nearly an hour. At this point she was listening to the dull buzz of the radio out of boredom.

The rest of the officers seemed busy, though it was hard to tell with half their faces covered in white masks. They were tapping away at their stations or delivering messages. She had nothing else to do. Thus she twirled a strand of her auburn hair between her fingers and thumbed the frequency slider in idle lethargy.

That's when she heard it.

"...Operam..." She froze, tapping it to reverse and pick up the transmission again.

"..." Static.

Was she mistaken? Then she heard a faint click followed by an electronic beep. She recognized it as an audio recording loop replaying. FranXX emergency signals often transmitted that way.

"...Operam humanae cives sumus Sempronio Imperium habenti hominis. Nolite expavescere volumus ad pacem..."

Her eyes widened, she checked the database for anything that was to be on that frequency. Nothing. It was supposed to be an empty channel. Nana tore hear headset off, calling to the radar officer.

"You!" She pointed to an officer with a large set of headphones over his ears. "Pinpoint this frequency's origin point!" The man looked startled for a moment, but quickly nodded and hunched down at his communication console.

"You!" She pointed towards another masked officer. "Get me Father and Doctor Franxx on a conference!"

+ Arc Mechanicus: Faber Ferracius +

+ Bridge Deck +

The two regents regarded each other with a calculative stare. This 'Father' that the vox-hailer claimed was what passed as Planetary Governor resembled an Ecclesiastic Priest or Preacher more than a ruling figure. Clad in loose, hanging robes of snowy white and a golden mask. He even had a ridiculous giant hat to complete look. It was fortunate that all the strategium had the consciousness not to sputter in laughter as she was sure some would.

High Queen Artra was pleased in part to hear that the world below did indeed belong to humanity. At the very least they had a functional government with a ruling caste to negotiate with.

Which also posed a threat. If the humans were extinct or regressed to barbaric tribes, the Knights would have simply conquered them beneath the Adamantine feet of their Knight Titan suits. An intelligent, civilized for was far more organised… and much more dangerous should conflict break out.

She had changed out of her battle attire for the occasion, wearing a form fitting navy blue long gown and thigh-high boots, all sporting gold trim to emphasize her buxom form. A flowing cloak of regal red, with a ring of snow-white fur bordering the collar, draped over the High Queen's narrow shoulders completed her look. The gown had cuts down one side of the skirt, another at her chest to expose her ample cleavage. The gem-encrusted gold crown she so spurned in combat adorned her head.

It was all parts to a method of seduction, as, in politics, a woman's form was as powerful as any engine of war. She tapped at the button along a device around her neck, a translator, commonly used by Orators and Explorators to communicate and preach to human tribes.

Artra inclined her head first. "Greetings, I am High Queen of the former Knight World of Avalus. With me are my vassal lords and the honourable Adeptus Mechanicus of Volund. Though no other elements are present as of current, we formally greet you and offer you a place alongside your fellow man amongst the Imperium of Man."

Father's face remained unreadable behind his golden mask. "You will forgive me, your Highness, for my lack of a congruent response. This is an unprecedented... surprise."

"Your ignorance is forgivable; it is not unknown for worlds settled long in mankind's past to be reunited with us in this manner " Artra nodded.

The man seemed to mull on her words, head sunk in thought before he met her gaze again. "Your… offer, to join the Imperium. Is it an offer at all?"

The High Queen fell silent for a moment. "You don't seem to be a fool at least… Yes and no. Should you refuse, it would depend on the High Lords of Terra if your world is strategically or logistically important and if it's resources are worth the cost."

"Cost to invade and conquer us by force of arms, I assume." It was not a question, it was a statement of fact. Artra did not say anything to deny nor confirm it.

"What does being part of you 'Imperium of Man' entail to us? Subservience? Labour, Suffering? Taxation?" Father listed, raising a gloved hand and a finger for each point he asked.

"All of the above… normally." Artra smiled.

Father showed his first hint of emotion at that, a puzzled tilt of his masked head. "Normally... Are you offering another alternative to complete subservience?"

The Queen gave her sweetest smile, a visage she had shown upstart rebels that she challenged to personal duels in her Knight before crushing them beneath its steel boot. "Do you recall, Patriarch, that I am the High Queen of a former Knight World?"

"Forgive me your Highness, I do not believe I follow," the 'Father' said.

"The Imperium," Artra began, turning to pace the space that in the room that her vassal knights had cleared in the bridge. "takes no pleasure in inflicting misery, Patriarch."

Her heels clicked on the ground, each step carefully measured as to not mimic the sound of a ticking clock. "What we do we do only to survive, the Imperium means fighting armies, weapons, armour, foodstuffs in uncountable quantity for each and every day it exists. We draw those from the million worlds in our domain that we might fight tooth and nail to keep from the hands of vile Xenos."

"Xenos?" Father questioned.

"Hostile invasive lifeforms… aliens, in other words." The High Queen waved off the notion, her pacing suddenly stopping as she brought up a set of images of Klaxosaurs roaming the desert wastes. "I was made aware that you are acquainted with them?"

'Father' face silent at that. "You offer us protection and aid?"

Artra's smile faltered slightly at that. Her tone gaining a harsh edge. "I offer far more than mere 'protection'. I offer to mark this planet as an Imperial Knight World. Your rulership over the people will remain but you will accept the Imperial Creed and word of the Lectitio Divinitatus."

The High Queen tapped at the console one more, bringing up an image of a Mechanicus manufactorum.

"You will provide the Adeptus Mechanicus with the raw mineral to build the miracles of the Omnissiah and in return, you will receive their beneficial technology. For us Knights, as we utilise combat walkers of our own. You will provide a small tithe and occasional recruits, should we require them urgently to replenish losses and each of us will swear an oath to protect your interests from your local Xenos infestation. Thus, you will be exempt from the worst of Imperial tithes and taxation as us Knights will wage war in your stead."

The robed man seemed to hum, concerned as he should be. "Former Knight world, what do you mean by this? Pray tell."

Artra did not mince words. "It was devoured by a… calamity. A force of nature that could not be stopped, only fled from." She wasn't lying… technically.

Father seemed to consider it for a moment before another hologram sputtered to life. That of a seemingly frail, greying old man in a lab coat. Most of his face was cybernetic; many of the Techpriests mumbled their approval at the aging man's abandonment of weak, rotting flesh, replaced with glorious steel.

"My, my, I apologise for the tardiness everyone. My name is Doctor Franxx, I invented the Franxx units that we use to fight the Klaxosaurs," many a Techpriest had their objections, mumbled and hushed voices worried about the Tecno-Heresy against the Omnissiah that was innovation.

Father sighed. "Doctor Franxx, would it harm you so much as to have some decorum?"

"Bah! I've never had need of it." The old man seemed ragged, not caring in the least for the proceedings as much compared to the other two.

Artra found herself giggling behind her hand. "How refreshing, do you have a proposition, Tech-adept?"

"You betcha sweet curves I do! How bout' this. You send us one or two of yer Knights and see how they get along with our special test squad! They just sent me to Plantation 13 to oversee 'em!" The doctor burst out, laughing like a drunkard.

Father nodded. "As odd as it sounds… I agree with the good doctor."

"This would serve as a sign of solidarity… Perhaps we can better understand each other and through our Knight you'll see the virtues of ruler ship under the Imperium as a Knight World." Artra folded her arms in thought, serving only to emphasize her considerable bust, much to the doctor's leering delight.

The Regent of Avalus ignored the perversion; it was something she had expected when using this attire anyhow. "Just so happens I have a young Knight that is urgent need of purpose."

"Casten," The calm command came.

The young man in question stepped through the crowd of gathered Knights, Techpriests and other staff, before taking a knee in front of his Queen. "I have answered the summons."

"You are to learn of the locals, their customs and assist them in every way to safeguard them from the Xeno threat. After you have bonded with your armour," her demand left no room for argument.

Casten rose to his feet. Even as Brigid joined him in the Knight Sanctum to enlist the help of various Adepts and serfs to load his empty Knight-Errant for transport to the planet below. He was still in shock at his sudden new station and the weight of responsibility placed upon his shoulder. His mind and body seemed to be numbed by an unknown venom that gripped him like a vice, a disease that turned him into an unfeeling automaton… moving only on command of an unseen controller.

+ Upper Stratosphere +

He was snapped from his trance only when the Aquila Lander-shuttle that he boarded at some point during his death-like march, broke through the atmosphere. There was a fierce blaze outside the observation port from atmospheric entry. The heat shield and temperature controllers thankfully kept the cabin cool despite the fact that a single step outside would reduce him to a crisp.

Then he saw the city.

He was… impressed. Truly a marvel of human technological achievement. It was one matter to build impossible shapes and structures in the void of space. Another entirely to build a moving fortress-city when bound to the physical strain of gravity and all it's associated engineering limitations.

Brigid was paying rapt attention to the view. Eyeing every feature and protrusion from this 'Plantation' as a follower of the machine-cult was expected to. For Casten it was like a white and red turtle crawling along the crack covered wasteland.

It was… adorable, even.

Brigid, sitting on the opposing side of the shuttle was taken aback. "How can such a large structure function without proper consecrations and appeasement to the machine spirit!? No incense to calm it's wrath and no protocols of calming and no sacred oils!?"

The lander came to a stop at a landing pad that had unfurled from within thickly armoured wall sections. Casten spied another aircraft far larger than his small shuttle by a large margin with a box-like underbelly. A container attachment of some sort? It was impressive he supposed, for a non-void capable atmosphere-bound craft. The Imperium used Bulk-Transports like the one that was ferrying his Knight from orbit. Usually maximizing cargo space with ammunition, spare parts and whatever Sacristan Brigid and her servitors felt necessary.

Casten sported his house's preferred formal wear. A dark grey side buttoned trench coat bordered in gold bearing his House's coat-of arms embroidered on the right side of the chest. Strapped onto his left arms was a white left Carapace armour pauldron and arm pieces that extending over his neck from the left side. Worn underneath was a pair of black pants and a simple thin white shirt. Steel toed boots tapped heavily against the metal plated floor as he approached.

The ramp opened a moment later and Casten's boots thumped along the landing pad towards the group of people he suspected were waiting for his arrival. He spied the perverted and leering Doctor, a woman some years older than him with a head of auburn hair and… another man that was covered in so many bandages and casts that it looked like he had just been run over by a Grox stampede. A pair of masked guards in fabric armour pads flanked the group, armed with what he assumed to be autoguns, given they seemed to have slug firing weapons.

"Wise of them to bring precautions, unwise that they be so poorly armed." Casten mumbled under his breath.

He tapped at the device at around his neck to activate the all important translator that would convert the local tongue to Imperial High Gothic and vice versa. At least until Casten could find a way to learn it proper, relying on technology just to speak made the device feel like a leash.

"You're the young'un they sent, huh?" The Doctor greeted Casten with a smile.

Or at least half a smile, The Doctor's half bionic face and thick mustache made it difficult to read the man's expressions. Though he guessed the amusement in the old man's voice seemed genuine enough.

The young man nodded, raising his hands to his chest. Forming his distinctive half Aquila, half Cog Mechanicus. "Yes. Casten of House-...former House Zelius. Freeblade Imperial Knight in-waiting."

"Hefty title, If you'll forgive me saying,' The woman chimed in. "I am Nana, the Instructor and caretaker of the the experimental Squad #13."

"Ah, an educator and discipline master. Similar to a Drill Abbots in our Schola Progenium?" Casten realized

He scanned her briefly. Average height, curled auburn hair and buxom form… she didn't look the part of a warrior. Though Casten's gaze seemed to search her for something else.

"You seem to be missing your appliance." He observed; though Nana seemed confused.

Nana gave the young man a puzzled look, and he decided to elaborate. "A disciplinary appliance can include Shock Mauls, Electro Whips, Taser Goads. Non-lethal appliances made to discipline the wayward youth in the way of the Emperor's wrath should you disobey him. Are those methods not present in your education?"

For her part, Nana, turned pale. She didn't know what those things Casten mentioned looked like, however the names were self-explanatory.

Doctor Franxx suddenly clapped cutting off whatever Nana was about to say. "All well and good but the one you're here to meet is Code Zero-Two!" He stepped aside, arms wide as if to present something.

"Well?" Casten asked expectantly.

Franxx turned his head, finding only empty space. "That girl! She was right-!" The old man sputtered indignantly.

The masked guards seemed to panic heads searching for this 'Zero-two'. Nana bowed her head, seemingly embarrassed with a welcoming arm extended towards the door leading inside the Plantation. "Uh! perhaps you could… um see the sights of our indoor environment simulators?"

The young man had put two and two together at that point and nodded. It would give him some much needed calm.

"Yes, if you would please?" Casten nodded.

+ Later +
+ Plantation #13: Cerasus +

+ Mistleteinn +

"Peace, finally," Casten breathed deeply, savouring the forest air however artificial it was in this simulacrum of a temperate ecosystem.

It felt so real, the sights, the sounds, and even the wind. This place reminded him of the forests of Avalus, well… not quite. There weren't giant insectoid beasts to hunt and fight here. Instead it was peaceful and serene; it felt nice to pretend that this was a forest he grew up training in. Even for just a moment.

Then he looked up, seeing it was not the sky he grew up under. The hexagonal seams broke the illusion he was trying to play on himself.

Brigid had long since left to tend to his newly arrived Knight suit, preparing for his Ritual of Becoming. In truth she probably hated the mere sight of the eco-dome. His Sacristan was setting up a makeshift Chamber of Echoes. She recommended he prepare himself was the Long Night to come.

Yet, Casten knew no peace of mind, even as everything was prepared for him to become the Knight he had always dreamed of. The equipment would be ready, the Throne Mechanicum prepared well in advance, ammunition stocked in his weapons and every joint, piston and servo oiled and tuned to perfection.

But he didn't feel ready.

To be a Knight, one needed more than zeal, more than hate, more than vengeance, faith or honour. One needed a cause to fight for. The bond was a House's Ancestry incarnate. That was now lost to him, as he is, the Throne would find him wanting. He had no house or ancestry to drive him. The ancient machine spirits within had a habit of driving unsatisfactory scions to insanity or death.

The Throne Mechanicum was what linked Knight armour and Knight Scion into one War Engine. Technologies that were known only to the original designers during the Dark Age of Technology more than twelve thousand years ago did more than bind flesh and steel, it bound power only to those with conviction, will and a purpose. A Knight's oath to forever protect their charges, people, and House. Past users leave a part of themselves onto the Throne's anima, serving to guide and become parts of the new now, this Throne bore none of the anima of his ancestors, only the blank fury of it's machine spirit.

It would kill him.

An unnatural shade of red hanging off a fallen log caught Casten's eye. Pushing past three branches that stood in his way, the young man found himself on the bank of a small lake.

"Clothing?" He mumbled, finding a crimson red uniform that he hadn't seen any other of the locals use. It looked to be a woman's.

A splash alerted Casten to someone else's presence. He whipped his Plasma pistol out and drew his chainsword with practiced efficiency to point it in the direction. A feminine silhouette was in the middle of the small lake. Barely visible through the waterfall's spray, a pair of teal eyes stared back through the murk.

There was a splash as the blurred figure seemed to fall over backwards. Her hand reaching out to him from the water sank into its depths. His own shock and fear overtook him. Had he just scared someone into drowning by pointing his weapons at her?

"Hey! Are you alright? Hang on!" He called out.

Throwing off the belt that held his weapons and his coat onto the log, Casten began to stride into the knee deep water. Wading his way towards the spot where the figure seemed to drown just a moment ago. Only to find that it really was only knee deep There really was no way anyone could drown in this depth of water. He had been played for a fool.

"Alright, very amusing!" Casten hissed, spinning around to find the figure who had 'drowned'.

He turned back, making his way back to collect his clothes only to find someone leisurely sitting upon the log, spinning his Plasma pistol in her grip. His trench coat was draped around her shoulders.

"Hey! Return my wargear!" Casten yelled, rushing towards her.

He slowed as he drew closer, astonished by the person that had toyed with him.

Large, bright teal eyes meeting his navy-blue, stopped him dead in his tracks. She was nude, still dripping wet from her swim with beads of water dribbling down her toned body. With only his trench coat over her shoulders. Her creamy skin was so pale that she was almost as white as milk. Her long, straight hair was a peculiar pale pink, two small red horns atop her head being her most notable features.

She hugged one of her legs, her cheek lazily pressed against her knee while the other leg hung lazily. Words of insult or demands shrivelled up and died inside his throat. The Knight Scion was taken aback by the woman's beauty.

"You thought I drowned, didn't you?" She grinned at the dumbfounded Scion. "You went out to save me!"

The woman bounded up to him, uncaring that she was almost completely exposed to him save her long hair covering her breasts. "I appreciate it!"