Time: M42.001 Location: Gloriana-css Battleship The Hearthfire · The Deep Core Perspective: Vulkan

  There is no command throne here, only a colossal, functioning adamantine anvil.

  The bridge is shrouded in the scent of heat and sulfur. Vulkan stands bare-chested, revealing his signature obsidian skin, crisscrossed with countless pale, healed scars—records of time and endless battle, and his truest medals as a Primarch.

  Around him, you see no mortal crew, nor the common sight on Imperial vessels: lobotomized servitors droning in pain.

  In the resource-starved Imperium Nihilus, Vulkan has forbidden the modification of human beings into disposable components.

  "Flesh is for living; suffering is to be borne by steel." This was the first Iron Law he established in these twelve years.

  In their pce are dozens of silently operating Engineering Automata. Cd in geometric shells of brass and bck iron, their multi-jointed mechanical arms input commands into terminals with millisecond precision, executing pre-set sequences. They have no souls, feel no pain, and require no pity—thus, they are the perfect tools for this eternal war.

  < ALERT: WIDE-RANGE SCAN >

  The core auspex emits a rapid chime. A psionic signature of extreme magnitude is breaching the sector edge.

  "DETECTED: First Legion Supreme Authority Identity Code. TARGET CONFIRMED: Lion El'Jonson."

  The voice is not the raspy croak of a servitor, but that of a levitating Logic Engine Core. Its voice is synthetic, pure, like the echo of striking metal.

  "CALCULATION ADVISORY: Establish tactical link. Dual-Primarch synergy will increase campaign victory probability to 98.4%."

  Vulkan's finger hovers over the vox-rune. That massive hand, roughened by years of forging, trembles slightly.

  That is his brother. The only end to the loneliness of this decade. He only needs to press this rune to fight alongside the Lion, to recreate the glory of the Great Crusade. His finger shakes; it is the "human" part of him struggling, yearning for kinship and connection.

  But he turns his head to a physical structure monitoring plot projected by an automaton. There, Wyrmwood has become a massive warp-drill. Angron’s rage and Vashtorr’s ritual are tearing the veil of reality.

  Vulkan knows the nature of his fleet—they carry immense "physical anchoring mass." If they charge into the core now, two diametrically opposed ws of physics will trigger a vacuum decay, shattering the Lion along with everything else.

  For the Lion to swing his sword, the Smith must remain unseen.

  "...Link refused."

  Vulkan's voice is low, like the rolling of subterranean magma, forcibly suppressing the longing in his heart.

  "Logic Correction: Maintain physical structural integrity as highest priority. Fleet entering 'Deep Dive Mode'. Background radiation shielding net: Active."

  The levitating Logic Core fshes blue once. It has no questions, no regrets. It accepts this command—counter-intuitive to emotion but aligned with supreme rationality—without question.

  "COMMAND RECEIVED. EXECUTING SILENT PROTOCOLS."

  The engineering automata pause their work in unison, turning to the consoles. No sound of breathing, no conversation, only the faint hiss of hydraulic pistons. They do not care about missing the chance to stand with a legend; they care only for the will of their Creator.

  The lights die. The bridge plunges into darkness. In this fleet without sves, Vulkan stands alone among his servants of steel, watching the Lion’s signal blink lonely on the screen, bearing all the pain that comes with being "human."