The Bet
The corridor air felt solid, heavy enough to crush lungs.
Korquan's halberd hovered at Inquisitor Herman's throat, its disruption field shrieking against the flickering personal shield. Across from him, Tempestus Scions tightened their fingers along their trigger guards. Even facing Adeptus Astartes, drilled loyalty would not let them yield.
This was the Imperium: fear welded to duty, sharpened into a blade turned inward.
Then—
A small hand pushed gently against ceramite greaves.
Eileen stepped out from beneath Roboute Guilliman's cloak.
She did not radiate golden light.
She did not invoke power.
She simply stood there, ceremonial shortsword lowered, its tip resting against the floor.
Her gaze met Herman's bloodshot eyes—then flicked briefly toward the bronze-masked Sister of Silence whose null presence devoured warmth from the air.
[System Report: Host active will increasing. Mental stability elevated. Intervention unnecessary.]
I refrained from acting. Only the Pressure Module remained idling in reserve.
Eileen studied Herman carefully.
His hands trembled.
She had seen that before.
"Uncle," she asked softly, voice clear despite its childish timbre, "are you scared?"
Herman faltered.
Of all the possibilities he had envisioned—hysteria, divine wrath, daemonic manifestation—this was not one.
"What nonsense—" he rasped.
"Your hands are shaking," she said, pointing at the scroll in his grip. "Just like Uncle Wright back in the Nest City. A mutant rat bit off his toe. After that, even a baby rat made him swing a stick like crazy."
A few Ultramarines shifted, unsure whether to laugh or intervene.
"Uncle Wright wasn't bad," Eileen continued. "He was just scared."
She stepped forward. Guilliman's fingers twitched, but he let her move.
"You were scared too, weren't you? Of those… 'false gods'?"
Herman's breathing quickened. Gataramor. The coronation. The screaming sky. Warp-fire swallowing billions. His daughter.
"What would you know of hell?" he hissed.
"I'm not a monster," she said firmly. "And I'm not a god. My name is Eileen. I collect junk. Robert saved me."
She glanced back at Guilliman briefly, then returned her gaze to Herman.
"If taking me into a dark room makes you less afraid—if it keeps everyone from fighting—then I'll go."
Silence.
Sergeant Varro's helm tilted slightly. The Ultramarines recalculated.
Even the Sister of Silence inclined her head, studying this mortal child who volunteered herself so plainly.
"Eileen," Guilliman said quietly, "no one can compel you."
"But if I don't," she whispered, "he'll keep blocking the way, right? And you'll fight. And people will get hurt."
Hive logic. Brutally simple.
"I didn't steal anything this time," she added earnestly. "So I'm not afraid of the cops."
Guilliman closed his eyes briefly.
A Primarch, shield of humanity—being protected by a child.
When he looked up again, his voice was steel.
"You hear her, Herman? A child understands courage better than you."
Herman studied Eileen's face for deception.
He found none.
"I accept," he said hoarsely. "But procedure must be followed. Omega-level evaluation protocols."
"I set the terms," Guilliman replied. "Location: within Hera Fortress. I oversee the process. If she suffers permanent harm—"
His hand rested upon the hilt of the Emperor's Sword.
The threat required no elaboration.
Herman nodded.
"Agreed."
---
They descended into the isolation levels.
Marble gave way to grey adamantine. Auspex arrays lined the walls. Blackstone architecture pulsed faintly—a material known to dampen warp phenomena.
As they passed the Sister of Silence, Eileen shivered. A hollow sensation gnawed at her chest.
[Ignore the null-maiden. Her absence cannot erase me. But this blackstone ahead… interference rising.]
At last, they reached it.
A massive gate of noctilith.
"This is Silence Chamber Seven," Herman said. "Blackstone saturation sufficient to suppress Alpha-class psychic output. If something dwells within her, suffocation will force manifestation."
Guilliman looked down.
"We can leave."
Eileen shook her head.
"I'll just stay inside for a bit. Like hide-and-seek."
She released his hand and stepped through the gate.
It sealed behind her with finality.
---
In the observation chamber, Guilliman's voice was cold.
"Begin non-invasive scans. End this."
Herman stood at the console.
A standard scan would reveal nothing. He had seen that façade before at Gataramor.
No.
Pressure was required.
"For the Imperium," he whispered.
His finger slammed down on a crimson rune:
[Limit Threshold Test Protocol]
"Inquisitor—!" an Ultramarine barked.
Too late.
Klaxons howled.
"What have you done?!" a gauntlet seized Herman's collar.
Herman did not resist.
"Release it."
---
Inside the chamber—
Eileen gasped.
The blackstone pressed in on her senses like suffocating cloth. The connection in her mind flickered.
[Signal… suppressed… interference extreme… cannot deploy high-output override. Energy release would kill you.]
The floor trembled.
A circular lift rose from below.
Bound in hexagrammic chains and rune-etched restraints, a raving psyker emerged—skin crackling with violet warp lightning, blackstone suppressors hissing as they dampened his aura.
Bait.
A controlled detonation.
The creature's blind eyes snapped toward her.
"Blood… sacrifice…"
Drool sizzled where it struck the floor.
[System Warning: Connection severing to prevent carrier overload. You must rely on yourself.]
The link cut.
Silence.
Eileen did not cry.
In the Nest City, crying invited predators.
She dropped the ceremonial shortsword. Too heavy.
Instead, she pulled from her pocket the marble shard she had broken earlier—hard, jagged, razor-edged.
The psyker strained against his chains, lightning crawling across his flesh.
"Delicious…"
Eileen's face drained of color.
Then it changed.
The softness vanished.
What remained was the feral resolve of a child cornered in the underhive.
She raised the shard.
"Don't come any closer!!"