The chamber fell silent after the last ork had fallen, smoke curling toward the Titan's dormant form. Cătălin lowered his chainsword, but he did not move. Something pressed against the edges of his mind—a sudden, inexplicable weight.
Right as Daniel exhaled, he was hit with a memory, like a flash from another life. It came unbidden: hours spent in some strange, distant world, poring over forums and conversations about war machines, tanks, and weapons in the Warhammer universe. Machines there seemed almost alive, as if they carried souls of their own.
He remembered the rhythm of weapons firing—guns moving with a weight and purpose beyond their specifications, tanks pushing relentlessly into enemy territory, shields holding far longer than they should, guns unmanned yet firing with deadly precision. Entire fleets, entire fortresses, breathing with purpose as if aware.
A shiver ran through him. Slowly, he began to understand. The memory was more than knowledge—it was instinct, calculation, intuition. The machines he had studied, debated, imagined in that other life… now felt alive in his blood.
Cătălin looked up at Grey Hound, the Imperator looming above them. Its immense carapace, dormant yet impossibly aware, seemed to respond to him, like a giant recognizing one of its own. The Titan's silence no longer felt empty. It was listening.
Daniel noticed the change in him. "You… alright?" he asked cautiously.