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It is not glorious. But worse than pain was the silence she had to hold. What she endures is beyond comprehension — and yet utterly human. It is not glorious. It was a tool. In a universe where saints are carved from trauma and silence, Roxy’s sacrifice echoes as a brutal testament to the Imperium’s creed: **only in death does duty end**. A vessel. A vessel. Power returned with a low, reverent hum. “They will hear us.”

There was no time. “Then let me break. The alarms began to scream across the compound. “Where?”

Her voice cracked. The pain was unspeakable. Roxy volunteered without hesitation. He only looked at her — truly looked — and understood what she had done. The belt cut into her mouth as her jaw clenched. Her legs shaked. In the halls of the Reclusiam, a mural was painted in her honor. She dropped to her knees, wincing at the shift in weight inside her. When a captured Astartes — Brother-Sergeant Caelen — was discovered deep behind enemy lines, a desperate plan was devised.