The low hum of the cruiser’s engines filled the air, a constant backdrop to the silence that enveloped Daedren. The Salamanders sat in the ship’s main bay, each focused on their own tasks as they made their way toward the outpost. The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of hololithic displays casting shifting shadows across the walls.

Daedren adjusted the straps of his armor, his gaze drifting toward the shields resting beside him. His mind buzzed with questions. What would they face? Were the cultists entrenched, prepared to fight? Or had they fled, leaving traps and corruption in their wake? Chaos was unpredictable, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.

Caldon, seated across from him, noticed his preoccupied expression. “First deployment always feels like this,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Your mind races, trying to imagine every scenario. Just remember, stick with the squad, follow orders, and trust your instincts.”

Daedren nodded, grateful for the reassurance. “I’ll hold the line.”

Caldon smirked. “That’s the spirit. With those shields of yours, I doubt anything’s getting through.”

Lieutenant Thran entered the bay, his imposing form commanding attention. “Brothers,” he began, his voice cutting through the quiet. “We’ll be making landfall shortly. Prepare for reconnaissance. Our primary objective remains unchanged, identify and eliminate any Chaos presence. Stay vigilant. Even the absence of an enemy can be a trap.”

The squad rose, their movements precise and synchronized. Daedren followed suit, securing his weapons and ensuring his armor was battle-ready. The anticipation in the air was palpable as they moved toward the drop pods. This was it, the moment they had been preparing for.

The descent to the planet was turbulent, the pod shaking violently as it pierced through the atmosphere. Daedren gripped the restraints tightly, his gaze fixed on the glowing red light that signaled their rapid approach. The sound of the roaring wind and the creaking metal was deafening, but he found a strange sense of calm in the chaos. This was the fire of battle, and he was ready to face it.

When the pod’s doors finally burst open, the Salamanders emerged into a stark, rocky landscape. The outpost loomed in the distance, its fortified walls standing out against the barren surroundings. The air was thick with heat, the sun casting long shadows over the cracked ground.

Daedren’s squad moved in a disciplined formation, their boots crunching against the dirt as they approached the outpost. The tension was palpable, each step measured as they scanned their surroundings for any sign of the enemy.

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But as they drew closer, something felt… off. There were no signs of battle, no scorch marks, no craters, no bodies. The walls were intact, the gates standing open as if welcoming visitors. Inside, figures moved about, but they were not Chaos cultists. They were civilians, going about their daily routines as if nothing were amiss.

The squad paused, their weapons at the ready, as Thran signaled for caution. “Stay alert. Something’s not right here.”

They entered the outpost cautiously, their presence immediately drawing the attention of the people inside. Civilians stopped what they were doing to stare at the heavily armored warriors, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease. Daedren tightened his grip on his shields, his eyes scanning the crowd for anything unusual.

A man, older and dressed in the plain garb of a foreman, approached hesitantly. “Astartes,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “We weren’t expecting… anyone. Is something wrong?”

Thran stepped forward, his tone measured but firm. “We received a distress call from this location. It reported a Chaos incursion. Explain.”

The foreman’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Chaos? There’s been no attack here, no cultists, nothing. We’ve been working as usual.”

The squad exchanged wary glances. This was not the response they had anticipated.

“Who sent the distress call?” Thran pressed.

The foreman shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. We’ve had no issues, no visitors, nothing unusual. The vox channels have been quiet.”

Thran turned to the squad, his expression grim. “Spread out. Speak with the locals. Look for anything out of place.”

Daedren followed Caldon as the squad dispersed, approaching a group of workers loading supplies onto a cart. Their movements were unhurried, their demeanor calm. It was as if they had no knowledge of the supposed threat.

“Have you seen or heard anything strange in recent days?” Caldon asked, his tone direct but not unkind.

One of the workers, a younger man with soot-streaked hands, shook his head. “Nothing, sir. It’s been business as usual. Just another quiet week.”

Daedren observed the group carefully, looking for any signs of fear or deceit, but there was nothing. These people seemed genuinely unaware of any danger.

As the squad regrouped, the reports were the same. No one had seen or heard anything unusual. The distress call remained a mystery.

Thran’s jaw tightened as he considered their next move. “Something doesn’t add up. We’ll stay here for now. Daedren, Caldon, secure the perimeter. The rest of you, continue recon.”

Daedren nodded, following Caldon toward the outpost’s outer walls. As they walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something. The absence of an enemy was almost more unnerving than their presence would have been.

“Does this make any sense to you?” Daedren asked, breaking the silence.

Caldon shook his head. “No. And that’s what worries me. Chaos doesn’t just disappear. If they were here, there’d be signs. Corruption. Destruction. Something.”

Daedren frowned, his eyes scanning the horizon. The stillness of the place felt wrong, as if the land itself was holding its breath. He tightened his grip on his shields, ready for whatever might come.