The headache was gone.

  Lilith noticed it as the vehicle rumbled to a stop—the persistent throbbing that had plagued her since waking up had finally faded, leaving behind only a dull, tired ache that felt almost normal by comparison.

  Thank god. Or, uh, thank the Emperor. Whatever.

  The door hissed open, and Ecclesiarch Vandros stepped out first, gesturing for them to follow.

  Lilith and Eve climbed out, still holding hands, and found themselves standing before a large, imposing building.

  It was built in the typical Imperial style—all harsh angles and Gothic architecture, covered in religious iconography. Statues of saints lined the entrance, their stone faces weathered but stern. The words "SAINT CELESTINE ORPHANAGE" were carved above the main doors in High Gothic, flanked by the ever-present Imperial Aquila.

  An orphanage. We're actually going to live in an orphanage.

  The thought felt surreal.

  The doors opened, and two figures emerged.

  The doors opened before they reached them, revealing two women in the habits of the Adepta Sororitas—or at least, that's what Lilith thought at first. But no, not quite. These were sisters of a different kind. Hospitallers, maybe? Or just Ministorum nuns?

  The first woman was older, her face is stern, with sharp eyes that missed nothing. She radiated a strict presence that screams discipile.

  The second was younger, her face lined but kind, with warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. She radiated a gentle, maternal energy that immediately put Lilith slightly more at ease.

  "Sister Mercy," the younger woman said, inclining her head toward Vandros. "Ecclesiarch. We've been expecting you."

  "Sister Prudence," the stern one added, her voice clipped and formal.

  Vandros gestured to Lilith and Eve. "These are the children I spoke of. Lilith and Eve. They will be staying here under observation, as per the agreement with Inquisitor Rathken."

  Sister Mercy's smile faltered slightly at the mention of the Inquisitor, but she recovered quickly.

  Sister Prudence's expression didn't change at all. She simply nodded once. "Understood."

  Lilith felt the weight of their gazes settle on her. She bowed her head slightly—some instinct from this body's muscle memory, maybe, or just basic politeness.

  "H-hello," she said quietly. "I'm Lilith. This is my sister, Eve."

  Eve, still gripping Lilith's hand, glanced at her, then awkwardly copied the bow, dipping her head in an uncertain mimicry.

  Sister Mercy's expression softened further. "Welcome, children. You're safe here."

  Sister Prudence said nothing, but her eyes lingered on their faces—specifically, on their eyes.

  The other children had noticed too.

  Lilith could see them now, peeking out from windows and doorways. Dozens of small faces, curious and wary, staring at the newcomers.

  At their eyes.

  Gold and red. Red and red.

  Great. We're already standing out.

  Vandros cleared his throat. "They've been through significant trauma. Amnesia. Separation anxiety. They will require careful observation." He paused, his tone taking on a warning edge. "The Inquisitor will be monitoring their progress. Any deviations must be reported immediately."

  Sister Prudence nodded sharply. "Of course, Ecclesiarch."

  Sister Mercy sighed softly, the sound barely audible. "They're children, not heretics. We'll care for them as we do all the Emperor's lost lambs."

  Vandros seemed satisfied with that. He gave Lilith and Eve one last look—something that might have been encouragement, or pity, or both—and then turned to leave.

  The vehicle rumbled away, and Lilith felt a strange pang watching it go.

  That's it, then. We're on our own now.

  She squeezed Eve's hand, and Eve squeezed back.

  Sister Prudence approached them, her footsteps measured and precise. She stopped directly in front of Lilith and looked down at her—not unkindly, but with an intensity that made Lilith's stomach tighten.

  "Your eye," Sister Prudence said, nodding toward Lilith's left eye as she notices how she is moving awkwardly. "The gold one. Can you see through it?"

  Lilith shook her head. "No, Sister. It's blind. I don't... I don't know why it's gold. I don't remember."

  Sister Prudence studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. "Very well."

  She didn't press further, but Lilith could feel the suspicion lingering beneath the surface.

  She doesn't trust us. Can't blame her, really. But, did she notice that I can’t see in my left eye?

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Sister Mercy stepped forward, her smile warm and genuine. "Come, children. Let's get you settled. You must be exhausted."

  She gestured for them to follow, and they did, Eve staying close to Lilith's side.

  As they walked through the orphanage's main hall, Sister Mercy kept up a gentle stream of conversation.

  "We have about sixty children here," she explained. "Ages five to sixteen. Most are orphans from the lower hive—parents lost to factory accidents, gang violence, disease, the usual tragedies." Her expression was sad but matter-of-fact. "We do our best to care for them, teach them the Emperor's word, and prepare them for service when they come of age."

  "Service?" Lilith asked quietly.

  "The Imperium always needs faithful hands," Sister Mercy said. "Some join the Ecclesiarchy as lay workers. Others the manufactorums or the Guard. A few, if the Emperor wills it, are chosen for higher callings."

  Child soldiers. They're training child soldiers.

  Lilith kept her expression neutral, but her stomach churned.

  This is Warhammer 40k. Of course they are.

  "You'll share a room," Sister Mercy continued. "We usually separate children by age and gender, but given your... situation, we thought it best to keep you together."

  Lilith felt a rush of relief. "Thank you, Sister."

  Eve said nothing, but her grip on Lilith's hand tightened slightly.

  They passed other children in the corridors. Most stared openly, whispering to each other. A few pointed. One older boy wrinkled his nose in what might have been disgust or suspicion.

  Great. Already making friends.

  Sister Mercy led them to a washing room—a large, tiled space with basins and crude shower fixtures. The air smelled of lye soap and dampness.

  "Bath first," Sister Mercy said firmly. "Then fresh clothes. You're both filthy."

  Lilith glanced down at herself and realized she was right. The clothes she'd been wearing—simple, utilitarian garments from the ship—were stained with grime, blood, and Emperor-knew-what-else.

  Sister Prudence had followed them in, and together the two nuns helped them undress.

  Lilith felt a flash of embarrassment—even in this child's body, the vulnerability of being naked in front of strangers was uncomfortable—but the Sisters were professional, efficient, almost clinical.

  And then they saw the skin beneath.

  "By the Throne," Sister Mercy murmured.

  Lilith looked down at herself and realized what they were seeing.

  Flawless skin. No scars. No blemishes. Despite everything they'd been through—the experiments, the crash, the violence—there wasn't a single mark on either of them.

  Except for the almost visible ribs and clear indication that they were malnourished.

  Both she and Eve were thin. Not emaciated, but close. Their ribs were visible beneath the skin, shadows pressed against pale flesh.

  We haven't eaten properly. Ever. Of course we're thin.

  "No scars," Sister Prudence said quietly, her tone unreadable. "None at all."

  Sister Mercy reached out and gently touched Lilith's shoulder, as if checking to make sure it was real. "How...?"

  "I don't know," Lilith said honestly. "I don't remember."

  It wasn't technically a lie. She didn't remember getting these bodies. She just knew they regenerated and she won’t definitely tell them about that.

  Sister Prudence and Sister Mercy exchanged a glance, some silent communication passing between them.

  Then Sister Mercy smiled gently. "Well. Let's get you clean, at least."

  The bath was cold—of course it was—but Lilith didn't complain, in fact, it felt refreshing. Eve didn't either, though she watched everything with wary, curious eyes.

  After they were scrubbed clean, the Sisters dressed them in simple orphanage garments—plain gray tunics and trousers, rough but functional. They were too big, hanging loose on their small frames, but they were clean.

  They were led to a small room at the end of a long corridor.

  It was sparse. Two narrow beds with thin mattresses. A single window, barred and grimy, letting in weak gray light. A small table with two chairs. A trunk at the foot of each bed for personal belongings—not that they had any.

  "This will be your room," Sister Mercy said. "You'll share it until the Inquisitor decides otherwise."

  She gestured to the beds. "Mornings begin at dawn. You'll wake, wash, and attend morning prayers in the chapel. Then breakfast. After that, lessons—reading, writing, catechism, history of the Imperium. Lunch at midday. Afternoon is for chores or additional study. Evening prayers before dinner. Lights out at the ninth hour."

  Sister Prudence stepped forward, her tone stricter. "You will obey the Sisters without question. You will attend all prayers and lessons. You will not fight with the other children. You will not wander the orphanage alone. You will conduct yourselves as faithful servants of the God-Emperor. Understood?"

  Lilith nodded quickly. "Yes, Sister."

  Eve just stared at Sister Prudence, then nodded once.

  Sister Prudence's expression didn't soften, but she seemed satisfied.

  She turned and left without another word.

  Sister Mercy lingered, her expression sympathetic.

  "I know this is overwhelming," she said softly. "And I know you're frightened. But you're safe here, truly. No one will hurt you. The Emperor protects, children. Always remember that."

  She reached out and gently patted Lilith's head, the gesture almost maternal.

  Then she left as well, closing the door behind her.

  Lilith and Eve stood in the center of the room, still holding hands.

  For a long moment, neither of them moved.

  Then Eve spoke, her voice quiet.

  "Kind."

  Lilith looked at her. "What?"

  "Sister Mercy." Eve tilted her head slightly. "Kind."

  Is she, though?

  Lilith wanted to believe it. Wanted to trust that they'd landed somewhere safe, that someone actually cared about them.

  But this was Warhammer 40k.

  Kindness was rare. Trust was dangerous.

  They were alive through sheer luck—luck that the Inquisitor had been willing to compromise and luck that Vandros had intervened. Or the fact that they managed to land in this planet with the pod. What are the odds of that?

  But luck won’t last forever. Lilith needed a plan, for her and Eve.

  "Maybe," Lilith said quietly. "But we need to be careful. Okay?"

  Eve nodded, though she didn't look entirely convinced.

  Lilith moved to one of the beds and sat down. The mattress was thin, lumpy, uncomfortable—but it was better than the cold metal of the pod or the examination table.

  She felt the fatigue hit her all at once.

  Her body ached. Her shoulder was still sore. Her head felt fuzzy with exhaustion.

  Eve climbed onto the bed beside her, leaning against her shoulder in that now-familiar way.

  Lilith wrapped her arm around her twin, holding her close.

  Why do I feel like this? she wondered, not for the first time.

  When Eve was in danger, when they were separated, something in Lilith's chest twisted painfully. An overwhelming need to protect, to keep her safe, to never let anything hurt her.

  Is it because she's my twin? This body's twin?

  Or was it something else? Some deeper or complicated connection she didn't understand?

  Maybe it's just responsibility. She's a child. I'm... well, technically a child now too, but mentally I'm still twenty-three. I can't just abandon her.

  But it felt like more than that. More than attachment. And she knew that.

  What is she to me, really?

  Eve looked up at her, red eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

  Lilith shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. She reached up and patted Eve's head gently, running her fingers through the short black hair. Eve closes her eye and leans into Lilith’s touch.

  Adorable.

  That simple gesture made Lilith smile as she ponders and after a while.

  "I'll try protect you," she said quietly. "As long as I’m alive."

  Even if I'm a child too now. Even if I barely know what I'm doing.

  Eve leaned more into the touch, her expression softening slightly.

  "I protect. Lilith." she said simply.

  There were two beds in the room, but neither of them moved to the other one.

  They just stayed where they were, curled together on the narrow mattress, holding onto each other like lifelines.

  Outside, the hive city rumbled with distant machinery and the endless hum of industry.

  But in this small, sparse room, for just a moment, there was something almost like peace.

  Lilith closed her right eye and let herself rest.

  Tonight, they were safe. For now.