Mars.
That red planet was the cradle and undisputed capital of the Imperium of Man's Adeptus Mechanicus.
Its surface was covered in vast Forge Temples, energy tower arrays, refineries, and laboratories, built up, expanded, and interlocked over tens of thousands of years, along with secret Sanctums buried deep underground, known only to the highest-ranking priests.
The air was forever scorching, filled with molten metal, high-grade machine oil, ozone, and the ceaseless, low roar of billions of engines.
Crimson dust shrouded everything, creating an eternal, rust-colored twilight beneath the glow of the ever-burning planetary core furnaces and the cold light of orbital mirrors.
Beneath the surface of Mars, in one of its oldest and most central districts, lay the depths of a private temple belonging to Fabricator-General Utio.
The air here was relatively "clean." There was only the faint hiss of precision temperature-control systems and the rhythmic pounding of immense forge hammers, carried faintly through the surrounding structures from afar, like the planet's slow, powerful pulse.
The temple's interior reflected Utio's style: efficient, precise, stripped of all meaningless redundancy. Every groove and interface served a practical function or conveyed data.
At that moment, Fabricator-General Utio "stood" quietly at the center of the temple's main hall.
His body had undergone countless mechanical modifications. Now, rather than a being of flesh and blood, he resembled a mobile altar draped in deep crimson robes and fitted with innumerable precision mechanical arms and sensor nodes.
Only the cold blue light concealed behind his complex optical sensor array revealed his still-active consciousness and absolute authority.
He did not move, like a true statue. Only the minimal hum of his internal Servo System indicated that he was waiting.
The heavy alloy doors, bearing the distinctive heraldry of a Martian Forge Temple, slid open without a sound.
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