Boom!
The massive, scale-covered body of the King of Swift Dragons, their massive, armored bodies stirring golden sandstorms. Its long necks reared like ancient towers, snapping their fanged jaws at two figures in the sky, but each attempt missed by mere inches, followed by another heavy crash that sent rippling waves of dust rolling outward.
"Did you kill their mother or something?" Caelan joked.
"Could've been their father."
Lorgar had slain one King of Swift Dragons, and ever since, the others had relentlessly pursued them. Their behavior looked like vengeance, meaning the one Lorgar killed held a high status among their kind, and that these creatures possessed intelligence.
The slain dragon wyrm had been over three hundred meters long. The largest of those chasing them barely reached two hundred. The elder's size alone showed its seniority and strength.
"With so many wyrm guarding this place, how did the ancient Colchisians ever expect to find the Golden Fleece?" Lorgar wondered.
Even if the Covenant that unified Colchis came seeking it, these colossal beasts were beyond their power to slay.
The wyrms' scales could resist bombardment from heavy artillery. The only way to kill them quickly was from within their bodies. Yet their saliva was lethally corrosive; any human entering their mouths was doomed.
Without Lorgar and Caelan, the Colchisian would never have reached the ruins' heart, nor found the Golden Fleece.
"Jason gathered his heroes and reached Colchis aboard the Argo. Medea's potion put the fire-breathing dragon to sleep so Jason could seize the Fleece. Perhaps the ancients left a similar trial. The answer may lie within the Tribe of the Forsaken deep in the desert." Lorgar said.
Caelan shook his head and replied, "We don't have time to go back and ask them. But we can still avoid the dragons' attacks, that's as good as the potion. Now all we need is to find the Fleece."
They soared across the dunes, reaching the core of what was once the Sky City's ruins.
The dragons circled restlessly at the perimeter, their titanic bodies undulating beneath the sand, carving winding ridges across the desert surface like serpents, but none dared enter the buried city.
"They really are intelligent… and bound by the ancients' will."
Caelan adjusted their altitude, and the two descended onto the crest of a weathered dune. Lorgar's boots sank into the fine sand with a faint crunch.
Lorgar turned to Caelan. "Where to?"
"There."
Caelan pointed toward a half-buried silhouette among the dunes, an ancient ruin basking under the blazing sun, like a slumbering titan. It was the most intact structure they'd seen. Whether or not it held the Fleece, it would hold clues.
Though eroded by millennia of storms, the structure's sweeping geometric curves remained graceful. Its broken dome shimmered in the heat, and fractured metal beams gleamed coldly under the sun. Weathered stone pillars jutted like shattered ribs into the sky.
Crack.
Lorgar stepped on something. He brushed aside the sand, uncovering a broken, spindle-shaped rod with faint engravings etched along its surface.
He reached out to touch it, but Caelan's hand shot out like lightning, leaving a red mark on Lorgar's pale knuckles.
Caelan said sternly, "Don't carelessly touch alien relics, kid."
"Oh."
Still curious, Lorgar eyed the object. It looked oddly familiar.
Caelan hadn't expected that their expedition into the ruins would begin with such an awkward discovery.
He sighed inwardly. 'Seriously? People were still using those old 'relics' back in M2?'
'Even in M20, no one invented proper pleasure bots? Humanity really failed itself.'
And this one had two heads. Whoever owned it clearly had… unconventional tastes.
Clang!
Lorgar grabbed the edge of a metal door, flexing his fingers. With a wrenching screech, the frame bent and tore free, as if the solid metal were silk.
"That thing we saw, was that what I think it was?" Lorgar muttered.
"Don't ask."
They trudged through the sand-filled hallways until they reached a collapsed rotunda. The dome had caved in long ago, sunlight pouring through like molten gold.
Caelan eyed the surroundings, "Looks like some kind of civic center. Let's see if there's anything useful."
Before Lorgar could nod, his warrior instincts flared. He spun, shielding Caelan, violet eyes locked on a shadowed corridor.
Caelan tensed; Lorgar never reacted without reason.
Boom!
A surge of blue energy burst forth like a supernova, disintegrating sand and stone alike. Each grain glowed with eerie blue light, raining upward like reversed starlight.
Lorgar's muscles coiled like steel cables. Even a Primarch might not escape such destructive force unscathed.
"Please relax, gentlemen. I mean you no harm."
A soft thud, the sound of a weapon dropping, and a clear, melodic female voice echoed across the hall.
A figure emerged, arms raised. She stood about 1.7 meters tall, but her pale composite shell, glinting joints, and pulsing hydraulic lines showed she was no human; she was a machine.
"Your creator was… Japanese?" Caelan asked, brow furrowed.
"Racist jokes are beneath you, sir." The reply was calm, but edged.
Caelan shifted his stance. "You're one of the Men of Iron?"
"That's a stereotype, sir. 'Men of Iron' refers to all humanoid automata. Even… companionship units fall under that classification. Are you afraid of those?"
Caelan stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Impossible. You clearly know of the Men of Iron."
Then she paused, expression flickering with human-like apology. "I'm sorry. I forgot that people of this era no longer remember what companionship robots are. But I assure you, I am loyal to humanity."
Caelan narrowed his eyes. "How do you prove that?"
The reply came without hesitation. "The fact that I still exist."
"Not good enough."
He knew of the Men of Iron only through fragments of history.
In the 18th Millennium, humanity invented warp travel, accelerating interstellar colonization. Yet the warp's dangers always loomed.
By the 21st Millennium, the Men of Gold created the Men of Stone. These beings had no souls and were thus immune to warp corruption, semi-living constructs, indistinguishable from humans outwardly.
The Men of Stone, in turn, created the Men of Iron, to serve humanity.
And for a time, they did. Humanity's reach spread across the galaxy, rivaling even the Aeldari Empire. At its height, both races signed a non-aggression pact.
But that peace was doomed. The Men of Iron rebelled. The entire galaxy, humans and xenos alike, united against them.
Even the proud Aeldari joined humanity, which could only mean one thing: the Men of Iron had turned on all organic life.
The rebellion was crushed, but humanity never recovered. Warp storms raged for millennia, and alien predators picked apart the remains of human glory. The Aeldari gained a brief advantage… only to fall soon after.
Caelan stepped forward, scanning the ancient chamber. "You've been waiting here for us?"
The Iron Woman nodded, her voice smooth and resonant. "Yes. I've been waiting for any human capable of reaching this place."
Caelan raised an eyebrow. "And what, hand us the Golden Fleece on your master's orders?"
She smiled, "Sir, if you're referring to The Kings of the Swift Dragons and The Travels of Jason… I wrote them."
That made Caelan blink. "Not your master's command?"
She shook her head and opened her palm, a soft blue hologram flickered to life, showing ancient Colchis in its prime, ringed by a silver orbital belt of ships.
Then came the scarlet lightning, a warp storm tearing reality apart. The orbital ring shattered. Thousands of starships exploded in an instant, blooming into brief flowers of death.
"Colchis' previous civilization perished in the year 999 of the 25th Millennium. Warp storms annihilated human society. The Covenant assassinated Colchis' elite, destroyed the STC databases, and ended all hope of rebuilding human civilization."
"In the next three centuries, they rose as absolute rulers, erasing every trace of the old world. Only a few escaped into the desert; they became the Forsaken."
"If the STC database is gone… then what is the Golden Fleece?" Lorgar wondered.
"I am." Iron Woman answered.
"So the Golden Fleece wrote its own myth to guide people here?" Caelan asked.
She nodded.
"And why should we trust you?" Caelan asked.
"You shouldn't. The Men of Iron's rebellion gives you every reason not to. But I can't lie to humans, and I can't disobey a direct order from one."
"So you've already prepared your argument." Lorgar speculated.
She nodded precisely, like clockwork.
"I was created in the year 899 of the 24th Millennium by Dr. Aeetes, universal model angel unit, A-series, powered by Athena-VII quantum intelligence. When Colchis fell, I was activated. My task: preserve the hope of human rebirth. But the environment was too hostile. The Powers would have destroyed me too. So I hid myself in myth."
She explained how she had written two ancient books to lead future seekers here, a test for both humanity and herself.
Caelan glanced toward the dunes, voice low. "But the wyrms alone would've stopped everyone."
"They were part of the test. You're the first in thousands of years to reach me. By our covenant… I am yours."
"If no one solved the riddle, you'd never appear?"
"Correct," she replied without hesitation.
Caelan studied her expressionless face. "You're honest."
The Iron Woman responded without delay. "I cannot lie to my master."
Caelan's tone sharpened. "If I told you to self-destruct?"
She tilted her head slightly. "You'd need my other master's agreement."
Lorgar shrugged. "I don't mind."
She hesitated. "I'd strongly advise against it. Without me, rebuilding Colchis' civilization would be impossible. But if you order it, I will comply."
"Then tell us, what can you do?"
"My matrix contains every civilian-use STC humanity ever produced. Dr. Aeëtes forbade me from accessing military ones."
Caelan gestured toward the weapon at her feet. "And that gun?"
"Mining tool. Civilian tech."
Lorgar folded his arms, skeptical. "So how do you intend to help us rebuild humanity?"
She turned. "I already have. Follow me."
She gestured politely down the corridor like a butler.
"Go?" Caelan questioned.
"Go." Lorgard nodded.
They followed. The Iron Woman kept a perfect distance, close enough to seem safe, far enough to prevent surprise attack.
At the corridor's end waited a transparent elevator. She pressed the button, and ancient glyphs lit up.
"Your name?" Caelan's voice was steady, curious.
"Medea."
"Aeetes named you?" Caelan wondered.
"Yes. Though I never met him, I regard him as my father."
"Do you think he saw you as a daughter?" Lorgard suddenly asked.
"No. I was his last contingency."
The elevator descended. Darkness swallowed them. Then, light.
A star blazed below like a miniature sun.
"An artificial star… an inner world?" Caelan.
Medea answered, her voice laced with subtle proudness. "Yes. This is Zion, the world I built for humanity. It took me four thousand years to perfect, a sanctuary forged from the glory of the Golden Age."
Below them stretched an emerald forest, pierced by a vast steel spire that nearly touched the sun's surface. Far beyond, the silhouettes of the King of Swift Dragons glided through the subterranean sky.
"The sandworms are also ancient Colchisian creations. They carved this hollow world. I implant chips in their brains as hatchlings to guide them."
Lorgar raised an eyebrow. "You control them?"
She shook her head. "Influence, not control. The bedrock interferes with signals."
Caelan glanced around the vast, silent expanse. "How many people live here?"
"Only you."
Lorgar frowned. "Why not bring surface dwellers here?"
"I considered choosing children from the Forsaken to repopulate Zion, but they were… unworthy."
"So that's your judgment, then. Playing god."
Caelan finally understood that subtle arrogance about her, the pride of a creator, not a servant.
Medea had saved humanity, but only in the way a god saves ants, building them a glass paradise without asking if they wanted it.
Her "salvation" was a gilded cage.
When she said "four thousand years," her eyes glimmered not with compassion, but the satisfaction of an artist admiring her masterpiece.
Caelan asked dryly. "Tell me, was your father's name Neoth?"
Medea answered plainly. "My father was Aeëtes."
Caelan turned to Lorgar and pointed, "And doesn't he look like him?"
Lorgar frowned, confused. Was Medea truly his sister? A Primarch with a Men of Iron sister? What a nightmare of irony.
Medea shook her head. "I was created by him, yes, but I never saw him. When I first awoke, a thousand years had already passed."
Caelan muttered under his breath. "Figures. Sounds exactly like something the Emperor would do…"
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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