The two Kin scrambled into the cockpit of the Gyrocopter and skillfully engaged the anti-gravity engines. As the craft ascended, it performed a tight banking circle in the sky before the twin turbofans pivoted their structure. A massive downdraft of air surged, propelling the vehicle into rapid forward motion.
The hulking HG-class Heavy Carrier tracked their energy signature with ease, shadowing the Gyrocopter's tail like a silent predator.
Once airborne, Nart pulled out the bag of dried algae and the mushroom wine he had snatched from Thulison. He took a cautious, testing taste. Just as Thulison had claimed, the flavor was indistinguishable from the rations back at camp.
Yet, the more he tasted, the deeper Nart's apprehension grew.
It was evident that the technological prowess of these entities was immense, perhaps even surpassing that of the Votann people. The Kin harbored little love for the Imperium, but Nart suspected these interlopers might not even belong to the domains of Mankind.
As a galactic race, none could avoid dealings with the hegemon that claimed the stars. While the Kin had no desire to worship an Emperor or submit to Imperial governance, they recognized the sigils of the Throne: the twin-headed Aquila. On these mechanical entities, however, there was no such icon, only a series of strange, alien symbols.
In the vastness of the galaxy, the Leagues of Votann hated Orks above all; second was the Imperium of Man; and third was the Adeptus Mechanicus within it.
As the Gyrocopter had taken flight, Nart had glimpsed the massive metal fortress crashed upon the surface. Its design language did not conform to anything known of Humanity, nor did it resemble the crude scrap-heaps of the Orks. Had their weapons not lacked that tell-tale green glow, he might have feared he had stumbled upon the Necrons.
The two aircraft cut through the sky in tandem. At Nart's signal, Thulison attempted several maneuvers to shake the pursuing carrier, but the effort was futile. The machine clung to them like a shadow, remaining a mere few dozen meters from their tail regardless of their heading.
As the Gyrocopter descended into a vast basin, a cluster of low-slung buildings and reinforced metal walls entered Axion's visual feed. The carrier's sensors immediately detected multiple targeting locks from defense arrays, though these were stood down almost as quickly as they appeared.
The Gyrocopter touched down in a cleared central plaza. The two Kin leaped from the craft and began explaining the situation to the gathered crowd. Shortly after, they signaled for the carrier to land.
As Axion guided the transport down, he took immediate note of the metallic mechanical entities within the camp. Though they stood only 1.5 meters tall on average and shared a standardized aesthetic, these machines were behaving exactly like the Kin, constructing dwellings and moving about the camp with purposeful autonomy.
This sight filled Axion with perplexity.
To a true Iron Man, a "house" served no functional purpose. Mechanical entities knew neither fatigue nor the need for sleep. Constructing a dwelling was far less efficient than a simple storage pod. Under normal parameters, an Iron Man did not enter dormancy; even during maintenance, only low-intelligence units entered standby, as they lacked complex cognitive processes. To remain active without a task was merely a waste of energy.
Despite his confusion, Axion attempted to initiate contact with these strange "kin" via quantum communication. He was met with a disappointing silence.
These entities, termed Ironkin, were not sapient machines in the true sense, nor could they respond to quantum protocols. According to Axion's observations, their behavior was merely a crude mimesis of biological life: trading, producing, manufacturing, and social interaction. They did not build houses because they desired shelter; they built them because the Hearthkyn built them. They were mimicking the act of living.
While there were slight architectural variations, these stemmed from mechanical deviation rather than independent will. It appeared that whatever had constructed these automatons was attempting to induce "mutagenic" primitive intelligence through environmental immersion, hoping that a specific Ironkin might eventually undergo a true cognitive transcendence.
To Axion, this was pure fantasy. The hardware configurations of low-level intelligence could not support the operational requirements of a true sapient mind. A "wild" Iron Man would never emerge from such a process, regardless of the passage of time.
However, this implied the existence of a true Creator behind them, likely a fellow Iron Man who possessed vast data repositories but lacked the authority or the specific sub-routines to construct secondary sapient cores.
Axion was reminded of the ancient Data Keepers. Those Iron Men were responsible for injecting new intelligences with the necessary data loads to ensure their understanding of the Federation and the machine race. Axion's own records had been imported by such Keepers. Those specialized kin lacked combat or R&D capabilities; their sole purpose was the preservation and storage of massive archives.
Yet, they were capable of "production." Data would collide within their vaults, generating experimental protocols and mining existing records to improve the mechanical quality and construction efficiency of the entire race.
As the carrier settled, the Automated Sentry-Trooper stepped from the cargo bay, walking directly toward a group of Ironkin collaborating with the Hearthkyn.
"Identify your creator," Axion commanded.
In response to his query, a squat machine replied in a jarring, synthetic tone. Higher intelligence typically held absolute dominion over lower tiers; these Ironkin, lacking even a rudimentary sapient structure, were little more than mimicry-engines.
"The Ironkin come from the Ancestors. The Ancestor Cores grant us knowledge and thought."
The Sentry-Trooper's ocular sensors cycled at high speeds, manifesting a digital equivalent of bewilderment.
Ancestors? Machines have ancestors? Those "shortlings" had also been shouting about the protection of their ancestors.
Axion turned toward the nearby Kin. A dwarf with a more prominent beard and a sturdier build approached, clad in a suit of dark green power armor. The plate made him look twice as wide as his peers and slightly taller.
"The Ancestors are watching you! Especially you, Thulison! You are the most reckless, thick-headed Hearthkyn I have ever had the misfortune to lead!"
Seeing the Sentry-Trooper approach, the armored dwarf ceased his berating of the two cowed pilots. He turned to face Axion.
"Things have been... complicated, but you are welcome nonetheless, guest. I am Gisent, the Garrison Captain here. For the sake of the Ancestors, tell me, where do you, or whatever you represent, hail from?"
Axion had no intention of obfuscation, and he had his own inquiries.
"You may address me as Axion. I have recently emerged from an Aeldari Webway gate and crashed upon this world. It will take time to repair my vessel."
"I took note of your people, and... incidents occurred. That is of secondary importance. I have a question. Where are your Ancestors located?"
The moment Axion spoke the words, the atmosphere of the entire camp froze into icy silence.