The days on Prometheus had taken on a steady rhythm, a cadence of work, study, and therapy. For Daedren, this period was marked by growth, both physical and mental, as he learned to balance his forge training with the relentless transformations happening within his body. He had grown used to the subtle aches in his muscles, the occasional stiffness in his joints, side effects of the gene-seed implants that had been altering him, piece by piece.

Each morning began the same, with the soft light of Prometheus’ sun casting long shadows through the high windows of the forge. The warm orange hue of the sky, heavy with moon ash, bathed the world in a glow that had become comforting to Daedren. It reminded him of Nocturne, the forge, and the fire that shaped both his body and his mind.

Rising early, Daedren’s first task was always the same, a visit to the Apothecarion for a brief inspection by the apothecaries, who monitored the progress of his implants. The previous surgeries had gone well, and the implanted organs were integrating smoothly with his physiology. His body had proven resilient, healing quickly after each procedure, and his system had begun to stabilize. Yet each day brought a new test as his body adapted to the new organs, growing stronger with each passing week.

After the inspection, it was straight to the forge. The familiar sounds of hammering and the hiss of cooling metal greeted him like old friends. Daedren had become well-versed in working with steel, shaping it with precision and care. The weight of the hammer felt right in his hands, its rhythm a constant reminder of the progress he was making.

But the forge wasn’t just a place of work, it had become a sanctuary. Here, in the heat and light, time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the simple act of creation. The hours passed in a blur as Daedren hammered away at the steel, his hands moving with skill and confidence. He no longer struggled with the basics. Instead, his focus was on refining his technique, perfecting the smallest details in each piece he forged. Every strike, every turn of the metal, was deliberate, purposeful.

Plasteel and ceramite were starting to get natural, they are complex material but with the aid of machines Daedren got the hang of it very rapidly. Still, for now, steel was his canvas, and with each passing day, he honed his craft. The small swords, knives, and armor plates he forged were precise and deadly, functional yet elegant in their simplicity.

In the evenings, when the fires of the forge were dimmed, Daedren would retreat to his quarters. Here, surrounded by books and diagrams, he immersed himself in the theoretical knowledge of metallurgy, getting to fully integrate the knowledge like the chemical processes behind the materials he worked with. His understanding of steel deepened, and though he couldn’t yet forge adamantium or other rare metals, he knew how most were made, their crystalline structures, the fusion of metals and ceramics that gave them their unparalleled strength.

He had also begun to learn the internal workings of the machines that shaped these advanced materials. It was an entirely different craft from hand-forging steel, but Daedren approached it with the same diligence.

In the workshops, he observed the senior smiths and tech-priests as they operated the machines, watching carefully as they manipulated the controls and fine-tuned the process. At first, he was merely an observer, but with time, he was allowed to assist, his hands guided by the more experienced artisans. There was an art to it, just as there was with the hammer and anvil, and Daedren found a certain satisfaction in mastering the intricacies of the machines, understanding how to use it and why it moved in the ways it did.

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It was during one of his evening study sessions, his mind deep in the intricacies of plasteel production, that the summons came. A brief message from the Apothecarion, simple and direct: it was time.

The Melanochrome was next. Daedren had read about this particular implant, it would alter the pigmentation of his skin, allowing him to absorb ultraviolet radiation more efficiently, shielding his body from harmful radiation and environmental extremes. This implant, like the others, was another step toward becoming a fully-fledged Astartes, a warrior capable of surviving in the most hostile conditions the galaxy could offer.

The next morning, Daedren made his way to the Apothecarion. The sterile halls were quiet, the hum of machinery and the soft whispers of medical staff the only sounds. He was greeted by Apothecary Seranon, whose familiar presence had become a source of reassurance during these procedures.

“You’ve been progressing well,” Seranon said, his voice calm and measured. “The integration of your previous implants has been smooth, and your body has adapted faster than we expected. The Melanochrome should be no different, but as always, we must proceed carefully.”

Daedren nodded, his mind already preparing for what was to come. He had been through enough implantations by now to know the process, the initial incision, the discomfort as the organ was placed within his body, and then the slow, careful recovery as his system adapted to the new addition. But each time, the experience was different. Each implant brought its own challenges, its own unique sensations as his body changed.

He was led to the surgical chamber, the bright lights and sterile environment a stark contrast to the warm, comforting heat of the forge. The monitors beeped softly as they were hooked up to his body, tracking his heart rate, oxygen levels, and other vital signs. Seranon and his team moved efficiently, preparing the tools and administering a mild sedative to dull the pain without fully numbing Daedren’s mind. The procedure required his awareness, his body’s reactions guiding the apothecaries through the delicate process.

The operation began with a small incision near Daedren’s scalp, where the Melanochrome would be placed close to his neural pathways. Seranon’s hands moved with practiced precision as he inserted the small organ, connecting it to Daedren’s epidermal system. Daedren could feel the faint pressure as the implant was positioned, a subtle tugging sensation that spread through his skin like a ripple of warmth.

For hours, they worked in silence, the only sounds the hum of the machines and the soft breathing of the medical staff. Daedren’s mind drifted as the procedure continued. He thought of the forge, of the heat and the hammer, of the plasteel and ceramite he had been learning to manipulate. It was strange how, in moments like this, his thoughts always returned to the forge. Perhaps it was because the act of creation, the shaping of metal and fire, was not so different from what was happening to his own body. He was being forged, piece by piece. Although, not yet complete.

As the hours passed, Daedren felt the warmth in his skin intensify. It wasn’t painful, but it was a strange, almost comforting heat. He could feel his skin responding, the cells shifting.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seranon stepped back, his face calm but satisfied. “The implantation is complete,” he said quietly. “Your body will take time to fully adapt, but we expect no complications. You will need to rest and allow the Melanochrome to settle, but you should be able to resume your duties soon.”

Daedren nodded, though he was too exhausted to speak. The procedure had drained him, both physically and mentally, but there was a sense of accomplishment in knowing that he had taken another step closer to becoming a full Astartes.

The days that followed were slow and peaceful, a stark contrast to the intensity of the implantation. Daedren spent most of his time resting, his body adapting to the Melanochrome. He could feel the changes, subtle at first, but growing more noticeable with each passing day. His skin had taken on a slightly darker hue, a sign that the implant was working as intended, protecting him from harmful radiation and environmental damage.

As the weeks passed, Daedren found himself returning to his usual routine. The forge was waiting for him, the machines humming in the background as he resumed his work with steel and plasteel. His body had grown stronger, more resilient, and he moved with a confidence that he hadn’t felt before. The Melanochrome had integrated perfectly, and the medics were pleased with his progress.