14 NEVERMORE (VII)

It had returned, come home.

But what was home?

Though its empty heart was filled with a longing to return home, it did not truly understand what that concept meant. It merely acted on instinct, like a beast devouring its own young when hungry and weak.

They might have feelings, and might even feel sorrow afterward. Yet, in that crucial instant—when their fangs closed around their cubs' unguarded throats—instinct controlled everything.

It was the same.

It only wanted to return, to go home. It wanted nothing else. It did not understand why it did this, and it did not care.

It was enough to be back.

It stretched beneath Deliverance's night sky. Its power armor looked perfectly normal, yet the motion produced the teeth-grinding sound of flesh expanding. There was nothing around it but a dry stony wasteland, gravel, and heavy dust that crowded every inch of air.

A land without people.

It stood there alone, gazing into the distance. Reflected in its eyes, black as night itself, was a spire that pierced the clouds. It was imposing, strange, and twisted, speckled with starlight. Beneath it stood a mass of somewhat shorter buildings and smaller houses. They were inconspicuous, like ants, yet far more vibrant than the tower.

Many people lived there.

How many?

It stiffly moved its feet and walked toward the spire.

Home. Back to Raven Tower, it thought.

The grav-bike gave off an almost silent, low hum before coming to an abrupt halt.

Soren Volk swung himself down from the precious gift bestowed by the White Scars and entered an underground bunker serving as a temporary command center without a word.

Many pale faces he recognized had already occupied the space around the tactical table, forcibly making the spacious bunker feel cramped.

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