The voices continued to blur together.

  Lilith could hear them—the Inquisitor's cold precision, the Ecclesiarch's booming righteousness—but the words themselves had stopped making sense. They washed over her like static, meaningless noise against the growing pressure in her skull.

  Her head throbbed.

  A deep, pulsing ache that started behind her right eye and spread through her entire head in waves. Each pulse brought a flash of disorientation, a momentary sense that the world wasn't quite real.

  Not again. Please, not again.

  She pressed closer to Eve, trying to ground herself in the physical warmth of her twin's presence.

  Eve squeezed her hand and looked up at her face, those red eyes searching, worried.

  Lilith forced herself to nod slightly. I'm okay. I'm fine.

  But she wasn't fine.

  Why am I so weak? Every time something happens, I fall apart. I can't even stay conscious. I can't protect myself and Eve. I can't—

  The self-recrimination spiraled through her mind, mixing with the headache, making everything worse.

  Useless. I'm completely useless.

  "—propose a compromise!"

  Ecclesiarch Vandros's voice cut through her haze, loud enough to make her wince.

  Lilith forced herself to focus, to actually listen.

  Vandros had stepped between her and the Inquisitor, his staff planted firmly on the ground, his expression set in stubborn determination.

  "Triage-level examination," he said firmly. "Standard Imperial protocols. The Sister has already deemed them free of immediate psychic threat. Basic medical and spiritual evaluation will confirm whether they pose any danger."

  Inquisitor Rathken's eyes narrowed. "And if the tests reveal contamination?"

  "Then they fall under your jurisdiction," Vandros conceded. "But if they prove clean—if they are merely children with unusual eyes and traumatic amnesia—then they will be placed under Ministorum care for Spiritual Rehabilitation."

  "Spiritual Rehabilitation," Rathken repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism.

  "Yes. Observation. Education. Proper integration into the God-Emperor's flock." Vandros's expression softened slightly as he glanced at Lilith and Eve. "They are children, Inquisitor. Whatever their origins, they deserve a chance to prove their faith."

  The Sister of Silence made another series of gestures.

  Rathken's jaw tightened. He stared at Vandros for a long moment, then at the Sister, then finally at Lilith and Eve.

  "Fine," he said at last, the word bitten off. "Triage-level examination. All three of us present. But if they show any sign of corruption—"

  "Then I will hand them to you personally," Vandros said.

  Rathken nodded once, sharply. "Begin."

  The tests were extensive.

  Lilith lost track of how many different people examined them. Medicae personnel in stained white coats. Tech-priests with clicking augmetics. Ministorum clerics with prayer beads and suspicious eyes.

  They drew blood. Took samples. Measured responses.

  "We'll need to examine them separately," the lead medicae announced, an elderly man with augmetic eyes that whirred and clicked as they focused. "Individual baselines must be established."

  Lilith felt her chest tighten. "What?"

  "Standard procedure," he said, not unkindly. "We need to assess each subject independently."

  "No," Lilith said immediately, her grip on Eve's hand becoming tight. "No, we need to stay together."

  Eve's eyes blazed brighter, and her small body tensed as if she’s ready to fight. Her free hand clenched into a fist.

  The Sister of Silence made a sharp gesture.

  Vandros stepped forward, his expression sympathetic but firm. "Peace, children. It is necessary. Just a brief separation. You will be reunited shortly. I give you my word before the Emperor."

  Lilith wanted to refuse. She wanted to demand that they stay together.

  But she saw Rathken's cold eyes watching, analyzing, judging.

  If we fight this, it'll make us look more suspicious. But if we comply...

  She looked at Eve, trying to communicate without words and just nods.

  It's okay. Just for a little while. We'll be okay.

  Eve stared back, her expression tight with anxiety, her red eyes wide and desperate, filled with worry.

  Lilith squeezed her hand one more time. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'll be right here. We'll see each other soon."

  Eve's jaw clenched. She didn't want this. Every fiber of her being screamed against it.

  But she trusted Lilith.

  Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.

  An attendant stepped forward. "Come, child. This way."

  Eve's hand slipped from Lilith's.

  The absence hit Lilith immediately—that warmth, that sense of connection, gone. She felt cold. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  Eve was led toward a different door, and with every step, she kept looking back over her shoulder, her glowing red eyes locked on Lilith.

  Lilith. Stay… Safe.

  The door closed between them.

  And Eve was alone.

  Eve's Examination

  The room they put her in was small and cold. Bright lights overhead. A table. A chair. Strange people with strange tools.

  No Lilith.

  Eve stood rigid in the center of the room, fists clenched at her sides, her breathing shallow and quick.

  Empty.

  That's what it felt like. Like something vital had been carved out of her chest. Like the world had gone dim and wrong.

  She could still feel Lilith—the connection she wasn’t used to just feeling that and now that they are distant which made everything worse.

  Lilith.. Told me. Back.

  "Please sit, child," one of the attendants said gently.

  Eve didn't move. Her eyes tracked every person in the room, cataloging threats, calculating distances.

  If they hurt Lilith, she would tear through this door. She would break every bone in her body if she had to. Nothing would stop her from getting back to her twin.

  The medicae approached slowly, hands visible, non-threatening. "We're not going to hurt you. We just need to run some tests. Can you sit for me?"

  Eve's eyes narrowed, but after a moment, she moved to the chair and sat. Her posture was stiff, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

  "Good," the medicae said. "Very good. Now, I'm going to show you some things. Just tell me what you see."

  They started with holy symbols—the Imperial Aquila, images of the God-Emperor, prayer scrolls covered in High Gothic script.

  Eve stared at them with curious intensity, her red eyes bright, head tilting as she examined each one.

  "Do you recognize these?" one of the clerics asked.

  Eve shook her head slowly. She'd never seen these things before the soldiers came.

  "Do they cause you pain? Discomfort?"

  Another head shake. They were just... objects. Shiny. Detailed. But they didn't hurt.

  The cleric held up a prayer scroll and began to recite. "The Emperor protects. In His name, we find salvation. In His light, we find truth..."

  Eve listened, her expression unchanged. No flinching. No recoiling. Just... attention.

  The words meant nothing to her, but the rhythm was interesting. Like a song, almost.

  She reached out slowly, and when the cleric allowed it, her small fingers traced the edges of the Aquila with simple, childlike curiosity.

  The metal was cool under her fingertips. The wings were sharp.

  "Pretty," she said softly.

  The cleric's stern expression cracked slightly. "Yes. It is beautiful, is it not? It represents the God-Emperor's protection."

  Eve tilted her head, still examining the symbol. Protection. That was... good. Lilith needed protection.

  She nodded slowly.

  "Interesting," the cleric murmured, making notes. "No adverse reaction to blessed symbols. Positive engagement, in fact."

  They moved on.

  "Now, I need you to grip this for me," a medicae said, handing Eve a device that looked like a handgrip dynamometer.

  Eve took it, turning it over in her hands, studying it.

  "Just squeeze. As hard as you can."

  Eve squeezed.

  The device's indicator shot up far beyond what should have been possible for a child her size. Numbers climbed rapidly, pushing past adult baseline, past trained soldier levels.

  The medicae's eyes widened behind his spectacles. "Again. Harder."

  Eve squeezed harder, putting real effort into it this time.

  The indicator maxed out with a sharp ping.

  "Throne of Terra," someone muttered. "She's stronger than a grown man.”

  "Enhanced musculature," the medicae confirmed, making rapid notes on his dataslate. "Readings exceed expected norms."

  "Mutation?" Rathken asked sharply from where he observed near the wall.

  "Possibly genetic augmentation," the medicae said carefully. "Or natural variation taken to an extreme."

  Rathken's expression darkened, but he made a note.

  They continued.

  Showed Eve different objects. Asked her to identify them.

  A cup. She recognized that. Had drunk from one once.

  A book. She never saw something like that.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  A wrench. She didn't know the name, but she understood it was a tool.

  A data-slate. No recognition.

  When they showed her a picture of a weapon—a lasgun—she reached out and touched the image with one finger, her expression thoughtful.

  "What is this?" a cleric asked.

  Eve was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "Dangerous."

  "How do you know?"

  She pointed at the barrel. "Hurts... people."

  The observers exchanged glances.

  "Intuitive understanding of threats," one noted. "High situational awareness despite limited education."

  "Or she's seen weapons used before," Rathken pointed out coldly.

  They showed her a series of puzzles next—simple pattern recognition, shape matching, basic problem-solving.

  Eve struggled.

  She could identify shapes and colors easily enough, but when they asked her to predict the next shape in a sequence, she hesitated, her small face scrunching up in concentration.

  Sometimes she got it right. Sometimes she didn't.

  "Limited cognitive development in abstract reasoning," an attendant noted. "Age-appropriate for a child with minimal education, but notably below potential given other factors."

  "Intelligence assessment?" Rathken asked.

  "Average to slightly below average for complex problem-solving," the evaluator said. "But common sense and practical intelligence appear intact. She understands cause and effect. Understands danger. Understands social cues to a degree. Just lacks formal education and abstract thinking skills."

  Throughout the testing, Eve remained compliant but tense.

  Her eyes kept drifting toward the door.

  Lilith…

  "Do you feel anxious without your sister?" an attendant asked, dataslate ready.

  Eve nodded jerkily. Her hands were trembling slightly now.

  "Can you tell me why?"

  Eve was silent for a long moment, struggling to find the words.

  "Empty," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "You feel empty without her?"

  "Yes." Eve's fists clenched.

  "What is your sister to you?"

  Eve's red eyes fixed on the attendant with startling intensity.

  "Everything. Twin. Important." she said simply.

  The attendant blinked, taken aback by the raw honesty in those three words.

  "She's... the first... important thing." Eve struggled with the words, her limited vocabulary failing to capture the depth of what she felt. "Lilith is... mine. I'm... hers. Together."

  "Profound attachment," the attendant murmured, making notes. "Codependent relationship. Understandable given apparent trauma and isolation."

  The medicae stepped back, consulting his dataslate.

  "Physical examination complete," he announced. "Subject Eve: significant physical enhancements, limited cognitive development in abstract reasoning but intact practical intelligence, no adverse reactions to holy symbols or Imperial iconography. Severe separation anxiety from twin sibling."

  He looked at Rathken. "No signs of corruption. Enhanced, certainly. Unusual, absolutely. But not corrupted."

  Rathken stared at Eve for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

  Then he nodded curtly. "Proceed with the other subject."

  Lilith's Examination

  The room they put Lilith in was identical to Eve's. Small. Cold. Harsh lighting.

  And no Eve.

  Lilith felt it immediately—that warmth, even the slightest feeling of comfort, gone.

  She felt cold. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  The headache that had been a dull throb intensified, making her vision swim slightly.

  Just hold it together. Just a few more minutes.

  She sat in the chair they indicated, hands clasped tightly in her lap to hide how badly they were shaking.

  An attendant approached with a dataslate. "We're going to ask you some questions. There are no wrong answers. Just speak honestly."

  They started with the basics.

  Name? "Lilith."

  Age? She hesitated. How old was this body? "Five," she answered as she remember it from their data.

  Origin? "I don't remember."

  The cleric made notes.

  "What makes you happy?"

  Lilith looked down. "I... don't know."

  "What makes you afraid?"

  "Being alone," Lilith whispered, and even saying it made her chest tighten.

  "Do you hear voices that others cannot hear?"

  Lilith's heart skipped a beat. The Warp. The whispers. Do those count?

  But she forced herself to shake her head. "No."

  The woman made a note. "Do you see things that others cannot see?"

  The hallucination.

  "No," Lilith lied.

  More questions. Some truthful, some carefully constructed lies, some half-truths that might pass scrutiny.

  Then they moved to vision testing.

  A medicae approached with a small light. "I need to examine your eyes. This won't hurt."

  He covered her right eye first. "Can you see this?"

  Nothing. Just darkness.

  "No."

  He uncovered her right eye, covered her left instead, held up different objects at different distances.

  Her depth perception was terrible—she kept misjudging distances, reaching too far or not far enough.

  "Left eye is non-functional," the medicae confirmed. "Complete blindness. Depth perception significantly impaired as a result."

  He brought out a penlight and shone it into her eyes—first the right, then the left.

  When the light hit her left eye, Lilith blinked reflexively.

  The medicae leaned closer, interest sharpening his features. "Pupil is responsive to light stimulus," he murmured, adjusting the light intensity. "Constriction and dilation functioning normally."

  He pulled back, making detailed notes. "Fascinating. External structure appears completely normal. Pupillary reflex intact. But no visual acuity whatsoever. The eye responds to light on a physiological level, but the visual cortex isn't processing any information from it."

  "Possible neural disconnect?" another medicae suggested.

  "Most likely. Or the optical nerve is damaged in a way that preserves reflexive responses but not conscious sight." He shook his head. "Unusual coloration—gold. Extremely rare, but not unheard of in some populations. The right eye shows red coloration with luminescence."

  He made more notes. "Subject Lilith: functional monocular vision in right eye only. Left eye physiologically responsive but provides no visual input. This will significantly impact spatial awareness, depth perception, and peripheral vision on the left side."

  They moved on to physical testing.

  "Grip this for me," a medicae said, handing her the same dynamometer they'd used on Eve.

  Lilith squeezed.

  The indicator climbed to... average. Normal for a malnourished five-year-old child.

  The medicae noted this without comment, but Lilith saw the glances exchanged between observers.

  They tested her strength in other ways—lifting, pulling, pushing.

  All of it came back the same: average. A normal child who clearly hadn't been fed properly, given how her ribs showed through her pale skin.

  "Subject Lilith shows no enhanced physical capabilities," the medicae announced. "Strength, speed, and endurance all within normal parameters for age and physical condition. Notably weaker than her twin."

  The contrast was obvious to Lilith as she thinks that Eve in theory is as strong as a drugged up Eversor Assassin. Eve was strong—unnaturally so. Lilith was... normal. Fragile, even.

  Then came the cognitive testing.

  They showed her puzzles—complex ones, harder than what they'd shown Eve.

  Lilith's eyes lit up.

  Pattern recognition came easily. She identified sequences after only a moment's observation. Logic problems were straightforward—she worked through them methodically, explaining her reasoning when asked.

  When they showed her a three-dimensional puzzle, she rotated it in her mind, predicting how the pieces would fit together before even touching them.

  "Solve this," an attendant said, handing her a wooden puzzle box with interlocking pieces.

  Lilith examined it for a moment, her single functioning eye tracking the edges, the angles, the way the pieces related to each other.

  Then she began moving pieces with quick, precise movements.

  The box opened in less than a minute.

  "Remarkable," someone murmured.

  They escalated the difficulty.

  Mathematical problems. High Gothic translation. Memory tests where they showed her complex images and asked her to recall specific details.

  She excelled at all of it.

  "Exceptional cognitive ability," the evaluator said, unable to hide the amazement in his voice. "Abstract reasoning, pattern recognition, problem-solving, memory retention—all significantly above normal parameters for her age. Possibly genius-level intelligence."

  When they asked her to read High Gothic script, she stumbled initially—her modern English-trained brain struggling with the unfamiliar letters—but after a moment, the knowledge clicked, and she read fluently.

  "Accelerated learning," a tech-priest observed, mechadendrites twitching with interest. "Adaptive cognition. She processes new information and integrates it at a remarkable rate."

  The contrast with Eve was stark.

  Eve was physically superior—stronger, tougher, more durable.

  Lilith was mentally superior—smarter, more analytical, better at complex reasoning.

  Both unusual. Both extraordinary in their own ways.

  But in completely different domains.

  They showed her symbols next—some holy, some deliberately corrupted.

  She recognized the Aquila, the skull, the standard Imperial iconography. The corrupted symbols—eight-pointed stars, twisted runes—made her uncomfortable, made her headache spike, but she didn't know if that was genuine corruption sensitivity or just her own knowledge making her nervous.

  "No immediate deviations detected," the medicae said finally.

  But then they noticed something.

  "She's trembling," someone said.

  Lilith looked down at her hands. They were shaking, had been for several minutes now.

  "Are you in pain?" the medicae asked.

  "Headache," Lilith admitted. "And I—" She glanced toward the door, where Eve was on the other side. "I don't like being separated from my sister."

  Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

  Eve." Lilith's voice came out small, uncertain. "She's... my twin. We need to be together."

  "Why do you need to be together?" the attendant asked gently.

  Lilith struggled to articulate it. How could she explain the connection? The way Eve's presence made everything feel right, the way her absence made everything feel wrong?

  "I feel comfortable when I’m with her," Lilith said finally. "We're... we're always together."

  She looked up at the attendant, and her single red eye was bright with unshed tears.

  "Please," she whispered. "Can I see her? Is she okay?"

  The attendant's expression softened. She made a note, then looked at the Sister of Silence.

  The Sister made a gesture.

  They brought them back together in a central examination room.

  The moment the doors opened, both girls moved.

  Eve crossed the distance in three long strides, and Lilith met her halfway despite the pain in her shoulder.

  They crashed together in a tight embrace.

  And just like that, everything changed.

  The headache that had been pounding behind Lilith's eye receded to a dull ache. The trembling in her hands stopped. The oppressive wrongness of the room lessened.

  Eve's rigid tension melted away. Her breathing slowed. The desperate, anxious energy that had been coiling through her muscles relaxed.

  They clung to each other, and for a moment, nothing else mattered.

  Together. We're together again.

  Eve's grip was almost painful, her small arms wrapped around Lilith like she was afraid her twin would disappear if she let go.

  Lilith buried her face in Eve's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent, feeling the solid warmth of her twin's presence.

  The observers watched this reunion with varied expressions.

  The medicae made rapid notes. The tech-priest's augmetic eyes whirred and clicked, recording every detail. The clerics murmured prayers under their breath.

  Vandros's expression softened into something almost kind.

  Even Rathken, cold and skeptical as he was, seemed affected by the raw desperation in the way the two children held each other.

  The Sister of Silence made a series of gestures.

  "Profound separation anxiety," Vandros translated quietly. "Severe psychological distress when separated. Immediate amelioration of symptoms upon reunion. Recommendation: avoid unnecessary separation."

  Rathken nodded slowly, still watching the girls.

  After a long moment, he spoke.

  "Final assessment?"

  The lead medicae consulted his dataslate, cross-referencing notes from both examinations.

  "Subject Eve: Significant physical enhancements. Strength three to four times normal baseline. Muscle density and bone structure reinforced. Limited cognitive development in abstract reasoning—average to slightly below average for complex problem-solving, but practical intelligence intact. No adverse reactions to holy symbols. Severe separation anxiety from twin sibling."

  He scrolled to the next section.

  "Subject Lilith: No physical enhancements. Strength and durability within normal parameters for age, though physical condition suggests malnutrition. Monocular vision—complete blindness in left eye despite physiologically normal structure and pupillary reflexes. Enhanced cognitive ability—exceptional abstract reasoning, pattern recognition, accelerated learning. Severe separation anxiety from twin sibling."

  He looked up.

  "Conclusion: Both subjects display significant anomalies, but these anomalies appear to be complementary rather than uniform. One is physically enhanced but cognitively average. The other is mentally exceptional but physically ordinary. No stable psychic signature detected. Subject reports stress-induced sensory disturbance consistent with trauma. Both show profound psychological attachment to each other."

  "Mutation?" Rathken asked.

  "Possibly. Or natural variation pushed to extremes." The medicae paused. "But I see no evidence of Warp corruption, no signs of daemonic influence, no indication of heretical taint."

  He closed his dataslate with a decisive snap.

  "They're unusual, Inquisitor. Extraordinary, even. But they're not corrupted."

  Vandros stepped forward, his expression one of quiet triumph. "Then we are agreed. They will be placed under my care for Spiritual Rehabilitation."

  Rathken stared at Lilith and Eve for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

  They stared back—Lilith with her mismatched eyes, one gold and blind, one red and glowing; Eve with both eyes blazing crimson, her arms still wrapped protectively around her twin.

  Two children. Two anomalies. Two survivors.

  Finally, Rathken nodded curtly. "Agreed. But I will be watching. Any sign—any indication—that you are not what you claim, and you will answer to me. Understood?"

  Lilith nodded quickly, not trusting her voice.

  Eve just stared at him, her expression flat, protective.

  Rathken's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing more. He turned and left without another word, the Sister of Silence following silently behind him.

  Ecclesiarch Vandros approached them, his expression softening into something almost kind.

  "You've done well, children," he said. "The God-Emperor smiles upon those who endure trials with faith."

  Lilith wasn't sure what to say to that, so she just nodded.

  Vandros gestured to one of his attendants, who brought over a data-slate and began processing information.

  "You will be placed under observation," Vandros explained. "Spiritual Rehabilitation, as I promised the Inquisitor. An orphanage run by the Ministorum—the Saint Celestine Orphanage. You will be educated in the Emperor's light, taught His teachings, and given a chance to prove your devotion."

  An orphanage.

  Better than being executed. Better than being experimented on again.

  "You'll be safe there," Vandros continued. "Fed. Clothed. Protected. All we ask in return is your faith."

  He paused, his expression becoming stern.

  "You will also be observed. Inquisitor Rathken has made his position clear. Any deviation from acceptable behavior, any sign of corruption, and you will be removed. Do you understand?"

  Lilith nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

  Eve nodded as well, though she clearly didn't fully understand all the implications. Her hand was still locked around Lilith's, and she had no intention of letting go.

  Lilith squeezed Eve's hand.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  Vandros smiled. "Thank the God-Emperor, child. It is His mercy, not mine."

  There was paperwork after that.

  So much paperwork.

  Lilith and Eve sat together in a corner of Vandros's office, still holding hands, while the Ecclesiarch filled out forms and stamped documents with official seals.

  Designations. Assignments. Authorizations.

  Eve leaned against Lilith's shoulder, her eyes drifting closed, exhausted from the stress of separation and examination.

  Lilith watched her twin with a mixture of affection and guilt.

  She's so strong. So much stronger than me. But she needs me anyway. Why?

  She didn't understand it. Didn't understand why someone as powerful as Eve would cling to someone as weak and useless as her.

  But she was grateful for it.

  Because without Eve, she'd already be dead.

  And without Lilith... Eve would be lost.

  They needed each other.

  That much was clear.

  Eventually, Vandros finished his work and looked up.

  "It's done," he said. "Come, children. The transport is waiting."

  They were loaded into a vehicle—not a military transport this time, but something that looked almost civilian. Almost.

  It was still armored. Still marked with the Aquila. Still driven by stern-faced attendants in Ministorum robes.

  Lilith and Eve sat together in the back, hands clasped, as the vehicle rumbled to life and began moving through the hive city streets.

  Lilith stared out the small viewport with her functioning right eye, watching the landscape pass by.

  Crumbling buildings stacked impossibly high. Narrow streets choked with people—thousands of them, tens of thousands, all pressed together in desperate squalor. Smoke and steam rising from vents and factories. The ever-present haze of industrial pollution.

  A hive city.

  She was really here. In Warhammer 40k. On Armageddon, apparently, though she hadn't known that yet.

  And she was going to an orphanage.

  Could be worse, she thought, though the words felt hollow even in her own mind. Could be so much worse.

  Eve leaned against her shoulder, silent and warm.

  Lilith closed her right eye and let herself rest, her left eye—blind but still seeing light in its own strange way—facing the window.

  For the first time since waking up in that glass tube, she felt something almost like hope.

  Maybe—just maybe—they'd survive this after all.

  They had each other.

  The transport rumbled through the streets of the hive, carrying them toward whatever came next.