Chapter 9

We moved quickly through the dark corridors of the mine. The mission was clear: get out. We had been in that place too long, and the losses were heavy. I could see Emil's regret on his face for the decision he'd made, and every time the echo of our footsteps reverberated off the walls, I became more convinced that we didn't have to stay another minute. I had also made the mistake of underestimating the energies of chaos and whatever I had brought with my arrival.

Emil led the group, guiding the soldiers with the calm of someone who had been in worse situations. The others said nothing, simply moving forward, each at their own pace. I trailed behind, observing, noticing the small details that went unnoticed by the rest: the dust rising from the cracks in the floor, the humidity that was beginning to thicken the air, and the constant feeling that the walls were too close.

We crossed the mines with ease. Dorian had demonstrated his knowledge of the area and had taken the lead in guiding the group to the exit,

We stopped in front of a large opening in the tunnel. In front of us was the exit: daylight streamed through a crack in the rock, illuminating the end of the long passageway.

"This way," said Emil, pointing the way ahead.

There wasn't time to think about it too much. I took one last look at the ruins surrounding us, remembering what had happened there, but I didn't let that stop me. It wasn't worth wasting any more time; I was taking a step toward something new, and I could always come back.

No, I knew I would have to do it, this place and I were one.

We hurried out of the ruins, and as we passed through the opening, the daylight welcomed me like a breath of fresh air; the air felt cleaner and fresher. I felt the difference immediately, and without saying a word, I began walking faster toward the exit. I could feel the emotion in my body, and it wasn't just mine.

Until the fabulous views of a planet and all it had to offer were revealed before our eyes.

The light bathed everything. Gray rocks, snow-capped peaks in the distance, and below, the greenery of the forests surrounding the mountain. The sky was clear. It was hard to believe that, beneath our feet, there was such a different place, corrupted, old, and deformed. The contrast was almost absurd.

Some of the soldiers let out a sigh. Not of relief, but of exhaustion. They were alive, but they knew that didn't mean they'd won anything. One by one, the soldiers emerged from the tunnel. Tired, wounded, some limping, others dragging their feet. But alive. They weren't celebrating. It wasn't that kind of victory. Just a pause.

Dorian walked over to a nearby rock and sat down. He didn't look at the landscape. His eyes remained fixed on the crevice through which we had emerged. His face showed nothing. But his posture spoke volumes: he didn't want to leave completely.

"Is everything okay?" Emil asked her without much intention.

"Yes," Dorian replied, without looking away.

I knew I wasn't. Not in the way a man feels bad about battle or the fallen. There was something else. The kind of unease only felt by those who've left something behind... or lost it. We regrouped a little farther ahead, under some thin trees. Emil checked on the group and took out his map. He began talking about routes, supplies, and the need to report back to higher command. I wasn't listening. My attention remained on Dorian. His fingers toyed with a small black stone he'd brought out of the tunnel without anyone noticing. It wasn't an ordinary stone. I recognized it. It was part of the altar that had collapsed.

"It's time to finish him off," she said, her cheerful tone gone and only a ruthless one remaining. "We don't usually leave loose ends for so long."

—It was necessary, your guide helped us get out quickly.

—You're not fooling me. You may have thought about and known the route in the same amount of time, maybe even less.

—...I can't kill him without proof, the others will fear me.

—They already do it. They saw you back there, they saw how easily you charged at enemies, and they died at your mere hands. You don't have to do it, I'll do it. It's my role.

-...Do it.

I said nothing more. I just nodded slightly, letting the line between my will and his blur. Thariel didn't roar or celebrate. She didn't need to. She was efficient, precise. A well-tempered knife doesn't need to announce its edge. Dorian stood back, as always, feigning normalcy as his fingers skimmed that stone again and again, as if he could extract something more from it. Maybe he was trying. Maybe he knew we were watching him.

I approached. Not furiously, not quickly. I just walked.

"Dorian," I said, and I was surprised by how soft my voice came out.

He looked up. His lined, empty expression twisted just a little, too late. He saw something in my eyes, or maybe in the way my shadow lengthened more than usual in the fading light.

—Is something wrong?

"Yes," I replied. And in the next instant, it was Thariel who moved.

It wasn't a spectacle. A clean, dry twist. One hand on his neck, another on his chest. Pressure. Crunch. Silence. I held him as his body lost strength and dropped him among the roots with the gentleness reserved for closing a book.

No one was looking directly. Emil was still working on the map. The others were too busy eating, drinking, cleaning their weapons, or simply avoiding eye contact with us. Perhaps they didn't want to know. Perhaps they already knew.

I returned to my place unhurriedly. Dorian's body blended into the shadows and fallen leaves. The black stone lay inert on the ground.

"Thank you," I said in my mind.

"Don't thank me," Thariel replied, her voice calm. "I'm just playing my part."

And so, the group lost a guide and gained something more valuable: time. Time before corruption found another way to creep up on us. I took the stone from Dorian's hands and tucked it into my robes. I looked up at the open sky, taking a deep breath. The world was still there. Beautiful. Dangerous.

_____________________

The governor's office was silent, save for the steady hum of the auxiliary generators. Since the Inquisition took control of the chain of command, Caerian had been relegated to a symbolic position. He no longer signed decrees, no longer sent troops. He only observed, analyzed… and plotted.

The planet was slowly crumbling under the weight of decay. Chaos didn't need to move quickly; its victory was a matter of time. Agricultural areas were contaminated, supply routes were attacked by cults and plagues, and astropaths spoke of impossible visions.

And yet, the Inquisition demanded calm. Restraint. Procedures.

They didn't understand. Or maybe they didn't care.

It was then, amidst that despair, that the rumors emerged. Ancient records rediscovered by marginal archivists, distorted maps, legends whispered by miners who never returned. They said that in the mountains there was something older than the ruins themselves, something that slept… or waited.

A power that could change everything, or so said those who called themselves his believers. Many of them had been killed or imprisoned, but with one of the few influences he had, he had been able to secure some of them.

Caerian studied it for weeks. He found no names. Nothing solid. Only patterns, coincidences, voices that couldn't have been in contact, repeating the same symbols and rituals. He discussed it with no one. Only himself. If he was wrong, he would die a madman. But if he was right…

The planet had one last hope. Not Imperial. Not Orthodox. A hope shrouded in myth and horror, beyond any dogma held by ordinary Imperial citizens.

So he sent a group. Not officers. Not branded troops. Scouts, scholars, soldiers with grim pasts but enough experience to be called elites by their peers. He gave them vague instructions: to search, to approach, to assess.

He didn't talk to them about faith. He talked to them about necessity.

Now, sitting in front of a dead console, Caerian watched the mountains in the distance from the reinforced viewport of his tower. The Inquisition was watching him; his resources were minimal, but something inside him told him he had done the right thing. Because if the Imperium was going to let this world die… then he had no choice but to appeal to what the Imperium feared.

And if that thing on the mountain turned out to be worse… then at least he'd know for sure.

Days later, a coded message arrived at one of the private terminals he still had access to. Brief. Fragmented. But enough:

"Contact established. Real power. Limited control. We're still alive."

Caerian read the words over and over. "Royal power." Not a structure, not a relic. An entity. He had bet everything on a myth, and the myth responded.

The governor leaned back in his seat. A surge of adrenaline shook him, but he didn't let it show. The tower still had ears, and the Inquisition didn't need any more reasons to execute what remained of its prestige.

"Why keep pretending you're in control?" Inquisitor Vhalas had told him at their last meeting.

"Because you're not," Caerian had replied without hesitation.

From that meeting on, his power was reduced to administrative tasks, under strict surveillance. He couldn't move military units or communicate freely with other colonies. But he had been governor for decades. He knew where the loopholes in the system were. He knew who to call.

That message didn't come through official channels. It had gone through an old mining communications network, deactivated for the Administratum but still active on outdated maps. It was his idea to reactivate it years ago, "for industrial safety." No one questioned industrial safety until it was too late.

He looked out the window again. The hive-city spread out below like a diseased organism: quarantined blocks, green smoke from crematoriums, beacons from church towers that no longer illuminated hope, but control.

His footsteps echoed alone in the room as he approached the circular strategy table. With a gesture, he turned on the projector. The areas most affected by the plague spread like an inkblot. The defenses were overwhelmed. Soon, the Inquisition would evacuate what it could… and burn the rest.

But he didn't plan on leaving.

Not now.

If that being in the mountain, that power he couldn't name, was truly awake… then he'd have to convince her. Win her favor. Even without fully understanding her. Because the other option was annihilation.

He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know what it was. But for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could do something.

Caerian turned off the hall lights, letting the gloom envelop him. As night fell outside on a wounded world, the old governor formed an idea.

It was time to have their first contact with the being that would give hope to this sick world.