The assembled officers and officials stood as one."As you command!" they thundered, saluting in unison.
When the last of the officials had left, Kayvaan wasted no time. He strode directly to the communications chamber. As he entered, the screen flickered to life. A figure was already waiting on the other end. Darius. A veteran of countless battles, leader of the Knights Templar—one of the deadliest regiments under Kayvaan's command. Darius's armored frame loomed over the display. He saluted sharply the moment he saw Kayvaan. "My lord," he said.
Kayvaan returned the gesture. "No time for pleasantries. We're moving fast. What's the current status of the Legion?"
"Ready for war," Darius replied without hesitation. "The Knights Templar stand prepared to strike at your command."
Kayvaan nodded. "How are the men?"
"They hunger for battle," Darius said with conviction. "We have trained for too long, my lord. The soldiers are eager to prove themselves—to earn their honor in combat and bathe in the blood of the enemy."
Kayvaan's expression hardened. "Then remind them of this: The enemy is unlike anything they have faced before. This is not like past wars. There will be no honor in underestimating the foe."
Darius inclined his head slightly. "We never underestimate our enemies."
"Good," Kayvaan said. Then, in a voice like steel, he issued his command. "The Templars enter the war immediately. First priority is reconnaissance. I want full infiltration and intelligence gathering on the Ork forces. Secondary priority is assassination—identify key enemy figures and eliminate them to sow chaos in their ranks. You will receive additional intelligence in an encrypted file shortly."
Darius clenched his fist over his chest. "Your will is our command."
"This mission will not be easy," Kayvaan warned. "Velmorian is vast. Even in peacetime, tracking an individual there is difficult. Locating specific Orks in a warzone? That will be infinitely harder. That's why stealth takes priority. Do not engage recklessly. Operate in two-man teams to maximize search coverage and minimize detection risk."
"Understood!" Darius barked.
Kayvaan's eyes narrowed. "Good. Then let the Templars prepare."
Darius saluted one last time before his image disappeared from the screen.
With his orders delivered, Kayvaan turned on his heel and left the chamber. His next destination was one of the facility's deeper, more secretive sections—a machine workshop, hidden away from prying eyes. As he entered, the scent of machine oil and burning metal filled the air. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of cogitator screens and the occasional spark from arc-welding. Looming mechanical frames stood in silence, their servos dormant, their cores pulsing faintly with idle energy.
At the center of the room, a robed servitor worked in silence, its masked face turned toward a delicate, intricate piece of machinery. Kayvaan stepped forward cautiously. "Seventy-Four?" he called.
The mechanical slave froze. Then, slowly, it turned. A gas-masked face was revealed from beneath the hood, its expressionless, emotionless metal visage flickering with artificial life. "Yes, Master. I am Seventy-Four," the servitor responded in a synthesized monotone.
Kayvaan's gaze was sharp. "I'm looking for Valyra. Is she here?" Seventy-Four did not answer immediately. Instead, something unnatural happened. The servitor's body began to tremble—violently. It was not a malfunction. It was something else. Kayvaan's muscles tensed instinctively. His hand drifted toward his sidearm.
The tremors intensified. The servitor's robes rippled, fabric shifting like waves in a storm. The tremors lasted for nearly a full minute, then—Stillness. Then, at last, the servitor's voice crackled to life again. "…She will see you now."
Kayvaan exhaled slowly. His fingers uncurled from the grip of his pistol. "Good," he murmured.
A burst of distorted electronic noise crackled from the servitor's voice modulator. "TEST. TEST. This is a sound test." The garbled audio quickly smoothed out, adjusting itself before finally settling into a soft, distinctly female voice. "Ah. Much better. The new sound generator is working perfectly."
Kayvaan crossed his arms, unimpressed.
Valyra—his so-called sister—spoke again, her voice laced with amusement. "So, big brother, what brings you to my workshop?"
Kayvaan exhaled. "I was going to ask for a favor, but first—what in the Emperor's name was that shaking just now? Looked like a damned daemon was trying to possess you."
"That?" Valyra shrugged dismissively. "Normal loading protocol. Nothing I can do about it."
Kayvaan wasn't convinced, but he let it slide. "Fine. More importantly—my gear. You took my weapons and armor for modifications. Are they finished?"
"They're done," Valyra confirmed. Then, with unmistakable curiosity, she asked, "You're not actually planning to go to the front, are you? A battle like this… it doesn't really require you personally, does it?"
"You already know about the greenskin invasion?"
Valyra tilted her head. Even through her mask, Kayvaan could feel the smugness radiating off of her. "I always know," she boasted. "All the security cameras, all the sensors across the Ferrum Sector? My eyes. My ears. If I want to know something, I do."
Kayvaan sighed. "If you knew earlier, why didn't you warn me?"
Valyra waved a hand dismissively. "Brother, who stares at a million screens all day for fun? I'm a busy woman. I only caught the full picture when the planetary alert triggered."
Kayvaan ran a hand through his hair, already feeling the headache coming on. "Can you access Velmorian now? Get me real-time data?"
Valyra shook her head. "No chance. The power grid is gone. Electronic infrastructure is dead. The entire region is offline, and even I can't brute-force my way in without working systems."
That wasn't surprising. It was concerning. Kayvaan moved past the issue. "Fine. Now—my gear."
Valyra crossed her arms. "First, you tell me something."
Kayvaan narrowed his eyes. "Is this a threat?"
"Yes," she said bluntly. "A real one."
He sighed. "Fine. I want to see the army in action. My forces—the Star Chapter, the planetary regiments—they've trained long enough, but training is controlled. It's predictable. This battle won't be."
Valyra said nothing. She just looked at him.
Kayvaan exhaled sharply. "And yes, fine, I might also take the opportunity to locate and eliminate a high-value Ork target. If I can take out their warboss, it'll buy us much-needed time."
Valyra's tone turned sharp. "You don't need to be the one to do that."
"I disagree," Kayvaan countered immediately.
"A commander doesn't fight on the front lines, brother. You're needed here."
Kayvaan's expression darkened. "I have a very different opinion on that." A figure flickered in his mind—an old memory. A man with white hair and black eyes. Silent. Calculating. Always the first to step forward when danger arose. He had been the kind of leader people followed without question. A man who never asked others to do something he wouldn't do himself. A true warrior. Kayvaan smirked faintly, shaking off the memory. "A good commander fights beside his men," he said simply. "The ones who sit behind desks and dictate orders? Those are the real bastards."
Valyra let out an exasperated sigh but didn't argue further. Instead, she turned and grabbed a long military-grade iron case from a cluttered pile of equipment. She heaved it onto the workbench with a loud clang. "There," she said, irritated. "Take it. It's yours."