The battle was over.
What remained of the Imperium's forces had retaken their crumbling fortifications, but there was no celebration. No victory chants, no roaring hymns to the Emperor. Only silence. The kind that came after something beyond war had touched the battlefield and left its mark.
Sergeant Dain sat alone at the edge of the encampment, staring into the flickering light of a makeshift fire. He had stripped off his helmet hours ago, letting the cold air bite at his sweat-streaked face. His hands trembled—not from exhaustion, not from adrenaline, but from knowing.
The others had tried to make sense of it. Some claimed the thing—the Archivist—had been a weapon of the Omnissiah, some forgotten machine-spirit awakened to smite the xenos. Others whispered of witchcraft, of an entity that should not be, something not of Chaos but of something worse.
Dain said nothing. He let them believe what they wanted. Because deep down, in the marrow of his bones, he knew the truth.
The Archivist had chosen him.
It had spoken to him—not as a soldier, not as an enemy, but as something… other. It had spared him, studied him. And that was far more terrifying than if it had simply erased him like the others.
He exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling of that impossible gaze still lingering in his mind. The fire crackled, casting long shadows over the scattered wreckage of the camp. The others had left him alone—whether out of respect or unease, he didn't know. He didn't care.
Then, the fire flickered unnaturally, its glow twisting into something cold, something vast.
He felt it before he saw it.
A weight in the air. A pressure in his mind. A presence that was not here, yet was.
"You understand now."
Dain's breath caught. He did not move. Did not look up. He simply closed his eyes.
It was here.
The Archivist.
Not in body—not like on the battlefield. But its presence wrapped around him like a storm pressing against fragile walls. It was not something he could fight. It was not something he could run from.
He opened his eyes.
Across the fire, the shadows had deepened into something… else. A shape that was not a shape. A form that was not bound by flesh or steel. It watched him—not with eyes, but with something far older.
"You linger in doubt." The voice was inside him. Not spoken. Imprinted. "You fear what you have seen."
Dain clenched his jaw. "I don't fear you."
A pause.
"Untrue."
Dain scowled. "What do you want?"
The fire between them dimmed, as if the Archivist's presence alone could steal its warmth.
"I have watched your kind for millennia. You are frail, bound by chains of ignorance and servitude. But you are not without potential."
Dain's hand twitched toward his sidearm—a pointless gesture, but instinctive nonetheless. "You didn't answer my question."
"I am offering you a choice."
The words settled in the air, heavy as stone.
Dain frowned. "What choice?"
The shadows around the fire twisted, shifting in ways his mind struggled to comprehend.
"To step beyond what you are. To know what was forgotten. To walk a path that only a few in this galaxy will ever glimpse."
Dain swallowed hard. "And if I refuse?"
The Archivist did not answer immediately. When it finally spoke, its voice was softer—almost… amused.
"Then you remain as you are. A soldier in a dying empire. A flicker of light in an unending void."
Dain exhaled sharply. His mind raced. He had seen the Archivist's power. He had felt it in his soul. He had no illusions about the Imperium—he knew what he was to them. But this? This was something else.
"What are you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
A long silence stretched between them. Then—
"I am the harbinger of an age that was stolen. I am the vessel of the ones who shaped the stars. I am the key to what lies beyond."
Dain's hands curled into fists.
He had spent his life following orders. Fighting wars that were never meant to be won, only endured. If he took this step, there was no turning back.
The fire flickered again, the presence around him beginning to withdraw.
"Choose, Dain."
Then, silence. The weight in the air lifted. The shadows receded.
He was alone again.
Dain let out a slow, shuddering breath. He looked at the fire, watching the embers pulse like a dying heartbeat.
He had been given a choice.
And for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do.