I. The Lost and the Found
In the center of the refugee encampment, a segregated area had been established. It was a sea of small, silent faces. Nine hundred children, ranging from toddlers to teenagers, sat on the stone pavers of the plaza.
They were the debris of the Union's failure. Some had watched their parents die on the road. Others had been sold so long ago they didn't remember having parents. They were dirty, hollow-eyed, and terrified of the towering black walls.
Corvin Nyx walked among them. He was not armored; he wore simple black robes. Kyra walked beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She wore a dress of soft grey wool, her fox ears twitching at the low hum of anxiety in the air.
They stopped before a boy no older than seven. He was clutching a piece of a broken wagon wheel—his only toy. He didn't look up. He expected to be hit.
"They are not debris," Corvin whispered to Kyra, his voice thick with emotion. "They are our children, the Imperium's children."
II. The Domus Corvi
Corvin directed Obel Harth to a prime plot of land near the Schola Minor.
"Build it," Corvin ordered. "Not a barracks. A home. Round walls. Soft stone. Gardens inside the perimeter. I want fruit trees in the courtyard."
The Domus Corvi rose rapidly, accelerated by Vesper Thorne's magic. It was a sanctuary of warm, dark stone, designed to feel like an embrace.
The Mothers: Corvin put out the call. Women from Lithos and Iubeo—widows of the fallen Legionnaires, and women who had been barren—arrived in droves. They didn't come for pay; they came for purpose.
Kyra watched as a widow of the First Legion picked up a crying toddler from Voluptas. The silence in the child's lungs was broken by a soft lullaby. Kyra's eyes filled with tears. She remembered her own cage. She remembered wishing someone would come.
"They are here now," Corvin said, squeezing her hand. "We are here."
III. The Mark of the Father
The branding ceremony was usually a solemn, martial event. For the orphans, it became a baptism of love.
The children lined up in the central garden of the Domus. They were terrified. They had seen brands in the Union—hot irons used for livestock. They flinched as Corvin knelt on the grass, bringing himself to their eye level.
Sola, now a student of the Schola, stood beside him, holding the branding stylus—which was not iron, but a warm, smooth crystal that glowed with a gentle violet light.
A young girl approached. She was shaking. Her father had been a drunkard who beat her before selling her to a debt collector. She expected pain.
Corvin reached out. He didn't grab her; he offered his hand. She stepped forward, closing her eyes.
Corvin placed his palm gently on the back of her neck. He didn't channel the fire of the forge; he channeled the warmth of the hearth.
"You are safe," Corvin whispered.
The girl gasped. She didn't feel a burn. She felt a sudden, overwhelming sensation of strong arms wrapping around her. It felt like being held by a father who would kill the world to keep her safe. It was the feeling of a locked door between her and the monsters.
The Raven Brand appeared on her neck, glowing softly. She opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She threw her arms around Corvin's neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
"He's warm," she sobbed into his robes.
Corvin held her. He looked at Kyra over the girl's head. "I have you."
The Variation of Love: Every child felt something different, tailored by the Obsidian magic to their deepest need.
To the boy who had lost his father to disease, the brand felt like a strong hand ruffling his hair—a touch of pride.
To the teenager who had been abused, it felt like a heavy, protective cloak settling over their shoulders, shielding them from prying eyes.
To the toddler who remembered nothing, it felt like a heartbeat against their ear.
One by one, the nine hundred were marked. They felt the Cohesion Collective not as a command network, but as a massive, invisible family holding them close.
IV. The Knights of Tomorrow
As the ceremony ended, the First Squadron of the Obsidian Cavalry rode past the orphanage gates on patrol. The massive Destriers shook the ground. The riders, the Dark Knights who had saved them from the Alphas, sat tall in their black plate.
The orphans rushed to the fence. They didn't hide. They cheered.
A little boy pointed at a rider. "I'm going to be him," he declared, his voice fierce. "I'm going to be a Knight. I'm going to kill the monsters."
Corvin stood up, brushing dust from his knees. He watched them. He saw the future of the Imperium. It wasn't just soldiers he was breeding; it was Guardians.
"Find them homes," Corvin said to the Matrons. "But until then... this is their house. And I am their guardian."
Kyra took his hand. "You are a good father, Corvin."
Corvin looked at the children, safe behind the walls of his will. For the first time since The Crucible, the cold in his chest receded completely.
"They are my blood now," Corvin said. "And the Union will pay for every tear they shed."