The silence was the only thing that felt new.

  Ravager stood before the reflective pane of the stasis pod, studying the face that stared back. It was her face. The same curve of the jaw, the same pale softness of the skin, the same way her hair fell around her shoulders. She looked exactly as she remembered.

  She leaned in closer, inspecting her eyes. They were the only betrayal of her new reality—not the soft emerald green she had grown up with, but a sharp, piercing yellow. They didn't blink with the erratic rhythm of a biological creature; they were steady, unblinking lenses recording data.

  "You look well, Minka," a voice chimed behind her—mechanical, yet layered with a deep, paternal warmth. Trazyn.

  Ravager didn't turn immediately. She just watched his reflection join hers in the glass. "I am functional," she replied. Her voice was soft, melodic—her own voice. She ran a hand down her arm, feeling the skin. It felt perfect. But she felt no cold. She felt no hunger. She felt... silent.

  "Functional? You are a masterpiece, my daughter," Trazyn corrected gently, stepping closer to place a metallic hand on her shoulder. "You are restored. You have shed the weaknesses that plagued you, yet you remain... you."

  Ravager looked at his hand on her shoulder, then back to her own reflection. "I suppose I am," she said quietly. She didn't miss the taste of food or the heaviness of sleep. She was clean. Pure. And perhaps that was better.

  "Come," Trazyn said, his metal fingers leaving her shoulder to gesture toward the high, arching doorway. "There is something I wish to show you. In the past... you never had the patience for it."

  Ravager stepped forward, her body moving with a seamless, instant translation of will into motion. "I have time now," she said.

  They walked through the vast, prismatic corridors of Solemnace. In her previous life, she had found Trazyn’s obsession with hoarding history tedious, even morbid. She had wanted to live life, not catalog it. But now, as they passed a regiment of Vostroyan Firstborn frozen in a moment of desperate glory, Ravager stopped.

  She didn't feel the old boredom. She felt a sense of rightness.

  "Do you see?" Trazyn asked, his voice eager, almost like a child showing off a prize. He pointed to a massive stasis field containing a scene from an ancient Eldar war. "Before, you called this a tomb. But look at the symmetry, Minka. Look at the preservation of the narrative."

  Ravager tilted her head. Her yellow eyes zoomed in, scanning the microscopic fractures in the Eldar’s armor, the frozen trajectory of a shuriken round.

  Subject: Eldar. Status: Preserved. Decomposition: 0%.

  "It is... quiet," Ravager murmured. "It is very orderly. Nothing rots here."

  Trazyn clapped his hands together softly. "Exactly! Finally, you understand. In the flesh, moments are fleeting. They decay. But here? They are perfect forever."

  He guided her through hall after hall, pointing out the nuances of history he had saved. For the first time, she didn't roll her eyes or check the time. She listened. She observed.

  "I am glad," Trazyn said softly, stopping before a display of ancient pottery. "I always hoped we could share this."

  "It is logical," Ravager agreed. "Chaos is inefficient. This is... peace."

  Trazyn nodded, his ocular lens flashing in approval. He seemed lighter, happier than she had ever seen him. "I must attend to a minor fluctuation in the thermal reactors. Do not wander too far, my daughter. The labyrinth can be... confusing."

  "I will be fine, dad," she said.

  Trazyn phased out of reality, teleporting away, leaving Ravager alone in the silence she now found so comforting.

  She wandered toward the lower archives, her footsteps silent on the metal grating. It was there she found the anomaly.

  A small stray cat, likely having slipped in through the cargo vents, was curled up on a crate of ammunition. It was sleeping, its small chest rising and falling.

  Ravager stopped. The logical part of her brain categorized it immediately. Felis catus. Non-threat. Contaminant. By all rights, she should have summoned a scarab to dispose of it.

  But she didn't.

  She walked over, her movements fluid and utterly human, and gently scooped the cat up into her arms. The creature startled awake, hissing softly, but seeing no threat, it settled into the crook of her arm.

  "Hello, little one," she murmured, her voice dropping to a gentle coo.

  She brought her hand up and stroked the cat’s back. The fur was soft, but it was the warmth underneath that captured her attention. She could feel the rapid beat of its heart against her fingertips. She could feel the heat radiating from its small, living body, transferring into her synthetic skin.

  It was... intoxicating.

  Ravager held it closer, pressing the cat against her chest. She scratched behind its ears, her yellow eyes half-closing, the data-streams in her vision fading away to leave only the sensation of touch.

  "You're so warm," she whispered, her fingers kneading deep into the soft fur, feeling the loose skin shift over the muscle beneath.

  She remembered warmth. She remembered that life was supposed to be warm. But as she stood there in the dark, petting the animal, the feeling that washed over her wasn't protection. It wasn't love.

  It was envy. And beneath the envy, something sharper.

  It fits so well, she thought, her thumb tracing the fragile line of the cat's spine. It holds the heat so perfectly.

  "I'll take care of you," she said softly, her yellow eyes glowing in the gloom. "I'll keep you very close."

  The air behind her shimmered, displaced by the sudden arrival of mass. Ravager didn't jump; her sensors had detected the tachyon spike of a dimensional breach milliseconds before it happened. She simply turned, the cat still cradled protectively against her chest, to face the Necron Overlord.

  Trazyn stepped out of the rift, his staff tapping against the metal floor. He stopped dead, his single ocular lens widening as it focused on the bundle of fur in her arms.

  "A biological contaminant," Trazyn stated, his tone hovering somewhere between confusion and professional affront. "In the Archives. How did a... Felis catus bypass the scarab perimeter?"

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  Ravager adjusted her hold on the cat, which let out a low, vibrating purr. She looked at Trazyn, her yellow eyes narrowing slightly in a look of dry amusement that Minka used to give him constantly.

  "If a five-pound ball of fluff could breach your 'impenetrable' fortress, dad," she drawled, her voice dripping with a familiar, sarcastic sweetness, "then perhaps you should consider preserving your security protocols next. They clearly need the help."

  Trazyn’s head tilted. For a moment, the silence stretched, and then a chittering sound of mechanical amusement emitted from his vocal emitter. "Sharp as ever. I see the bio-transference did not dull your tongue."

  "Efficiency requires honesty," Ravager countered smoothly, though she scratched the cat behind the ears with a possessiveness that Trazyn missed.

  "Come," he said, gesturing down the hall. "If you insist on carrying the... specimen... bring it. There is one last gallery I wish to show you."

  They walked together, a strange trio—the ancient archivist, the living weapon, and the sleeping cat. Trazyn led her into a hall that was not filled with soldiers or war, but with celestial phenomena. Massive stasis fields held swirling nebulas frozen in mid-collapse, solar flares caught in the instant of eruption, and shards of crystal from worlds that had died a billion years ago.

  "The Gallery of the Cosmos," Trazyn announced proudly. "Wars end. Civilizations fall. But these? These represent the stage upon which it all plays out."

  Ravager looked up at a captured lightning storm from a gas giant, its violet arcs suspended in perfect stillness. It was magnificent.

  "It is beautiful," she admitted. She glanced at Trazyn. He wasn't looking at the exhibits. He was looking at her, his posture relaxed, his staff held loosely. He looked... content.

  She ran a predictive algorithm. Subject: Trazyn. Emotional State: Satisfaction. Desired Outcome: Permanent retention of current status.

  He didn't want her to leave. He wanted to place her in a gallery—not in stasis, perhaps, but kept here, safe within the walls of Solemnace, protected from a galaxy that had already killed her once.

  Ravager stopped walking. "You know I cannot stay," she said softly.

  Trazyn froze. He didn't turn to her immediately, his gaze fixed on the frozen lightning. "The galaxy is a chaotic place, Minka. It is inefficient. It is dangerous. Here, you have purpose. You have safety."

  "I have a mission," she corrected, her voice hardening just a fraction.

  Trazyn turned then. "A mission? Your war is over. You have nothing left to prove."

  "I have everything to prove," Ravager replied. Her yellow eyes seemed to glow brighter in the dim light of the gallery. "I have to kill him."

  Trazyn went still. The title hung in the air between them—a mirror of the being standing before her, yet a distinct, hated target in her mind.

  "He is still... formidable," Trazyn said carefully. "He is the architect of your pain."

  "And I am the demolition," Ravager stated with the absolute certainty of a machine. She stepped closer, shifting the cat to one arm so she could place her synthetic palm against Trazyn’s cold, metal chest. "I am better now. I am enduring. He won't survive me."

  She looked deep into his ocular lens, her expression shifting from cold determination to something softer, something that looked painfully like hope.

  "Let me finish this. Let me save them. And when it is done... when the Archivist is dead and everyone is safe..." She paused, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. "I will come back."

  Trazyn stared at her. "You would return? After everything?"

  "We have eternity now, don't we?" Ravager whispered. "We will be a family. You, me, and mom. We can travel the stars. You can show us everything you've collected, and we will have all the time in the universe to see it."

  Trazyn placed his hand over hers. "A family," he repeated, testing the word. "An eternal dynasty."

  "Yes," Ravager promised. She squeezed his hand, then looked down at the cat in her arms. She felt its heat, its fragile, delicious life pulsing against her unfeeling chest.

  "But for now... I have work to do."

  She stroked the cat again, her fingers digging just a little too deep into its flesh.The cat let out a sharp, high-pitched yowl, twisting in her grip to rake its claws across the back of her hand. The skin tore—or it appeared to. The synthetic epidermis parted, revealing not blood, but a dull, grey mesh beneath.

  Ravager didn't flinch. She didn't drop the animal. She merely loosened her grip, her yellow eyes staring at the scratches on her hand with detached curiosity.

  Damage: Superficial. Pain receptors: Null.

  "Careful, my daughter," Trazyn said softly. His voice was sad. He had seen the slip in her control, though he chose to interpret it as a glitch in her motor functions rather than a sickness of the soul. "Living things are fragile. They break easily."

  "Yes," Ravager murmured, soothing the trembling cat until it went still against her. "They do."

  Trazyn raised his staff. The green orb at its tip began to pulse with a deep, resonant hum, destabilizing the reality around them.

  "Go then. Finish your war. Kill the Archivist. And then..." He hesitated, looking at her one last time—his masterpiece, his legacy. "Then come home."

  "I will," she promised.

  Trazyn struck the floor with his staff.

  The world dissolved in a flash of emerald fire.

  The silence of the gallery was ripped away, replaced instantly by the stale, recycled air and the low thrum of a localized power generator. The transition was instantaneous. There was no nausea, no disorientation. One moment she was in the timeless halls of Solemnace, and the next, she was standing in the command center of her base.

  "You're late."

  The voice came from the shadows near the tactical map—dry, raspy, and smelling faintly of smoke and gun oil.

  Knight stepped into the light. She looked like she hadn't slept in a week, and frankly, she looked like she didn't care. Her trench coat was stained with grease and dust, hanging open to reveal the heavy revolver holstered at her hip. Her crimson hair was pulled back in a messy knot, strands falling over eyes that were sharp, green, and infinitely tired.

  She didn't raise her weapon—she was too good for that. She knew exactly who had just teleported in. Instead, she just leaned against the table, crossing her arms and looking Minka up and down with a critical, mercenary's eye.

  "I expected you three cycles ago," Knight said, her voice flat.

  Ravager stood perfectly still. To anyone else, she looked exactly like Minka—the same soft features, the same yellowish eyes, the same posture. There wasn't a screw loose or a seam visible. She was a perfect picture of the girl who had left.

  "Efficiency requires preparation," Ravager replied. Her voice was smooth—perhaps a little too smooth compared to the exhausted grit in Knight's.

  Knight snorted. "Yeah, well, preparation doesn't pay the—" She stopped. Her eyes had drifted down to Ravager’s chest, landing on the bundle of fur.

  Knight blinked. She looked at the cat, then back up at Minka’s face, then back at the cat. The cynicism on her face cracked just a fraction to reveal genuine confusion.

  "Okay," Knight said slowly. "I have questions. First one: Is that... lunch? Because we have rations, kid. You didn't need to hunt."

  Ravager looked down at the animal. She could feel its heart hammering against her chest. Thump-thump-thump. It was a rhythmic, biological engine.

  "It is a heat source," Ravager said simply.

  Knight stared at her. She waited for the punchline, for the smile, for the awkward laugh Minka used to give when she did something weird. But there was nothing. Just that calm, perfect face.

  "Right," Knight muttered, shifting her weight uneasily. The answer was logical, but it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "A heat source. Because blankets are out of style this season. Whatever."

  She pushed off the table, deciding to ignore the weirdness in favor of the mission. That was how you survived: focus on the job.

  "You look... fine," Knight noted, her eyes narrowing as she scanned Minka for injuries. "Better than fine, actually. Trazyn patch you up? You look like you just walked out of a spa, not a war zone."

  "I am restored," Ravager said. She tightened her hold on the cat slightly, feeling the fragile ribs shift under her grip. "I am functional."

  "Great. 'Functional' is good. 'Alive' is better, but I'll take what I can get," Knight quipped. She walked over to the tactical map, tapping a few keys to bring up a holographic display of a jagged, ruin-filled sector. "While you were off getting... restored... and adopting stray wildlife, the Archivist made a move. We have a signal."

  She looked up at Ravager, her expression hardening into the deadly seriousness that made her such a terrifying soldier.

  "We have a location, Minka. But it's deep in the grid. If we go in, we might not come out. You ready for this?"

  Ravager stepped forward. She didn't look at the map. She looked straight ahead, her perfect eyes reflecting the red light of the hologram.

  "I have the coordinates," she said, her voice devoid of fear. "And I have the will to finish it."

  "Good," Knight said, checking the cylinder of her revolver with a fluid spin. "Then let's go kill your dad."