After a tense wait, Brother Ambrosius and Brother Callex finally decided that remaining idle would yield no answers. Duty demanded that they learn more about this mysterious vessel, if not for themselves, then for the civilians who depended on them.
Turning to the pilot and the civilians, Ambrosius spoke in a low, commanding tone. “Stay here. The Thunderhawk is the safest place for now. We’ll secure a perimeter and search for answers.”
The civilians nodded, clutching one another with a quiet intensity. The two Space Marines stepped out of the Thunderhawk, weapons ready and senses sharpened as they moved deeper into the hangar. The vastness of the space seemed almost unending, illuminated by soft, artificial light that emanated from overhead fixtures.
At last, they found a door, simple and unmarked, blending seamlessly into the surrounding metal walls. Callex approached it, his bolter raised, while Ambrosius accessed the control panel. The door slid open without a sound, revealing a corridor that stretched into the heart of the ship.
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Moving carefully, Ambrosius and Callex advanced, their eyes sweeping every shadow, each movement calculated and tactical. They checked each door along the way, scanning rooms filled with machinery, strange control panels, and quiet chambers lined with containers of unknown purpose. Yet something gnawed at them both—an odd familiarity in the architecture, as if the corridor itself was modeled after the very halls they had walked upon countless times on their Chapter ships.
“Brother,” Callex murmured, his voice a low whisper, “do you not sense it? These halls… the design… they bear a strange resemblance to the Ardent Claw’s interior.”
Ambrosius nodded, his grip tightening on his bolter. “Aye, I feel it too. A trick, perhaps, or a mimicry, though the craftsmanship feels authentic.”
They pressed on, each step taken in silence, each room swept and cleared before moving forward. The air was cool and unnervingly still, carrying the faint scent of incense, like the faint aroma of ancient cathedrals on Holy Terra. The ship itself felt alive, but without the hum of engines or the whir of servitors, only the constant, haunting quiet that clung to every surface.