Aboard the transport ship Remembrance of Ashes, in the lower-level detention block.
The air carried the low hum of the circulation system, the cold scent of metal, and a faint trace of engine oil from the engine rooms below.
The lighting was dim. Only the emergency strips on the walls cast a pallid glow over the sturdy alloy cells lining both sides of the narrow passage.
Most cells stood empty. A few hundred held former soldiers of the 3rd Company, stripped of their Power Armour and wearing only thin clothing.
They sat silently in corners or leaned against the walls, their faces marked by exhaustion, resentment, and profound uncertainty.
At the end of the passage stood a more heavily reinforced solitary confinement cell.
Thick alloy bars replaced its walls. Inside, the cramped space held only a metal bed bolted to the floor.
Commander Biberus sat on its cold edge, bound in specially designed magnetic shackles.
Yet his back remained ramrod straight. His blue eyes, like hard ice untouched by the yellow sands, fixed on the darkness beyond the bars, burning with silent fury.
Heavy footsteps approached at an unhurried pace, echoing through the empty detention block before stopping outside Biberus's cell.
A towering figure blocked the light.
The newcomer wore the desert-colored standard Power Armour of the Lord of the Yellow Sands Legion's Fourth Company. Fine scratches from battle marked his armour, and the Fourth Company's insignia was clearly visible on his pauldron.
An old, vicious scar stretched across his entire face, looking all the more frightening in the dim light.
He was Dirham, captain of the 48th Company under the Fourth Company.
"Dirham." Biberus's voice was hoarse with undisguised hatred and contempt. He raised his head, his gaze stabbing like a blade at the figure outside his cage.
"Abdullah's