The air was thick with the stench of charred metal and blood, the remnants of a war that had lost all meaning. Smoke still coiled into the sky, twisting like the dying breath of a world that had been reduced to a battlefield. But now, there was silence.
The guns had fallen quiet.
The Tau were gone.
Not defeated, not exterminated—gone.
Dain stood atop the ruined husk of a Leman Russ, his battered armor caked with dirt and dried blood. His hands rested on his knees, exhaustion weighing on his bones like lead. He had seen many things in war. He had seen men torn apart by gunfire, comrades screaming in agony as xenos weapons burned through them. He had seen the unwavering fury of the Emperor's warriors and the cold precision of the enemy.
But he had never seen anything like this.
They had left.
The Tau did not retreat—they were methodical, calculating. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, they fought with precision. They regrouped, adapted, countered. But this time, there had been no strategy, no fallback positions. Only a rapid, panicked withdrawal, like prey fleeing from a predator they could not comprehend.
The Archivist had made them run.
Dain clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his lasgun.
He wanted to celebrate—should have celebrated. The Emperor had delivered them from destruction, had sent a force so terrifying that even the xenos had recognized its futility. But something inside him churned. This victory was not one of faith or valor. It was not the righteous fury of the Imperium breaking the alien's will.
It was something else.
And that something had left its mark on him.
His vision flickered, and the infernal text reappeared in his mind's eye.
[System Update: Enemy Forces Have Withdrawn]
[Tau Forces: Fully Evacuated]
[Imperial Survivors: Scattered and Awaiting Orders]
[New Objective: Reorganize and Await High Command Directives]
Dain exhaled through his teeth, a quiet growl of frustration building in his throat.
Even now, the thing in his mind persisted. This so-called system that the Archivist had forced upon him, this cursed thing that made a mockery of his will. He had refused it, had denied it, and yet it still lingered, shaping his awareness of the world around him.
Was this another test? Some trial to prove his devotion?
Or was he already lost?
"No."
The word came out in a whisper, a prayer, a declaration. He was not lost. He was a soldier of the Imperium. The Emperor was his master, not some ancient machine-god lurking in the void. Whatever this power was, whatever it wanted, he would resist it.
He had sworn an oath.
The crunch of boots against gravel snapped him from his thoughts. He turned, his grip instinctively tightening on his lasgun as a small group of soldiers approached. Their armor was battered, their faces hollow with exhaustion, but there was something else in their eyes.
Fear.
Not fear of the Tau.
Fear of what had saved them.
"Sergeant," one of them—a corporal, his uniform barely intact—saluted with a trembling hand. "The… the xenos are gone. Pulled out completely. They didn't even leave scavengers behind."
Dain nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. That means we hold this world."
The corporal hesitated. "Sir, with respect… what do we do now?"
Dain didn't answer immediately. He looked past them, beyond the ruined cityscape, toward the sky where the Archivist had vanished.
What did they do now?
The Emperor's duty was clear—to hold, to fight, to serve. And yet, this battle had not been won by their hands. The men before him knew it. He knew it. The Tau had not fled from lasguns or artillery barrages. They had fled from something greater.
Something no one understood.
He squared his shoulders. "We regroup," he said firmly. "We await orders from Command. And we remember who we are."
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. They wanted more. They wanted explanations, certainty. But Dain had none to give.
The corporal hesitated. "Sir… and the thing that appeared?"
Dain's jaw tightened. "It is not our concern."
A lie. A necessary one.
The Emperor's light did not waver. He could not afford to.
"We are soldiers of the Imperium," he continued. "We do not question. We endure. We fight."
The words were a hammer, blunt and absolute. The men needed that certainty, even if he did not fully believe it himself.
Slowly, they nodded. Their backs straightened. They clung to the familiarity of duty, to the rigid structure of command. To the lie that the war had ended simply because their enemy had fled.
Dain turned his gaze back to the horizon. The night was long, but dawn would come.
And when it did, he would still be here.
No matter what shadow loomed over them, no matter what thing had taken root inside him, he would stand.
He would resist.