After thirty-four years standard of doing menial work in the Archivum of the Holy Inquisition, two highly trusted and valued menials—a fellow named Falden and myself—were called in for special preparations for the arrival of Inquisitor Syphox. The coming of an Inquisitor was often no special matter, as they usually came to the Archivum for reporting, research, or simply socialising with other Inquisitors. This time, however, an artefact of great import and secrecy was to be delivered to the Archivum for further research, only known to those with the highest clearance level—in this case, me. Well, even if not the highest, I still was recognised and chosen to be a part of this very special operation, and rightfully so. Our task was to carry a metal crate from the ship on the landing deck to the restricted area of the Archivum, where the artefact would be inspected and researched in depth—no questions asked. I wasn’t exactly privy to that information; however, that was what I guessed was going to happen. It took three weeks of drills and questioning until we were prepared to undertake such an important task. The light of the Emperor finally shined on me.

Nearing the seventh hour of my maintenance duty in Hall Beta-Seven, where I was usually stationed, a cherub servitor descended from the topmost shelves and relayed a message from Ordinate Vechian Lugo, under whom I had worked daily for the last thirteen years. 

‘Menial designation gamma-dash-eighty-three-delta,’ the monotone mechanical voice spoke out of the vox grill. ‘You are summoned by the order of Ordinate Lugo to Loading Bay Two in Sector Epsilon. Proceed there immediately.’ The servitor floated there, waiting for a voice confirmation. 

‘I am on my way,’ I replied. Excitement ran through my body like a current. I could hardly contain myself, but I had to keep my composure lest the other menials suspected something that might get them punished or worse.

‘The Emperor protects,’ said the cherub; its red eyes grew smaller and dimmer as it floated away into the dark above.

Protocol dictated that I not dwell on the contents of the metal box, as curiosity can lead to obsession, and obsession may lead you astray from the Imperial Creed. However, now that I was promoted and charged with a higher responsibility, I believed it required me to delve deeper into matters, to analyse and question things, as now I was the last line of defence between our beloved Imperium and its enemies.

The landing deck emptied of all non-essential personnel, and on my way there, servitors issued commands to clear out the path between the landing deck and the inner sanctum. Ordinate Vechian Lugo, with two guards, and Menial Falden were already there. I saw Falden speak with Lugo and stopped when I came within earshot. Was he in on something that I was not? I decided Lugo was probably walking him through the steps once again, considering he was a slow one, to say the least. 

An Arvus Lighter shuttle flew in a little later and landed on the designated platform. Servitors rushed in to refuel and tend to any damage the ship might have sustained, as was customary in our Archivum. The back of the Arvus hissed and creaked as its cargo bay ramp lowered. Three figures stood silhouetted against a red light on the ramp. Leftmost was a Skitarii soldier of the Cult Mechanicus. It was my first time seeing one in person, and I would have been in awe if the person standing beside them was anyone other than Inquisitor Syphox in all her glory. To her left stood a red-robed Mechanicus Magos, mechadendrites writhing in the air as he touched something on a dataslate. While the Skitarii soldier stomped down the ramp and the Magos glided on his treads, the Inquisitor almost floated down like a majestic avian, seemingly not even disturbing the air around her, yet there was something dark in her eye. As they descended, behind them, basked in the red warning light, an unremarkable metal box was suspended on a grav-carrier. 

‘Emperor’s blessings, Inquisitor,’ Lugo began carefully. ‘I am Ordinate Vechian Lugo. Master Lufvek sends his apologies once more for not being able to be here himself. However, I am confident that we will be able to facilitate all your needs for the duration of your stay.’ He made a deep bow, as did we when we approached.

‘Emperor’s blessings, Ordinate Lugo,’ said Syphox firmly. ‘Tell Master Lufvek that he owes me a private meeting over a strong drink when he returns. Until then, we will proceed as planned and get this sorted without him as soon as possible.’ Lugo gave us the signal to bring the grav-carrier down the ramp.

She smelled of sweet oils and fresh parchment, a fragrance so intoxicating I failed to notice the Skitarii’s foot and tripped, nearly falling on my face. When I turned to look at everyone’s reaction to my foolish mistake, all of them were shooting daggers at me, and at that moment, I wished I was no more. Lugo smiled nervously as a bead of sweat rolled off his brow like a playing marble. Falden went by unnoticed, of course, and didn’t even look my way. The smug disregard for his colleague sickened me. I knew he was glad for my mishap, which made him seem more competent than I, for a change. But it wouldn’t last long. I would let nothing get in my way again.

‘This is Magos Dalis Serasmi,’ added Syphox after the awkward pause.

The Magos blurted an electrical sound from his vox grill that probably meant something to him and the Skitarii. ‘Blessings of the Omnissiah- Ordinate- Lugo,’ his monotone, start-stop voice delivered without emotion.

Falden and I grabbed the handles on the opposite sides of the grav-carrier, and started pushing it toward the inner sanctum. The Magos and Inquisitor Syphox exchanged a few words—something about protocols and reports, and a few more about what business awaited them aboard their ship. 

‘Was the inner sanctum equipped to the specs we sent in our exchange?’ Syphox asked.

‘Of course, Inquisitor,’ Lugo answered. ‘The innermost chamber is equipped with Pentagrammic Dampeners and both lethal and non-lethal countermeasures, as per the received communicae,’ Lugo smiled reassuringly. 

‘Good. I have little doubt there will be a need for any further changes. What about the Blank? Have you found one?’ 

‘Naturally, however, your request was made on such short notice that a certain waiting time is all but guaranteed,’ Lugo grinned nervously. 

‘How long?’ asked Syphox.

‘I’m afraid four days at least. But we have arranged for all the necessary amenities to make the days pass quicker.’

‘It’s not us you should be worried about,’ Syphox said almost to herself. ‘So be it. Four days.’

The halls of the Archivum were empty of all except a few essential servitors. It was the first time I experienced these sacred and grand halls in such serenity. I never realised how the constant rustle of parchment, chatter of people, and whirring of servitors deafened my ears and my mind until now. After decades of devoted work, it was quite haunting how quiet everything was. Everything, except the music. It seemed strange, and I couldn’t remember when it first started, but halfway to the inner sanctum, as we were crossing the largest chamber in this sector, I realised I was hearing a tune more beautiful than the holiest aria sung by the most venerated voices of the Ecclesiarchal choir.

I listened to the sweet song for minutes before I raised my head from the trance to check on my superiors and see if they enjoyed the music as much as I did. To my surprise, nobody looked like they even noticed it. How peculiar, I thought. I could not fathom the kind of person who could resist bobbing and swaying to the beauty of the angelic harmonies that seemed to occupy the air around us. Only then did I realise it was coming from inside the box. What order of secrecy and security could befall such an object which radiates such harmony? I wondered. 

No matter how my mind worked to understand why such an object could be so important to be kept in a metal box and under armed escort, it could not come up with a valid enough reason. Yet, an Inquisitor believed such measures were needed, so there must be some merit in that. But then again, perhaps not even Syphox knew what was in the box. Could it be that she didn’t hear the music as I did for whatever reason? Or was it that they all heard it before and just got used to its enthralling melody? If that were the case, then it would mean that the idiot Falden heard it before me as well. The thought disgusted me. That someone so unworthy and slow as Falden would be granted the honour to hear the sounds that could only be described as hearing the words of the Emperor himself, was injustice as clear as the task ahead. But one should not dwell on such matters for too long, lest they eat at one’s sanity, and I knew better than to envy another. Especially him.

We reached the inner sanctum, a medium-sized chamber equipped with devices unknown to me and what looked like a glass chamber in the middle, with wires hanging from circuits mounted on its corners. 

‘Place it in there,’ Syphox gestured toward the glass box.

Without a word, we pushed and dragged the grav-carrier to the centre of the room. When we stepped out of the glass box, the side that was held open slid down and, with a thwomp, sealed the cube. The Magos went over to a cogitator and fiddled with it for a bit, spouting mechanical gibberish. After a moment, a buzz of electricity filled the room, and the circuitry on the box spat out sparks as it powered up. And that’s when the music stopped. 

‘Hermetic lock status: in place. Dampener status: active. Container status: secure. Blessed be the Omnissiah,’ said the Magos after it was all done.

‘Good. That’ll be all,’ said Syphox. Not many would´ve noticed that at that moment, her shoulders relaxed. But I did. ‘This chamber is to be opened only with my approval, is that clear?’

‘Crystal clear, Inquisitor,’ said Lugo and bowed slightly. ‘Menials,’ he snapped at us. ‘Your service is complete and appreciated. Back to your usual sanctioned tasks.’

‘Affirmative, Ordinate Lugo,’ said Falden, trying to grab all the praise for himself. ‘The Empe—’

‘Emperor protects,’ I interjected just in time to stop his bootlicking. I gave a bow and retreated to my sector to resume my duties. Pride filled my heart that day for the service I had been chosen to do. My father always said that real worth is recognised best when one keeps their head down and focuses on nothing but their duty, and truly it had paid off. That was the trial, and I believed I passed with flying colours. I had no doubt more special tasks would come my way in the future.

The next day, while on my duties, I kept passing by the inner sanctum door—seemingly by accident—all in hopes of hearing the sounds that changed my life for the better. However, whenever I neared the door, I heard no music or sound except a faint buzzing that came from inside. I imagined what order of events would warrant me to go through those doors again, just for a chance to hear the angelic hymn, for the sounds were unlike any I had ever heard before. I was further frustrated by the location of my duties, which placed me far from the chamber. Against my better judgment, I made an effort to pass by occasionally. A musician I was not; no special skill for playing an instrument or writing a song ran through my veins, yet my mind raced with ideas when I tried to remember what I had heard the day before. Trying to replicate it by humming proved impossible, as the melody and timbre shifted and changed each time I attempted to make a sound, which only brought frustration. 

The following day, I found it difficult to free my dreams of the heavenly tune. The mesmerising harmonies haunted me and kept me awake at night, and trying to whistle or hum the melody from my dreams seemed impossible to reproduce. Whatever way I shaped my lips and twisted my tongue, the melody would never come out quite right, and when I tried my best to recall the exact melody and tone, the sound seemed to shift and change in pitch, writhing like a slippery eel. I must admit, the constant failure frustrated me so much that it warranted a reprimand from my superiors on account of hitting a servitor with the end of my broom. It wouldn’t have irritated me that much if the melody and harmony didn’t seem to grow clearer with each passing day, like the reverse of a memory growing more foggy as time passed. Yet it only became more difficult to reproduce it, and my mind was only growing more consumed by it. 

On the third day, while on sanitation duty, the angelic aria that infested my mind had built up so much that I could almost make out words there, where I hadn’t heard them before. I was amazed how my memory of the tune only grew more detailed with each passing day, and I even considered talking to Ordinate Lugo about it. But I remembered how they all carried themselves around the box and decided it would be shameful to only now gush about its beauty to someone who had already gone cold to its enchantment.

I whistled and hummed on my own for what felt like hours until I finally had it. I left my duties—only for a short time, of course—to try and free my mind from the hindrance that the music put on my focus and went to the inner sanctum for a chance to glimpse it once more. I wouldn’t have done so, of course, if I didn’t think it affected my daily duties, which, like my father, I held in the highest regard. As a servant to the Emperor, I owed it to the Imperium of Mankind and the Emperor himself, blessed be His name, to do anything required of me to make sure I gave my all to the duty at hand. 

Fearing another reprimand from my superiors and Ordinate Lugo’s wrath, I took a series of maintenance passages behind the massive mechanised shelves I knew led to the inner sanctum door, thanks to my previous work on maintaining the mechanisms. The passages were out of sight and off-limits when no maintenance work was needed so that people and servitors wouldn’t get tangled and crushed in the mechanisms, in turn making a larger problem. Anyone caught in them would be accused of conspiracy. Luckily, I am no conspirator, and my passing through them allowed me to inspect the passages for any suspicious activity, which I always thought was a needed routine inspection. My actions were further justified when I stumbled upon an old servo-skull that was, at some point, caught in the mechanisms, damaged, and left there on the floor until its power cell ran out. It looked like it tried to free itself the best it could, judging from the bladed instrument that was stuck in its mechanical arm. I removed the bladed instrument, lest it cause further damage, and noted the scene, meaning to report it later, and proceeded further down the passage.

When I finally arrived at the maintenance hatch that led out in front of the inner sanctum door, where I last saw the metal box and heard the music, through the small gap between the shelf and the structural beam, I spotted Falden and Inquisitor Syphox talking briefly before disappearing into the secure chamber itself. I was shaken to my core. To think that slow, dull, sorry excuse for a human—Falden—would be granted a private audience with the Inquisitor in the sanctum where the artefact lay was as shocking to me as if I had seen the two of them in a loving embrace. It was injustice, plain as day. Why was Falden invited to see the artefact again and not me? How could he, a man whose wit can only be compared to that of a servitor or a broom, be held in such high regard by an Inquisitor, of all people, that he would be invited for a private exchange? Questions like those flooded my mind, and answers to them were few, if any. To make matters worse, while I waited there behind the shelves for a good part of an hour, I did not hear the music that I craved so much nor did I see Falden come out of the room. 

My suspicions about Falden’s deeper involvement with the operation were confirmed that day. There could not be another explanation except that he somehow deceived Lugo and Syphox, but the question remained: how? An Ordinate and an Inquisitor, deceived by a lowly menial that I’ve seen drooling on exposed wires more times than I’d like? No, I could not believe that. Such a case was impossible considering the endless cunning of an Inquisitor who trained for decades to see through the lies and machinations of their enemies. Unless… 

I rushed back to my station to finish my duties and depart for the day, thoughts racing as I slithered between the mechanisms. I had come to a revelation that was too important to tell, even to Lugo, since he himself had fallen victim and could not be trusted. Lugo and Syphox were bewitched. Falden, cursed be his name for all eternity, was a witch—an agent of the Archenemy who infiltrated our ranks in order to get his hands on what can only be an artefact that belonged to the Emperor Himself. His slowness was merely a facade. If Lugo and Syphox were bewitched, then it was up to me to protect the artefact. I weighed all options as I ran back, and only one solution was so clear it was as if the Emperor Himself placed it in my mind as my only directive. I had to kill Falden. It was perfect; he always considered himself superior to me. His smug stare never saw me as a threat, only the perfect servant. It would bring nothing but pure pleasure to gouge those blue eyes out.

When I reached the maintenance hatch I used to enter the passage, my heart was pounding with excitement in my ears and throat. I had never felt such a rush of purpose and devotion like I felt in that moment, and I knew everything would change if I succeeded in my mission. Empowered by purpose, the angelic melody crystallised itself further in my mind, and the words that I suddenly came to realise existed within it started taking form. I turned the locking handle, and the hatch hissed as it swung open just enough for me to pass. Soon, I would be back at my station, and no one would be the wiser. Just when I exited and made sure the hatch was closed shut, a familiar voice called my name. 

‘Drauk Vanke,’ the voice of Ordinate Lugo barked from behind me. ‘Why are you not at your post, menial?’

 I froze in place. It could not have been that my plan was immediately foiled by happenstance and bad timing. 

‘Well?’ Impatience and frustration saturated his question, lingering like an executioner’s cleaver over my head. 

‘Ordinate Lugo,’ I turned and bowed my head apologetically. ‘I… I heard a noise behind the shelves and decided to investigate it.’ I knew my lie wasn’t going to hold. Emperor knew what kind of sorcery muddied his mind and possibly controlled his actions. 

Lugo crossed his arms and frowned so hard that the top of his impeccable bald head frowned as well. He was tall and slender, unmuscled but still imposing, like a praying mantis with its raptorial legs coiled and ready to strike. Lines of inscribed text in black ink rolled out of his Auto Quill, recording every spoken word around him. That way, he would always have a record—or better yet, evidence—if anything bad were to happen. A perfectly useful tool for Falden. 

‘There was a Servo-skull that was crushed by the mechanism and—’

‘That was not a sanctioned operation, Vanke,’ Lugo interrupted.

‘Well, I took the initiative to—’

‘Never mind that now,’ Lugo interrupted me yet again, ‘we will discuss that in-depth later. Right now, Inquisitor Syphox would like a word with you.’

His tone betrayed his intentions. I was next on Falden’s list, and I was sure I wouldn’t get the same treatment as Lugo and Syphox did. If I went with Lugo, I would die. I hoped Lugo resisted, or at least wasn’t considered a valuable enough target to fall victim to the vile sorcery of the Archenemy’s agent, but all the proof was there. The feeling of sympathy for him surprised me. In that fateful moment, I saw fear in his eyes, saw the truth of his state. He wanted to be free from the sorcerer’s spell, and I was the only one who could give that to him. 

My hand went into the sleeve of the other. Inside, the hard metal of the sharp instrument I took from the Servo-skull was cold to the touch. I had never killed a man before. I felt the adrenaline course throughout my body, making my heart beat faster and the hairs on my neck stand up. My throat was dry as I swallowed in anticipation. My hand trembled with its grip around the weapon, and my legs stiffened. One smooth motion was all I needed to slice Lugo’s exposed throat and give him a painless release.

‘Did you hear m—’ Lugo’s eyes widened as the sound of squirting blood replaced the ending of his question. The thick, red liquid bubbled and sprayed from between his fingers as he grasped the messy gash on his neck. I thought that would be enough, but I must have misjudged the angle and the power needed to cut clean through a man’s neck, because after a moment of shock, he came at me, his hands flailing, trying to grab a hold of me. The Auto Quill printed out scribbles and nonsense as it tried to transcribe the sounds it heard. 

Lugo threw himself at me, but I sidestepped him with ease, since I was a head shorter and quicker on my feet. He fell on his face, blood squirting on the floor as he tried to recover and get up. I saw no other way but to correct my mistake and give him the quick end I promised him in my mind. So, I threw myself on his back and stabbed him many times. His body finally went limp when I drove the blade into the base of his skull. In his last moments, while lying in a growing pool of his own blood, Lugo mouthed something, but no sound came out. He was thanking me for ending his cursed servitude to our enemy and giving him the rest he so rightfully deserved.

The music blasted inside my mind as I revelled in its impossible harmony for a moment. I knew I had done the right thing, that I was on the right path and had the Emperor’s blessing in the process. No words could ever describe the beauty that was evolving in my thoughts or the euphoria I felt at that moment. Tears ran down my face as the realisation that I was finally granted a higher purpose hit me. When I collected myself, I was briefly shaken by the sight at my feet, reminding me of what I had done. However, time was of the essence, and I decided to make haste toward the inner sanctum via the maintenance passage.

I reached the maintenance hatch across the inner sanctum door. The hard metal of the bloody weapon in my hand had grown warmer to the touch, and I was more confident in my ability to deliver a quick and deadly blow, having had the practice. When I decided no one was around, I exited the tunnels and made my way across the hall to the door. I tried the handle and found that the door was, in fact, unlocked. I made my way inside.

Suddenly, finally, the music that had haunted my mind for days was in my ears again as well. I was drawn again to the middle of the large chamber decorated with ornate golden skulls and icons of the Aquila, where, once again, I saw the metal box that I had brought there in the first place. Truth be told, I couldn’t care less about the decor of this most sacred room, as all my senses were preoccupied with the box and the music that tickled my eardrums in a way so indescribable. I took a few steps toward it, and then more than ever did the words to the angelic hymn crystalise, but before I could sing the words, at the edge of my sight, I saw a shape lumber toward me. 

That heretic, Falden.

I clenched my teeth so hard I felt one chip and nearly shatter. I hated him for what he made me do to Lugo and for what he was making me do to Syphox as well—but not before I took his life as recompense for my deeds. I started walking towards him; his expression of a dim-witted domesticated herd animal would not fool me then and there. I was on to him and his machinations of deception and sorcery. 

‘Drauk,’ the mammal spoke with his forked tongue. ‘Inquisitor Syph—’

Before he could finish, I rushed and leapt at him with all the strength I could muster, driving the hard metal blade into his chest. He looked at the blade and then back at me, and for a brief moment, we watched each other. I waited for him to try and cast his vile sorceries, but nothing came. Instead, he collapsed to the floor like a ragdoll, taking me down with him in surprise. I watched as his blue eyes lost some of their colour, but not before I took my trophy. 

I pulled out the blade from his heart and took it to his eyes. One by one, I gouged them out like meat from a fresh clam. With a slurp and a pop, they both came out as I severed the optical nerve with my weapon, which proved to be quite dull for such a delicate task. There, in my hand, I held the blue marbles of a sorcerer most vile—a trophy for my most excellent work. I raised them up as if to present them to the observer from above and felt no better way to celebrate than to chant along to the words that I heard echo throughout the chamber.

‘In the tapestry of sound, where every note can fray, we dance to the shifting tune of the Changer of Ways.…’

Finally, after all that transpired, I had the chance to peer into the box and see its contents—the source of the music. I went over to the cogitator and, by sheer luck, managed to pull and press my way through the locking mechanism, disengaging the locks on the glass box. The thick side sighed as it retracted upwards toward the ceiling, leaving the metal box unprotected. I took slow, deliberate steps toward it, basking in the glory of the enthralling music, humming the words that I heard, the ones I could comprehend. I had no doubts that something like the source should never have been caged in the first place, that it should have been put on a pedestal for all to hear and enjoy its eternal beauty. 

Only a few steps separated me from my destiny and my heart pounded with excitement. My path was almost complete. My fingertips tingled as I reached to touch the source of my obsession. Everything faded. But the box. And its music.

A step’s distance from my goal, everything had faded for me except the box; I failed to notice the sanctum door open and shut or the following footsteps that approached from behind. So here, in my last moments of consciousness as the chamber tumbles in front of me—or I in it—after all I have been through and all that I have done only to see what was my right, I see my headless body drop to its knees as Inquisitor Syphox puts the sword that severed my head clean off, back in its scabbard. 

And with all that the last synapses of my brain could muster, I mouth the only word that echoes through my fading mind: Injustice.