Russia – Forest Outskirts, 4:12 AM
The frozen branches groaned in protest as Lily led the Vankos—father and son—down a narrow, snow-covered path. Ivan still looked half-sceptical, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, while Anton followed with a faint but steady step. The medical lattice in his bloodstream had worked wonders, though his face bore the exhaustion of many years.
Then they saw it.
The Drop-Wing Skimmer sat nestled in a clearing like some predatory bird awaiting command. Matte-grey armour plates curved smoothly across its body, and its wings—angular, folded, and razor-edged—gleamed faintly in the pale moonlight. Antigravity coils glowed beneath the hull, keeping the craft suspended silently above the frost-hardened earth.
Anton blinked. "That's… not Russian."
"Nope!" Lily chirped, spinning on one heel and gesturing grandly. "Custom-built by Luthar himself. Probably cost more than your entire military budget."
Ivan stepped cautiously toward it. "You know how to fly this thing?"
Lily tilted her head. "Well, obviously."
"You sure?" he asked skeptically. "You look like you need a booster seat."
"Of course I'm sure! I got here in one piece, didn't I?"
"That doesn't mean you flew it well," Ivan muttered.
Instead of answering, Lily gave an angelic smile, skipped ahead, and, with a hiss of decompressing seals, the rear hatch slid open. She jumped inside, her boots clicking on polished black alloy.
"Strap in~!"
Anton exchanged a glance with his son. "Is this the part where we die?"
"At least it's better than dying from sickness," Ivan muttered.
In Transit
The interior of the skimmer was surprisingly serene. No rattling. No wind. Only the steady hum of fusion engines and the shifting pitch of grav-stabilisers.
Ivan was white-knuckled, gripping the seat straps as the world outside blurred into streaks of cloud and colour
"Is this thing supposed to bank like that!?"
"Of course," Lily called from the pilot seat, a grin in her voice. "Anti-inertial counter-rotators! They let me pull tight turns without turning your bones into soup."
Anton groaned quietly. "Those rotators are definitely not working. My insides already feel like soup."
Lily swivelled the pilot seat mid-flight to glance back at them.
"Don't worry! I passed my flight test! In VR. Only crashed three times."
Ivan opened his mouth, then closed it again. "How many times have you flown this thing in real life?"
"Well… with this, that makes twice!" she replied with a sheepish smile.
A hard turn sent them tilting sideways. Gravity momentarily twisted in their stomachs. A few seconds passed, then the skimmer levelled, the engine tone shifting again.
"We're transitioning to transcontinental cruise mode!" Lily announced cheerfully. "We'll be home in three hours!"
Ivan muttered, "If we survive."
---
The Drop-Wing Skimmer settled onto a rising platform at Lotus Base around 7:02 AM with barely a whisper, steam hissing around its landing struts.
The hatch opened.
Ivan stumbled out like a man reborn. "I will never complain about commercial flights again…"
Anton descended more slowly, his steps calmer. His colour was better. Breathing steady.
There were no guards. No checkpoints.
Only a set of steel doors that slid open as they approached—revealing a hallway bathed in sterile white light and lined with smooth hexagonal panels. The walls murmured faintly with distant machine song.
Lily led them forward without a word.
The hallway opened into a large, circular chamber—half cathedral, half laboratory.
Three young women stood at a central dais, dressed in crimson robes. Surgical instruments floated in the air beside them, suspended in perfect orbit by gravitic tethers.
Luthar stood at the centre
His robes today were darker—deep black threaded with silver veins—and in one hand, he held a stylus dripping with molten data, sketching glowing symbols into the air. The room thrummed with logic and intent.
He looked up the moment Lily entered.
"Ah. You've returned," Luthar said.
The three girls stepped back in unison. Two bowed. One whispered something in binaric and returned to adjusting a disassembled servo-skull.
Ivan muttered, "Creepy…"
Lily gave a playful salute. "Mission accomplished! No kidnappings, no violence—only mild air sickness."
Luthar's gaze shifted to Anton, scanning him from top to bottom.
"I am glad you accepted the lattice," he said.
Anton nodded. "Your offer was too tempting to ignore. I can breathe easier now, with just a bit of your medicine… I can only imagine what else you're capable of."
Satisfied, Luthar turned to the younger Vanko.
"I see you came."
Ivan shrugged. "Did I have any choice? I still have to observe my father."
Luthar studied him—measuring, not judging. "You will do more than observe."
Ivan frowned but said nothing.
Lily slid between them with a bright grin. "He's still thawing out. Give him a minute."
Luthar didn't argue. "Accommodations have been prepared. You'll both begin orientation in the afternoon."
"Orientation?" Ivan repeated warily.
"Before I teach you anything, you must understand the Adeptus Mechanicus and your place in the Cult of the Machine. I must be certain you will not abuse the knowledge you are given."
Both father and son glanced around—at the floating skulls, the half-metal zombie servants, and the eerie calm of the place.
"Abuse of knowledge," Ivan muttered. "A bit ironic, coming from a guy whose hallway looks like a demon castle."
Anton whispered back, "Better to work for a demon than to die in some unknown corner of the world."
Ivan finally asked the question he had been holding back."I don't think you brought us here just to worship your God and give us free technology. What's the real reason?"
Luthar gestured, and a hologram shimmered to life—an armoured battlesuit, humanoid, its surface a lattice of interlocking plates. Energy conduits pulsed faintly across its frame.
"To build this," he said simply.
Anton leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "A suit? Like… armour"
"Not just armour," Luthar replied. "I am taking inspiration from alien wargear. This will serve as a perfect frame for low-level soldiers—but I don't have time to build them."
Ivan crossed his arms. "You could've grabbed any scientist with a degree."
"Because I do not need scientists," Luthar said calmly. "I need hands willing to work without asking the wrong questions. Hands that understand machines, not theories."
Anton hesitated. "Let me guess—you want an Arc Reactor for this armour?"
"I don't need your Arc Reactors., Luthar said, slicing the assumption apart with his tone. "It's not useful for me, I will build a new power source— stronger, and beyond this world's limitations."
Ivan stared at the hologram. "So… we're just here to help you build this armour"
"You may see it that way," Luthar said evenly. "If your work satisfies me, I will move you to projects far greater than this. Fail…you would just become a low-level worker with no future."
Silence followed, broken only by the low hum of machines.