The sun hung low over Meren, its golden rays glinting off the sea-slicked rooftops and busy stone piers. A breeze carried the sharp scent of salt and oil, mingling with the ever-present clang of hammer on steel from the docks. Here, far from the watchful eyes of Orario's Guild, commerce flowed freely, unchecked and unburdened.
Luther stood within a narrow warehouse turned makeshift trading hall. A long table was laid out before him, lined with weapons—blades of fine steel, some with faint rune etchings; a single, compact tube—his prototype firearm—rested at the center like a forbidden artifact; and a small coffer of uncut gemstones gleamed beneath the flickering lamplight.
Across from him, a grizzled man with a gold-chased eyepatch inspected the goods with a merchant's practiced eye. His attendants stood behind him—silent, alert.
"This is clean work," the man said, running a thumb along the edge of a longsword. "Too clean for Orario's smiths to part with."
Luther gave a faint smile. "They didn't part with it. I made it."
The man looked up sharply. "You? Not bad. But this—" He tapped the gun casing with a knuckle. "—this isn't normal. What is it?"
"A tool. One I'm not mass-producing. Just showing you what's possible," Luther said, calm but firm. "I'm not looking for coin. I want materials. Bulk ore, if you've got them. And information."
The man leaned back, considering. "You're asking for a lot. These swords might cover some of it, but the others—"
"I've got more," Luther interrupted smoothly. "You get weapons. I get ore. No increase in the price from either side for any reason."
A moment passed. Then, the merchant nodded once, curt and businesslike.
"Done. You get me more steel —and maybe another one of those tools."
As the deal was struck, Luther stepped outside. After sealing the materials deal, he didn't waste time. He pulled the gem box under one arm and made his way through the crowded port lanes, where merchant voices shouted over each other, peddling spices, cloth, and enchanted baubles.
He turned off the main street, disappearing into a quieter district lined with private shops where trade moved in subdued tones and wealth was measured behind closed doors.
He entered a polished jeweler's house—quiet, the scent of aged wood and incense lingering in the air. Behind the counter sat a tall, narrow-eyed woman adorned in understated elegance.
"Another traveler looking to offload river glass?" she asked, not looking up from her ledger.
Luther placed the coffer on the table and flipped the lid open.
The woman paused. Her eyes rose, expression shifting as she examined the uncut gems. Her fingers moved over the stones—tourmaline, ruby shards.
"That doesn't look like a monster gem," she murmured, her voice low.
"Don't pretend you don't know their value," Luther said. "Just say it—buy or not."
She closed the coffer. "Okay, okay. Don't be impatient. Come back after two hours. I'll get a jeweler to verify the stones."
He nodded. Taking the box, he returned to the inn nestled near the southern edge of Meren, a modest structure overlooking the tideworn cliffs. Once inside his room, he locked the door behind him and set the small metal box on the desk. From a satchel, he retrieved a rectangular device—thin copper plating etched with fine circuits, powered by a glowing blue cell embedded in the side.
He connected it to a flat receiver. Static hummed faintly. Then, words started to appear.
"Did you finish the trade?"
Luther tapped out a response:
"Yes. I should be back by tomorrow."
He paused, then added:
A minute later, more script formed:
"I think he found someone. Maybe."
Luther leaned back, folding his arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.
"Okay," he murmured. "Keep an eye on the shop."
Luther closed the slate and set it aside, the faint hum of the device fading into silence. The room was quiet, save for the dull roar of the sea far below the cliffs.
He leaned back in the chair, eyes half-lidded. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, then gradually relaxed as sleep began to pull him down.
In the ever-shifting spires of the Immaterium, where time folded and thought held weight, the Lord of Change ruffled his feathers in frustration. His countless eyes blinked in restless dissonance, each one trained on a different reflection of possibility.
"Something is wrong."
His clawed fingers danced over a glowing basin of ever-shifting truths—portents spiraled like smoke, twisting away every time they approached clarity. For all his power, for all his knowledge of the skeins of fate and time, one thread remained maddeningly occluded.
"A machine, a craft… yet unbound by the laws. And I don't know." He whispered.
Visions danced—of steel, fire, and precise mechanisms that defied chaos. Something had changed in the pattern. A sliver of order, surgically placed. Unexpected. Unseen.
"Which fool gave him enough energy to leave this world?"
He lashed a hand across the basin. The mists screamed and dispersed—but the disturbance remained. An absence. A silence where noise should have reigned.
And worst of all—it hadn't come from him.
Elsewhere… upon the Golden Throne
In a chamber of silence and light, beyond the reckoning of men, the Emperor of Mankind remained as He always had—entombed, broken, yet conscious. Not fully, not completely. But enough.
Enough to feel the change. Enough to know a piece had moved off the board.
Deep within the flickering remnants of His awareness, a thought stirred like a dying flame catching new wind.
He remembered. A pawn, buried deep within time's weave. Not a demigod. Not a Primarch. A soul who had been allowed to reach too far.
He was supposed to fight against the Changer. For that reason, the Emperor had made certain none could touch him.
But now… the pawn moved of his own volition, leaving holes in the plan.
A regret echoed through the fractured layers of His mind.
I should have watched more closely.
And beneath that regret, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction. Even as He felt the slow decay of His will, there remained a trace of hope.
Luther wake up after 2 hours and prepare himself for the transaction