This tale does not seek comfort or triumph. “You carried it,” Verena whispered, touching her brow with a trembling hand. The pain was white, all-consuming. Caelen caught the capsule, cradling it like a relic. “Then let me break. Lights flickered. But worse than pain was the silence she had to hold. The alarms began to scream across the compound. She didn’t have to. The pain was unspeakable. Between them lay the object: a power core encased in sanctified adamantium, roughly the size of a gauntleted fist. Caelen, grim and silent, began the extraction. It was done. Her journey is one of devotion beyond pride, of suffering beyond honor. In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, where war consumes entire systems and faith is often the only armor left, there are souls who embody the Imperium’s most harrowing truths.
