The docking bay of the Red Tear was a vast, echoing chamber of polished adamantium and crimson heraldry, its vaulted ceilings lost in the haze of flickering lumens and swirling incense. The air thrummed with the deep, resonant pulse of the battle-barge’s engines—a constant reminder of the warship’s immense power.

Huddled among the other serfs just outside their transport, Tia stood rigid, her gloved fingers tightening around the strap of her tool satchel. She was lean, of average height, her dark copper hair just long enough to brush her ears. Faint scars marked her fair skin—a testament to a life spent in quiet, unseen service. Her deep blue eyes—flecked with unnatural amber—scanned the bay warily, tracking the armored forms of the Chapter’s crew as they moved with disciplined precision.

This was supposed to be an honor. A rare chance to serve aboard the flagship of the Blood Angels themselves, perhaps even in the presence of the legendary Sanguinius. But for Tia, it was a sentence waiting to be carried out. The Red Tear was no place for a mutant, no matter how useful she’d made herself at Angel’s Fall. Here, scrutiny would be sharper, the Chaplains more vigilant, and discovery would mean death.

A deck officer in the livery of the Red Tear approached, his voice crisp and sharp as it cut through the low murmur of the gathered attendants. "You are to be assigned to the upper-deck retinues. Some will attend the Sanguinary Guard. Others will serve in the Reclusiam or the armories. Wherever you are placed, you will conduct yourselves with the dignity befitting servants of the Blood Angels."

Tia exhaled through her nose, tamping down the flicker of unease rising in her chest.

The officer’s tone turned graver. "The lords you serve here are not like those at Angel’s Fall. They are the Chapter’s chosen, and their burdens are greater. You will see things you do not understand. You will hear things you should not repeat. If you value your lives, you will forget them the moment they pass."

Tia didn’t need the reminder. She could already feel it—the tension humming beneath the ship’s steady thrum, the barely-contained hunger that lingered beneath layers of polished ceramite and noble ritual. Her fingers twitched toward the hidden dagger at her belt, then stilled.

"For now," the officer concluded, "you are to report to the secondary dining hall. Eat. Rest. Your assignments will be given at first bell." With a brief wave toward a waiting archway, he dismissed the group, trusting them to find their own way.

As the serfs began to shuffle forward, Tia winced. Her nerves were taut, her senses prickling with the anxiety radiating from those around her. Some were awestruck; others, like her, were simply afraid.

Somewhere in the heart of this ship, the Great Angel himself walked. And Tia feared what might happen should they meet.