--
Cassian stepped off the shuttle ramp and felt the deck plates shudder underfoot that deep, iron-boned vibration only a voidship could make. The ship wasn't the biggest hull Cassian had walked. The air smelled of ozone, machine oil and human sweat baked into steel.
Faevelith pulled her hood tighter, the illusions wrapping around her outline. Farron's mechadendrites twitched, sniffing data. Behind them, dock crews bustled servitors hauling crates, deckhands in grease stained overalls shouting numbers lost in engine hum.
A figure waited at the hangar's edge: same man he met in the bar, coat worn at the cuffs, face lined like cracked paint, a small badge of the Illuminati hidden in the fold.
"Vale," he grunted, voice gravel dry. "Good to see you in the flesh. Admiral's on the bridge, wants a word before we get you bunked."
Cassian nodded, stepping in beside him. They walked, boots clanging on iron deck. The air was hotter here, recycled hundreds of times.
The corridor ahead opened into the bridge: a cathedral of steel and brass. Servo-lanterns swung overhead, cogitator banks blinked amber and green. Officers in dark coats bent over charts and hololiths. At the center: Admiral Spire, black uniform crisp despite the fatigue in his eyes.
Spire turned as they approached. "Vale," he said, clipped, voice a little softer than his reputation might make it seem. "Glad you answered the call."
"Couldn't say no to an invitation like yours," Cassian answered, dry.
Spire's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "We'll speak proper later. For now, get your team settled. The ship won't wait for anyone not even me." He nodded at Severik. "See they get the tour."
"Aye, Admiral," Severik said, he nodded firmly then gave him a salute.
Spire's attention had already shifted back to a holo chart pulsing with red threat sigils, warp currents twisting like angry veins.
They turned back into the passageway. Severik led them deeper into the ship, voice low but carrying over the constant hum.
"All right, you three, quick run through," he began. "Up top deck: the bridge, where the Admiral lives and breathes. Lord Captain runs the watch when Spire eats or sleeps which ain't often."
They passed the bridge's external armor hatches, mechanisms thick as a city wall. Cassian's fingers traced the pitted brass as they walked.
"Midship," Severik continued, "you've got the Gun Decks. Hundreds of macro cannon, each fed by loaders who pray the Machine Spirit doesn't jam the breech. Gun Captains run each battery; Gunner's Mates do the math by hand. Computers help, but you never trust a cogitator too far the warp can twist machinery, there have been several cases in the past with daemonic viruses attacking the systems or machines themselves behaving erratically."
Farron made a low, metallic chuckle. "Wisdom, of a kind."
They passed an open loading hatch: sweating voidsmen hauling shells the size of gravestones, muscles roped with vein and scar.
Further on, Severik jerked his chin left. "Below that: Torpedo Deck. Master of Ordnance keeps the big fish ready. Everything down there smells like oil and promethium."
They passed a row of massive bulkhead doors, paint stenciled with kill tallies and warning sigils.
"Starboard: Flight Bays," Severik said. "Couple Fury interceptors, Thunderhawk or two if we're lucky. Pilots think they're gods. Mostly they're just dead quicker than the rest of us."
Cassian caught sight of a mechanic arguing with a flight officer, wrenches and spanners hanging from his belt like relics.
Severik kept them moving. "Now the Engine itself. Heart of the beast. Techpriests run it prayers, oils, binary chanting, the whole bloody lot. Don't go down there unless you like the smell of hot lubricant and incense."
They passed a priest with half his face replaced by bronze tubing, red robes streaked black by fuel dust.
"Back midship: the choir," Severik lowered his voice. "Astropaths. Blind as stones, but they see what none of us can. They talk across the stars. Don't speak to them unless spoken to. Some got more voices in their heads than ours."
Faevelith's eyes traced the ship in curiosity.
"Behind them, Navigator's sanctum," Severik added. "Warp routes live or die by that family's blood. Even Spire barely sees the bastard. Fucked up lot, but I do not blame them, I would be too if I had to chart course by literally looking at hell."
They crossed a mess hall: long steel tables bolted down, off duty voidsmen hunched over bowls of grey stew. Steam fogged overhead pipes; someone's quiet prayer floated on the air.
Severik rapped his knuckles on a post. "Bosun keeps order here. You spill food, you scrub the deck. Commissar? Rare. But when he walks by, they sit up damn quick."
Farron's mechadendrites curled. "Discipline by fear," he noted.
Severik's mouth twitched. "Only thing that works half the time."
They passed an Armsmen barracks: shotguns stacked neat, carapace armor on racks. "Sergeant at Arms runs them. About ten percent of the crew. Breachers are the bigger bastards: heavy shields, boarding axes, void armor thicker than your arm."
They turned another corridor: heat rising, metal floors sweating condensation.
"Enlisted quarters," Severik pointed. "Voidsmen sleep stacked six high, barely room to piss. Crew size's around thirty thousand. Some born here, never seen real sky. But most officers are transferred in the ship."
They walked past the medicae bay. Ship's Surgeon in bloodied apron argued with a young medicae over a cracked dataslate. Smell of antiseptic couldn't mask blood and bile.
"Ship's Surgeon patching up burns, breaks, plague. Master of Vox runs comms; keeps Spire talking to the fleet, or trying to. When the warp howls, sometimes all you get is screaming static."
They neared the prow, past blessed statues, incense burners crusted with old wax.
"Shrines scattered everywhere," Severik gestured. "Some official. Some older than this ship itself. Keeps the crew sane mostly."
They passed the brig, bars thick as a man's thigh. An Armsman inside cleaned blood off the floor, eyes flat.
Severik's voice dropped, rougher. "Don't end up there."
Finally, they reached officers' quarters: door plates marked in faded gold, scratched by generations of boots and keys.
"Here you go," Severik stopped, palming the door open. "Officers' rooms. One each. Beds aren't straw, at least."
Cassian glanced inside: spartan steel bed, locker, desk bolted down, shrine niche with a dented aquila.
"Freshen up and rest," Severik ordered. "Then report to the bridge. Proper briefing, orders, and Spire'll tell you what he really wants from you."
He paused, looking each of them in the eye before saying in a hesitant tone. "The ship ain't soft. But she'll hold. And Spire? He doesn't gamble cheap. If you're here, he thinks you're worth something. Try not to disappoint him."
Cassian's expression stayed dry. "We'll try our best."
Severik barked a small laugh. "Good. I'll come back for you in a bit. Welcome aboard, Vale. Welcome to this mess proper."
He turned and walked off, coat brushing iron walls, voice already raised at a passing Midshipman.
Cassian stood in the doorway a second longer, feeling the slow heartbeat of the ship underfoot.
Faevelith stepped closer, voice low. "Feels… alive," she murmured.
"It is," Cassian said. "Steel and blood both."
Farron's mechadendrites coiled, optics flickering. "I shall take the room to the left, you two can have this room."
Cassian and Faevilith watches amused as Farron moves in to his own proclaimed room. Before they two enter there own.
Outside, the deck rumbled on, carrying them deeper into the space.
---
The door shut behind them with a tired wheeze of hydraulics.
Cassian barely had time to drop his bag before Faevelith pressed him back against the bulkhead, illusions falling off her like silk.
"You're staring," she said, voice low, predatory.
"You dropped the glamour," Cassian shot back, dry as cracked stone.
"I'm tired of hiding these," she murmured, shifting so he felt the curve of her hips, the weight of centuries in those violet eyes. "All day I kept it up, every deck, every corridor. Compensate me."
"Oh?" Cassian arched a brow, breath catching. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"
Faevelith's lips curled. You know exactly, her thought brushed his mind, sharp and soft at once.
He swallowed, refusing to look away. "Not fair reading my thoughts."
"Not fair thinking them so loudly," she countered, voice turning husky. "Don't pout, mon cœur. You wanted this."
"Maybe," Cassian rasped, smirking. "I also wanted five minutes to breathe."
"You can breathe later," she said, pressing closer, mouth brushing his jaw. "But right now, I have something else planned. You kept me cloaked all day, made me hide my ears, my hair. You owe me."
Cassian's laugh caught in his throat, more heat than humor. "Owe you? Since when is that how it works?"
"Since I decided," she whispered, biting lightly at his neck. "You're lucky, you know. Most men dream of a woman who can read exactly what they want."
"Most men don't have to live with the embarrassment," Cassian shot back, breathless, half laughing, half groaning. "You get to see every stupid thing that crosses my mind."
"And I love every stupid thing," she murmured, more dangerous now, hand sliding under his coat, nails dragging over scars. "Stop thinking and do something."
"Bossy," Cassian breathed, lips catching hers.
And you love that, her thought came back, sharper. Say it.
"I do," he admitted, voice rough. "Oh, God never thought I would be in a relationship like this."
Their mouths met, heat sparking like a struck blade. Her illusions peeled off completely now: pointed ears, runes faintly glowing at her throat, curves made by cruel gods. Cassian's thoughts stumbled over themselves, and she felt each one, amusement flickering in her gaze.
"You're hopeless," she teased between kisses.
"And you're insufferable," he shot back, hands curling at her waist, pulling her in.
"And you love that too," she whispered, mouth against his.
"God Emperor, yes," he groaned, and half hissed as he kissed her again, teeth clashing, breath burning.
For a moment, they forgot the ship, the war, the dying galaxy. Just two souls bound too close to ever truly hide, tangled up in heat, laughter, and the horror of knowing exactly how much they both wanted this.
Outside, the ship rumbled on, oblivious to all of it.
—-
Word Count: 1730
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