Duke Archimedes Hawthorne awoke to the sound of water.
Not the recycled hum of palace fountains or the distant churn of No'aar's atmospheric processors, but the genuine rhythm of the sea itself, carried faintly through open balcony doors. It was a grounding sound, ancient and patient, and it anchored him as consciousness returned in slow, careful increments. Pain followed soon after, a dull ache threading through his chest and limbs, sharp enough to remind him he still lived, but muted enough to allow thought.
He turned his head with effort, auburn sunlight filtering through gauze curtains and settling across familiar stone walls. Medical instruments stood at the periphery of his vision, humming quietly, their presence reassuring rather than intrusive. He exhaled slowly, testing his breath, and found it steady if shallow.
"You're awake," Tobias said softly.
Archimedes shifted his gaze and found his son seated beside the bed, posture composed but eyes heavy with restraint. Tobias had grown in the weeks since they had last spoken properly, not in stature but in presence. There was a stillness to him now, a gravity that had not been there before No'aar, and Archimedes recognized it immediately.
"You stayed," Archimedes murmured.
Tobias inclined his head. "As long as you needed me."
Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but weighted with everything that had gone unsaid across years of distance and duty. Archimedes' grip tightened around Tobias' hand, not with strength, but with insistence, as though anchoring himself to something solid and real. His gaze studied Tobias carefully now, not as a father soothing a child, but as a Duke assessing the man his heir had become. There was pride there, yes, but also something heavier—relief.
"You bore the weight I have carried for decades," Archimedes said quietly. "And you did it without cruelty, without indulgence, and without losing yourself to fear. That is not something training teaches. That is something you either are… or are not."
Tobias felt heat rise behind his eyes and forced himself to remain composed. "I was afraid," he admitted, voice steady despite the confession. "Every day. I simply couldn't afford to let anyone see it."
Archimedes smiled then, a real smile, worn but unmistakable. "Then you have learned the most important lesson of command. Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the decision that fear will not be the author of your actions."
He drew Tobias closer, lowering his voice further. "House Hawthorne has endured because we adapt without forgetting who we are. What you've done on No'aar… it will be remembered. Not as a stopgap. As a standard."
For the first time, Tobias felt something settle inside him that prescience had never provided. Not certainty of the future, but certainty of himself. Another hour, and Tobias and Archimedes arrived toward one of several palace viewing platforms.
Orbital sensors screamed warnings seconds before visual confirmation arrived, and the palace guard snapped into readiness as a foreign silhouette breached high orbit. The vessel was compact, angular, and utterly unmistakable to anyone who had ever studied classified fleet registries.
A SCORPIO corvette.
Its hull bore no heraldry, no corporate markings, only a matte-black surface broken by heat-dissipating veins and sensor clusters that seemed to watch everything at once. It descended without escort, unchallenged, its approach vector cleared by command authority codes that superseded even Hawthorne's jurisdiction.
Trace exhaled slowly. "Well," he muttered, "that escalated."
The corvette touched down within the palace's inner landing court, grav-plates settling with barely a tremor. Its ramp lowered in perfect synchronization with palace security lockdowns, and then they emerged. SCORPIO soldiers moved like a single organism.
Clad in adaptive black armor threaded with muted crimson circuitry, they carried no visible insignia and spoke no words as they deployed. Helmets concealed their faces entirely, visors opaque and unreadable, while integrated weapon systems rested in neutral-ready positions. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion, and no doubt that every one of them was lethal beyond measure.
A full company, one hundred strong. Behind them came the WarMechs.
The prototypes dwarfed even the Hetairoi in presence, though not in sheer mass. Their frames were sleeker, predatory, layered in segmented armor that shifted subtly as if alive. Power cores burned with contained brilliance beneath armored plating, and their weapons—compact rail systems, variable-energy lances, and modular missile arrays—were integrated so seamlessly they appeared grown rather than assembled.
The SCORPIO soldiers did not disperse like conventional troops.
They flowed into position, establishing overlapping zones of control with mathematical precision. Each movement reinforced another, every sightline covered twice, every potential vulnerability quietly erased. Palace guards found themselves unconsciously adjusting their own posture, falling into alignment with SCORPIO formations without ever being ordered to do so.
Trace watched them with an expression Tobias had never seen before—something between professional admiration and instinctive caution. "They don't just secure territory," he murmured. "They rewrite it."
The SCORPIO commander stepped forward at last, helmet retracting to reveal a woman with steel-gray eyes and closely cropped hair. She knelt without hesitation before Tobias and Archimedes alike.
"By decree of His Imperial Majesty," she said evenly, "SCORPIO assumes operational oversight of No'aar's counter-intelligence theater. We are here to ensure this world does not fall again."
Archimedes looked to Tobias, then nodded once. "Then you are welcome," he said.
Within minutes, SCORPIO's presence had subtly altered the palace's rhythm. Conversations grew more careful. Servants moved with deliberate purpose. Even the air felt… quieter, as though the building itself understood it was being evaluated.
The prototype WarMechs stood motionless, but Tobias could feel them through the Warmind, their pilots disciplined to the point of near-silence. Their neural signatures were tightly controlled, shielded, unlike anything he had encountered before. These were not warriors trained to inspire. They were instruments shaped to conclude conflicts before they began.
"They're testing you," Kvasir said softly, stepping close. "Every word, every pause, every decision. SCORPIO doesn't protect assets. It protects outcomes."
The SCORPIO commander approached again once formalities were complete, this time without her helmet, her expression composed but not unkind. She stopped before Duke Archimedes and Tobias alike, posture straight, hands clasped behind her back.
"I am authorized to deliver a message," she said. "Not as a report. As a personal statement."
She inclined her head respectfully toward Archimedes. "His Imperial Majesty regrets that he could not prevent the attempt on your life. He acknowledges your service to the Imperium and affirms that House Hawthorne retains his full confidence."
Archimedes inclined his head in return, visibly moved despite his efforts to remain stoic.
Then the commander turned her gaze fully upon Tobias.
"The Emperor further states," she continued, "that he has observed Lord Tobias Hawthorne's conduct during this crisis. He considers your actions… aligned with the future he is working to secure."
The words hung in the air, heavier than any formal commendation.
"He instructs SCORPIO to render assistance," she finished, "but also to observe. Those who walk close to the Imperium's future must be understood as well as defended."
Tobias met her gaze evenly. "Then you'll find I have nothing to hide," he said.
A faint smile touched her lips. "We rarely do."