Chapter 4 - Epilogue
Sleep came easier than she expected.
The nightmares came easier still.
The chains rattled in the dark. The metallic clank of iron against iron, echoing in a space that shouldn't exist. The symbols etched into them burned — not with light, but with wrongness that made her eyes hurt even though they were closed.
It turned to look at her.
Too many faces. Too many mouths. All of them screaming in frequencies that tore at her mind.
She tried to run but her legs wouldn't move. Tried to raise her pistol but her hands were empty. Tried to scream but the sound wouldn't come.
The spawn emerged from the shadows. All five of them. Their flesh rippling and reforming, eyes scattering across bodies that shouldn't exist. They moved toward her in perfect silence, mouths opening and closing, chewing on nothing.
Chewing on her.
She could feel teeth. Could feel her flesh tearing. Could feel —
Kiri woke up gasping.
She made it to the small basin in the corner before she vomited. Once. Twice. Her hands shook on the cold metal edge.
It's over, she told herself. They're dead. You killed them. You burned them.
She splashed water on her face. Took deep breaths. Forced her hands to stop shaking.
The bunk looked less inviting now.
She sat on the edge anyway. Closed her eyes.
The spawn's faces leered at her from the darkness behind her eyelids.
She opened them again. Stared at the wall.
The chrono on her wrist said 0347. Three and a half hours until her scheduled medicae appointment. Five and a half hours until the debrief.
She could sit here and stare at the wall.
Or she could do literally anything else.
Kiri pulled on her jacket and headed for the mess.
The mess hall was nearly empty at this hour. A few crew members on late shift, hunched over recaf and ration bars. Recessed shipboard lumens cast everything in muted yellow.
And in the corner, reading by a small reading lamp: the seneschal.
Kiri had dealt with him plenty. He was the one she'd called from Persepolis after the shuttle went down — his voice had been perfectly calm as she'd explained they'd lost the craft, like it was just another logistics problem. He handled equipment requisitions, coordinated with Harcane, and somehow always seemed to know what was happening before anyone told him.
He looked up as she entered. His eyes — sharp, knowing — tracked her movement to the recaf dispenser.
“Havelock,” he said. Not a question. A statement.
Kiri filled her cup. The recaf was terrible, but it was hot. “Seneschal.”
She took her cup to a table on the other side of the room. Not far enough to be rude, but far enough that the reading lamp's glow was at the edge of the shadows instead of fully illuminating her table.
She'd barely taken two sips when she heard the chair across from her scrape against the deck.
The seneschal sat down, his book in hand.
“If I wanted conversation,” Kiri said, not looking up from her recaf, “I would have sat with you.” So much for not being rude, she thought.
“There's a difference,” he said mildly, “between someone who wants conversation and someone who needs it.”
Kiri took another sip. Grunted. That was less rude. Progress.
He set his book on the table between them. Old, worn, pages dog-eared and highlighted. The Litany of Sacrifice.
“I know the official debrief hasn't happened yet,” he said, “but I understand you didn't find more Genestealer cults on the Amalgam Seven.”
Kiri's hands tightened slightly on her cup. She said nothing.
“You found some of the Great Enemy instead.”
She stared at her recaf. She felt raw — couldn’t risk meeting his eyes. I might cry. The thought startled her.
He nodded once, like she'd confirmed something he already knew. “Do I take it to understand that's part of the reason you're here at—” he glanced at the chrono on the wall “—0355?”
“Are you a priest now? Looking after my soul?” she asked.
“Looking after all of our souls.”
She looked up. He smiled tiredly. “All the great enemy needs is a single gateway — the wrong gateway — to doom an entire ship. An entire world. An entire system.”
“And you think I’m that gateway?”
“No.” He chuckled. “If I did, the inquisitor would have had you vented already. I’m here for the future — I’d like you to never become that gateway.”
She stared at the recaf. Noticed the shade of brown. Like engine sludge, she thought. Disgusting. She took another sip. “That’s kind of you.”
“Plus, I know what it’s like.” He looked towards the stars twinkling in through the viewport on the opposite wall. “To see things that you will never forget. That leave their mark on your soul.”
Kiri's jaw tightened. “I'm fine.”
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, the creak echoed through the room. She wanted to punch him. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“You're drinking recaf that tastes like promethium runoff at 0355 instead of trying to get back to sleep. You don’t seem fine.”
Kiri pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “Thank you Seneschal for your concern, it’s…”
A raised hand cut her off. “I couldn’t keep food down for a week after I first saw the warp-touched,” he said. “You actually look like you’re doing better than me.”
Kiri slowly sat down. “What got you through it?”
He pushed the book across the table toward her. “Books like this.”
Kiri looked at the book but didn't touch it. “I don't need—”
“Chapter seven,” he interrupted. “Saint Alicia Dominica. Saved several warfronts. Perhaps the sector.”
“I know the story.”
“Then you know the part they don't put in the official hagiographies.” He met her eyes. “She faced a horde of daemons. Banished hundreds of them.” The seneschal cleared his throat. “She had nightmares for the rest of her life. Would wake up screaming. Couldn't close her eyes without seeing what she'd fought.”
Kiri stared at him. “That's supposed to make me feel better?”
“It's supposed to make you feel less alone.” He stood, leaving the book on the table. “Read it or don't. Keep it or give it back. But if you do read it, start with chapter seven. Then chapter twelve.”
“What's chapter twelve?”
“The one about what comes after the nightmares.” He picked up his empty cup. “The medicae appointment is in three and a half hours. The debrief is two hours after that. I'd suggest getting some reading done. Helps pass the time better than staring at walls.”
He moved toward the door, then paused.
“For what it's worth,” he said, “calling in after you lost the shuttle on Persepolis? That took guts. Most pilots would have panicked. You kept your head.”
Kiri thought about the melta charges. About the burning wreck they'd left behind. About the lie of omission she'd told — lost, not crashed.
“Didn't have much choice,” she said.
“You'd be surprised.” He nodded once — that same curt gesture she'd seen him give Harcane a hundred times — and left.
Kiri sat alone in the mess hall, staring at a book she hadn't asked for.
She could leave it there. Go back to her quarters. Stare at the walls some more.
Or she could read chapter seven.
She pulled the book toward her and opened it.