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inquisitornocturn · 30 days ago

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◇─ 𝕴𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖆 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖇𝖆𝖙 𝕹𝖎𝖍𝖎𝖑 ─◇

◇𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝖀𝖓𝖚𝖒 - 𝕻𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖆𝖘◇

⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Inquisitor Lord Xavier Calcazar / oc!High Interrogator Volenta van Halvek von Valancius af Calixis / Interrogator Heinrix van Calox

⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Overall story rating - E. Ritualistic cutting, fluff.

⚜ 𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖙: "Volenta, you are one of Theodora's heirs." Was how Xavier informed you that your life is about to change. You, the High Interrogator of Ordo Hereticus, got suddenly told by your mentor and lover, that you might become a Rogue Trader. Life as an agent of the Golden Throne is already complicated as is, what's one more title to the list of duties. Except when you abruptly become the only remaining heir of the von Valancius dynasty, with Xavier's own Interrogator aboard your vessel, things begin to change in completely unexpected ways.

Stuck between duty to hide your real identity, between your growing feelings for Heinrix and your love for Xavier, what will happen when these secrets start surfacing? What will happen if you can't pretend anymore?

⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 6,317 | on AO3

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: This is an OC story, but it's written in both second and third POV, depending on a character. Volenta herself is written in second simply because that's how game is represented and I wanted to keep that. This is going to be a longfic and I have quite a bit of it written out already, so I finally decided why not, I can post this, if not for anyone to read then to archive it for myself, just in case. I did tons of research for this fic so I hope if there's any loremasters on here they won't be too upset if I got a detail here and there wrong, I tried to get everything as factual to lore as possible (as is my habit). Tl;dr - it's a story I originally never intended to publish, but at this point I just don't see why I shouldn't. Thank you for reading (if you (plural) do).

Artwork I commissioned for Volenta can be found under oc:inquisitor Volenta tag

⚜ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: [link]

The shuttle landed onto the capital world of Ma’Kao dynasty without issues, but your mentor, Inquisitor Lord Silas Ravonir, seems less than happy to attend the Magnae Accessio of the new Rogue Trader. When you dock at the elaborately luxurious port, Ravonir only checks if his equipment is in order, making sure that his power maul is at his belt, same as the Holy Codex of Imperium laws. He gives you a grim look, but you know better than to scramble like a novice acolyte, you know that your own uniform and equipment is in order. In return to his look you just give him a curt nod, which Ravonir returns with one of his own and then he leads the way out of the shuttle.

Walking into the daylight after the darkness of space and the travel vessel makes you squint, but only slightly. The mask and the hood you wear during your public appearances are suffice enough to shield you even from brightest lights if you don’t gaze into them directly.

The view that opens before you and Inquisitor Lord is a busy one. Even the port seems to be bustling with nobles in their best attires, soldiers and their perfectly polished weapons and guns, serfs and servitors effortlessly swimming among the small parties of guests. You notice that there are tables as well, decked out with snacks and drinks.

“Oh, this is going to be one of these.” Ravonir murmurs to your ears only, but you see his shoulders straighten and a smile begin to tug at the corners of his lips. Despite being representative of Ordo Hereticus today, he’s a man who, you learned soon enough after coming to his retinue, does not abstain from indulging in pleasures life can grant men in positions of power like his.

“Appears so.” You respond calmly, your eyes moving back to the sea of faces and augmetics. Despite knowing better, this time you can’t help yourself as you scan your surroundings, noting best retreat routes, best defense spots, best guests to use as live shields if needed. You don’t allow anything to slip past your keen gaze even if there’s seemingly countless things to notice and memorize.

Suddenly you feel a palm on your pauldron and turn your head to look at Ravonir. He’s smiling this time and man’s blue eyes look friendly at your masked face. He’s seen you in this skull mask, adorned with purity seals and several technical enhancements, enough times to probably think of it as just your ‘other’ face.

“Relax Volenta, if one thing Ma’Kao dynasty knows how to do – it’s to follow Sun Lee’s legacy in security. Or rather self-preservation. Whichever it is – I doubt that we have to be much on guard for next two days.” The weight of his hand on your shoulder, burdened by the power armor he’s wearing, makes you strain to keep yourself perfectly straight, but you nod.

“I’m still surprised you agreed to stay whole two days, Silas.” At that Inquisitor Lord removes his hand and out of habit pats the Codex at his belt.

“We’ll have time to progress with tracking down that rogue Interrogator later. You know that Martha is on it.” Ah yes, Martha du Hisaal, special operative Silas trained to be his swift tracker. You don’t like the woman, she’s too eager to play into Silas’ weakness for female attention and think that it’s quite undignified for someone in Inquisitor’s personal retinue, but you never spoke of it. If Silas deems such behavior acceptable – who you are to question him. Only Emperor can judge him.

“I’d like for Martha not to kill Interrogator Hythe once she finds him.” You respond with your words, hopefully, letting Ravonir hear the chill in them and he inhales, then sighs.

“I’m sure she will leave Clovis alive, I gave her specific orders. She is to find him, then you will take him into custody and do your job.” Silas’ words are cold just as yours, clearly indicating that he wants to hear none of this right now, and you press your lips into a thin line, but only because you have the luxury of your mask hiding your expression.

In turn you curtly nod, as you always do, and notice a short glance cast in your direction by Ravonir before he nods too and begins walking.

Immediately there’s servants greeting you and him, saluting with signs of Aquila, but you expected that. You both wear full Inquisitorial regalia and Ravonir’s power armor in red and gold stands out even more among the masses of expensive fabrics. Yet both of you refuse the offered refreshments, at least for now. People of importance like your mentor and you prefer to relax in more suitable company than shuttles and random nobles, so when you are led straight to the palace’s inner walls, there’s no protest from either of you.

Once there, you already notice thinner crowd and more servants, more expensive clothes and armors, delicacies from all around Calixis sector and further. As you pass one table, you don’t fail to notice bottles of drinks you never even heard of. There’s organ music, there’s chatter, there’s laughter and sounds of glasses being brought against one another in cheers.

“Silas-“

A swiftly risen hand and you fall silent before you can say another word. It’s not that something caught your attention per se, but you simply wanted to know what he has planned for you. Clearly the answer is not going to be coming before your mentor gets his first drink and finds a group to congregate with. He fights the terrifying visage of Ordo Hereticus by being social, charming and outspoken. In other words – by being himself. But you’ve seen him perform his duties to the God-Emperor countless times and you have no doubt that Silas Ravonir deserves his Lord Inquisitor rank.

And soon enough, just as you already knew it would come, Silas notices a group of nobles to approach. Your guides disperse the moment he waves them away and you trail after him, glancing around with utter indifference. Such celebrations were never your thing and it’s not about to change, especially considering the pompousness Ma’Kao bring to the Magnae Accessio, nearly making it look like a cheap farce, at least in your opinion, which is no one is going to ask for, naturally.

Ten minutes later and Silas is in his element. Chatting up the people he knows, letting some women fawn upon him, a drink in hand and a big smile that looks almost genuine if you didn’t know that he too, despite earlier words, still is cautious and on guard.

“Volenta, you are not needed at my side at the moment.” He suddenly says, making you whip your head sharply in his direction and you know why he’s dismissing you, you don’t need to be a telepath for it. Couple women, one on each side of his, is what Inquisitor Lord wants to dedicate his attention to without his acolyte and High Interrogator scrutinizing Silas’ every word or action. Been there, done that, as they say.

“Very well. My vox bead is-“

“With you at all times if I need you. Yes, go now, van Halvek.”

You don’t hesitate, there’s no point, your order is clear. So you bow your head to your mentor and turn on your heel, swiftly departing, making your way among the guests who immediately get out of your path the moment they see your uniform and Inquisition rosette.

You want to find a spot away from most people. You’re not here for work, you remind yourself that, so what small luxuries are at your disposal, you decide to use them. Taking a full glass from a table you’re passing by, you look around, scouting out the area for a balcony or a bench that doesn’t have crowds of guests. After a moment you notice a perfect spot, a corner at the end of a small pathway, shaded by exotic trees. There are some people there, occupying the benches and leaning against the stone handrails, but further down there’s nobody, except for one electro priest who’s standing by the massive steel door and blessing it with a smoking clenser. You can’t actually make it out, but you can already hear the sacred liturgies this Adeptus Mechanicus servant is murmuring to the holy spirit inhabiting the defense mechanism.

“High Interrogator Volenta van Halvek of the esteemed Ordo Hereticus.”

You swiftly turn at the sound of your rank and name, your eyes quickly catching upon the towering crimson mark of the Inquisition among the sea of faces. Your heart skips a beat when you recognize it. Your gaze sweeps down to the face you know well. The dark, glorious greying mane of his hair, right scarlet red augmetic eye, steel plate with several tubes on the left temple, the beard that carries same pattern as his hair, small jaw plate to the right of his chin, the highbred face that would fit more a noble lord than an Agent of the Golden Throne despite carrying several scars, and the power armor, stamped with Inquisitorial insignia, adorned with skull motifs and purity seals bearing litanies for the God-Emperor.

He approaches you, a drink in his bionic arm and his other one resting on plasma pistol at his belt. You bow deeply the moment he’s in front of you.

“Lord Inquisitor Xavier Calcazar.”

Silence follows and you do not dare to rise your head.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Volenta.” Xavier finally speaks and you straighten your back, your eyes behind the masking meeting the single hazel one of his. Your former mentor, your first mentor. You don’t fear many things, but meeting him in public settings always reminds you just how easily he can reduce you to that teenage girl with wild white hair and anger in her eyes when he first plucked you from Astra Millitarum. You were afraid of him then, scared out of your wits when he towered over you unlike the Emperor of Humankind himself, and you still feel the same respectful awe every time you unexpectedly meet him.

“Inquisitor Lord Ravonir has deemed it appropriate to attend the Magnae Accessio and as his right hand-“ You stop the moment Calcazar rises his hand to silence you. He studies the mask you’re wearing for a silent moment, then uses his chin to sharply indicate that he wants to step away from the crowds that now are clearly watching you two and listening to each and every word.

You nod and turn, walking to the same spot you earlier wanted to claim for yourself. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, your palms sweat inside your black gloves, but your steps are firm as always. Just a short trip later you stand in the wonderful shade of a bright blue canopy of an exotic tree and Xavier, after following you, steps a little closer than etiquette would permit.

“So Silas is here?” Calcazar asks and glances at the drink in his hand, then lifts it to his lips and gives it a taste.

“Yes. He seems to be enjoying himself already. Although he wasn’t too thrilled in the beginning.” You follow Xavier’s lead and lift the bottom of your mask, maneuvering the glass under it so that you too can take a refreshing sip. The alcohol is strangely sweet and it runs down your throat leaving a pleasantly burning trail. Whatever this is – you know you will have to acquire a bottle of it somehow by the time you have to leave this planet.

Xavier barks out a short laugh at your words as he watches you taste your drink and then lower your mask again.

“I’m surprised he took you with.”

“I’m surprised you’re not here with your own retinue.”

“I am here alone this time, that much is true. But you forget, my dear Volenta, that I’m now the head of the Koronus Conclave. All my acolytes are busy pursuing leads of xenos and heretics to make sure that the rebellious little Expanse can be brought to the fold of the Imperium without the risk of taint.”

“I apologize for my ignorance.” You quickly say and he smiles at you, but there’s no mirth behind the expression.

“You are many things, but ignorant is not one of them.” Inquisitor pauses, looks at his drink and takes another sip of it. His casual demeanor carries something you sense immediately – this conversation is about to take a very serious turn. “Tell me, my dear, what did I hear about your conduct on Stygian Prime?” The coldness of Xavier’s words make you swallow dryly, but you’re not as naïve as to hope he doesn’t know the full truth.

“Small heretical insurgency that my presence alone was enough to squash.” You say and Calcazar’s eye snaps to you with a force that you perceive so strongly it nearly makes you falter on your feet.

“Is that right? What about Boyle Fawruse and his beloved Fiora de Braal?” The way Xavier says ‘beloved’ makes your skin crawl from the scarcely hidden disgust behind the tone.

You don’t hesitate to answer with the truth, but the memory of what happened still flashes in your mind: you rooted out the insurrectionist Fawruse and took him into custody. During interrogation the man revealed that his lover, Fiora, had nothing to do with it while naming several others who did. You questioned the man further, but even before he passed out from pain, Boyle didn’t implicate his woman. Next day, when you arrived to the place he and de Braal called home, to collect any evidence left behind, the woman attacked you, cursing you, spouting much heretical blasphemy. So much so, in fact, that you could’ve taken her into custody too, but you saw the pain behind her rage. Because she knew, just as well as you did, that Fawruse is not coming back to her, ever. So you simply knocked her down and watched her wail at your feet, Fiora’s calloused fingers smearing the steel of your boots with sweat and grime. You watched her as she cursed the Imperium, the Emperor, the Inquisition, as she cursed you, your name on her lips sounding like an ancient curse. An emotion stirred in you, something akin to pity which you nearly forgot how it feels like, and you left her devastated in that small room apartment all alone, her life gaping with a hole that Boyle used to fill.

“Insurrectionist Fawruse was taken into custody, interrogated and then promptly executed.” You report with your tone and words perfect, trained from countless times you had to do this before. “De Braal was revealed to have had no hand at the insurrection and was not arrested on the grounds of ignorance towards her partner’s actions.”

Xavier’s sharp gaze is trained on your mask, right between your eyes, and he seems to think over your words for a moment, then he tastes his drink again.

“No grounds for her to be taken into custody, you say? But, my dear Volenta, her heretical proclamations in your presence should’ve been enough of a reason to take someone like Fiora de Braal and dispose of her.” Calcazar’s each word is clear, slow, authoritative. “You have failed to comply not only with the Most Holy Inquisition’s teachings, but those of Ordo Hereticus itself. Is it not your duty to hunt down heretics and eliminate them? Is it not your duty, Volenta, to be the perfect tool in His arsenal? Tell me, my dear, why did your training and faith falter on Stygian Prime?”

Muscles on your back stiffen to the point your spine aches, but you don’t show your distress, not letting even a bated breath betray just how your former mentor makes you feel.

“I have no excuse, Lord Inquisitor.”

“You don’t. And even if you had one – it would be a poor attempt to bargain with me.” Xavier empties his glass and looks at one in your hand. “Finish your drink, my dear Volenta. Then we will go for a walk.”

You spare no time to lift the bottom of your mask and tip the glass over your lips, not allowing yourself even a moment to savor the drink that you enjoyed just minutes ago, the flavor of it now tasting ashen on your tongue. Once you empty your glass, Xavier takes it from your fingers and puts it at the edge of a flower pot, then his own, and the steely gaze of his hazel eye tells you that as always – you have no right to say no. Not that you would. You obey, that’s one thing you are best at.

“Come with me.” Calcazar turns and walks off, his red mantle and the sacred backpack beckoning you like two beacons you cannot refuse to follow.

The further you both get away from crowds of guests, the louder Xavier’s footsteps become, the power armor looking more imposing and intimidating. You know what it can do as well, you’ve seen it in action multiple times when Ordo Xenos and Ordo Hereticus collaborate against common threats. Sounds of organ music now fade into nothingness and only your footsteps and Lord Inquisitor’s seem to echo off the narrow passageway. You are aware where he is leading you, this is not your first time on Ma’Kao capital world and you know that by the insistence of no other than Silas Ravonir, the Inquisition has a special area in the palace. Area that agents of the Golden Throne can come and go to unnoticed. As well as bring anyone with them, if such occasion arises while on the planet. And it does arise, more often than most would think. Work of the Most Holy Inquisition never ends.

You watch Calcazar stop by a heavy, steel door bearing the Ma’Kao crest and punch in a long numerical code, making the door start opening with a jerk of iron mechanisms. You’ve done this very thing before yourself, except at the moment you don’t know the latest code to this room, it changes every time a member of Inquisition uses it. For safety, naturally.

Without even giving you a glance over his shoulder, Inquisitor Lord walks in and the lights flicker to life. You follow him, scanning the room with your gaze, hearing nothing but the steel door slide shut once again. The area didn’t change since you were last here. Chairs and tables, instruments on the metal shelves. Other implements that you and your colleagues might have a use of. But your attention is quickly drawn to Xavier when he turns to you with calm expression.

“Take off the mask.” A soft command, but a command nonetheless and you do as he wishes.

First you slide your hood off, then use your gloved fingers to feel out of the mechanism holding your sanctioned mask in place. One click, two, the hinges relax and you open it at the back, carefully pulling it from your face and feeling the embrace of bionic tubes releasing their suction from the back of your skull. As you do this, your long white hair spills over your shoulders and you rise your bare face to the man who has only one intention with you right now – to remind you of your duties.

For a moment Xavier stands still, then extends his bionic arm and you obediently place your mask into his palm. He puts it aside, then steps to you, his scrutinizing gaze searching your face for any changes since he last saw you. But no, there’s no new scars, no augmetics, nothing fresh mars your ghostly pale skin. You didn’t see each other for several months, seven months and seventeen days to be exact, and your heart clenches affectionately under Calcazar’s inspection. He still cares, you know he does. Yet his expression doesn’t betray any of the emotions he might be feeling right now, his gaze just bores into your light grey eyes and then he rises his left arm. You don’t need to be told what to do.

Pulling off your gloves, you briefly turn to toss them on the side table, and then turn back to him, with deft fingers now slipping inside the armor his hand is clad in, feeling out the mechanics inside, the vires and tubes, searching for the release button you know is there. Finally you find it, press it and the hiss that comes from the hydraulics announces your success. Slowly you slip the gauntlet off Xavier’s hand, revealing his scarred skin and a sleeve of the black skirt he’s wearing underneath all the metal. You put aside the piece of holy armor and watch him stretch his fingers, then clench them into a fist.

“You know what to do, Volenta.” He speaks and you nod. Without more prompting you pick up a chair from the side and bring it to the middle of the room, setting it right underneath the brightest lamp hanging from the ceiling.

You stop in front of it and then proceed to take off your cloak, then unbutton your jacket, then your shirt, taking off each item carefully and hanging them on the backrest with precision. Then your bra comes off, you hang it there too, leaving yourself half-naked and at the mercy of Calcazar. His footsteps approach you and you feel the heat of man’s fingers as he lightly brushes them against your right shoulder and gently sweeps your long hair from your back and over the left shoulder. Silence follows and you know that he’s looking at the tattoo on your back, the black ink that was used to etch the Holy Insignia of Inquisition into your skin, exactly like the rosette that is hanging from your neck by a silver chain, resting between your breasts like it’s the only protection from evil you might ever need.

You close your eyes when you feel Xavier’s fingers begin tracing the scars. There’s a total of forty-two of them, marking your skin with ugly ridges. Each one of them left by him personally. You’re going to receive a forty-third.

“Kneel.”

You immediately fall to your knees, the heavy thud of your knee guards echoing of the barren rockcrete walls. The moment you do, his fingers no longer rest on your skin, leaving a quickly cooling spot where Xavier’s warmth has been, making the inside of your chest clench just a tiny bit. You don’t need to hear the following command, you know all of them like psalms already, and you lean over the chair, gripping the armrests and lowering your head nearly to the seat.

“Good, Volenta.” Calcazar says and you hear him drawing a blade from his belt. Similar to the one he’s carrying now you have received decades before, the Interrogator’s Dagger, with its broad blade engraved with scripture and a gilded grip, the one that got melted down and forged into your Inquisitorial Rosette when you were deemed worthy and skilled enough to become an Interrogator. The rosette that now dangles on your chest, heavy and unyielding, like Emperor’s Laws.

The tip of the blade scrapes against the skin of your back, trailing the outline of your tattoo. Xavier always avoided marking your skin where the symbol is, creating a strange inverted barelief – with Holy Ordo sign being the part that’s surrounded by risen, old scars. Scars that are accompanied by the etches in bones underneath, forever marking your very skeleton with your mistakes and sins.

“Tell me again, Volenta, why do I have to mark you with yet another lesson?” Xavier speaks slowly like you’re a layperson, but you know the purpose of this – so that you memorize each and every word of this moment.

“I let go a heretic.” Your voice is firm and strong when you reply, weakness is not allowed, not for you, not for Xavier’s chosen.

“Is that so?” The blade keeps trailing your skin, the back of your neck, your shoulders, avoiding the hardened flesh of previous cuts.

“I strayed from the Emperor’s Laws, I used my own judgement and released a potentially dangerous heretic without punishment.” You say again. “I repent, Lord Inquisitor.”

Calcazar pushes air through his nose and the dagger leaves you momentarily.

“You know I don’t like doing this, do you?”

The pain comes. Sharp and hot, it threatens to overcome your senses, because Xavier doesn’t hesitate, he cuts straight to the bone with first slash. You can’t let your voice waver, you can’t show your discomfort or agony, because if you do – then the following punishment will be harder to accept than physical agony.

You feel the blood immediately trickle down your back, but Xavier pushes something behind the waist of your pants, yet you barely register that, keeping your focus on showing utter and complete indifference to what is happening to you, to what is being done to you yet again.

“I know. I regret my faulty judgement and erroneous decision.” You keep your voice levelled, practiced and wince only with a corner of your right eye when you feel and hear Inquisitor saw into your bone. Three slow drags of razor-sharp dagger against your ribcage.

“Yes, you failed and you have disappointed me, Volenta. But you won’t make the same mistake again. Of this, I am sure.”

“Yes, Lord Inquisitor.”

Seconds pass and you can’t even grit your teeth, he would notice it and he would not grant you reprieve. Calcazar’s skilled hand carves another wound into you, another scar-to-be, another lesson that you won’t forget. Then he sighs and you near tremble with relief when the blade leaves your tortured flesh, you barely catch yourself, but you do it in time.

“Hm. You did well this time.” You hear Xavier wipe his dagger and sheathe it, but you don’t move, there’s more coming, but this time at least it will be less painful.

You listen to the man who just put you through white-hot pain rummage his person.

“Stand, I don’t need the light for this.”

Obeying immediately you rise to your feet, trying not to falter even though your head swims for treacherous couple of seconds, but you don’t waver and don’t stall, straightening your agonized back. Soon though, Xavier begins patching the wound up. He closes it just enough so that it stops bleeding with an injection and a soft plasteel patch, then hums with approval at his handiwork. The wound will heal, but slowly. For next ten days or so you will be in excruciating pain every time you move, but you know exactly what for you paid such price.

Then there’s Xavier’s touch on your shoulder, his thumb caressing the joints of your spine at the back of your neck, gently and carefully.

“I don’t like punishing you, my dear Volenta.” He says in a quiet voice and you feel real disappointment in your heart, one aimed at yourself. No matter what you do, you are always destined to make one more mistake, to misplace your step one more time, to sin once again.

“I know.” Your voice is quiet when you reply and Xavier’s hand squeezes your neck and shoulder a little harder, expressing his possessiveness of you.

But the moment is ruined when Inquisitor’s vox crackles, someone is reaching for him. With a sound of annoyance, Calcazar removes his touch from you and steps away to answer. You take this as your cue to get dressed. There’s pain with each step you take, but you find it liberating, like a bittersweet reminder to keep your senses sharp. Before you pick up your clothes, you first remove the rag that Xavier stuffed into your waistband and smile when you glance down at it, soaked in your blood, already stiffening.

Effortlessly you discard it and dress, trying not to show how much the whole process pains you. Your shirt is the hardest part, your muscles stretching the wound and nearly choking you with pain, but you don’t mind, you just button it up and proceed to put on your jacket, then your cloak. One last adjustment, pulling your rosette from underneath your clothes and placing it faithfully over your chest, then your fingers gently caress it before you notice that Xavier have stopped talking into his vox. You ignored the entire conversation, it wasn’t meant for your ears anyway, or at least that’s what you presume.

“Check your vox bead.” Xavier says when you let go of the rosette and pull at the edges of your coat, straightening it. Your head moves in his direction and you see the same calm, authoritative expression Inquisitor always wears.

“Why?”

“Silas tried to contact you, couldn’t come through, so I got his message instead. He correctly assumed that you are in my company once he heard I’m attending Magnae Accessio as well.”

You quickly check your vox bead but don’t see anything wrong with it. While you inspect it, you step closer to Xavier and he now too leans closer, his both flesh and augmented eye checking the small mechanism meant to work, but which clearly betrayed its programmed duties. Without a word, Inquisitor takes the bead from your fingers and squashes it with his bionic hand, tossing the bead aside while it’s still spilling sparks in a futile attempt to keep working.

“You’ll get a new one.” He says calmly and then looks at you. After a second of gazing at your face, he reaches out and caresses the side of it, a small smile appearing on his usually unforgiving face. “Does it hurt?” He knows it does, but he wants to hear your answer.

“Not as much as failing you does.” You reply in a quiet voice, your expression and eyes barely disguising the yearning you begin to feel squeezing your very soul. Xavier smiles at that, pleased with your answer.

“You will come to my chambers later today.” Not a question, not a request, an order. You nod slightly and lean into his touch, unable to help yourself. “And you will stay with me until morning.” At this your eyes begin to search his with worry.

“What about Silas, I’m not sure if he won’t need my assistance.” You rise your hands and let your palms rest on the chest plate of Calcazar’s power amor, feeling the chill of the metal underneath your skin.

“I’m sure Silas will find himself quite busy.” Xavier’s words are tinged with humor and you smile at this, now watching how with his free hand the Inquisitor straightens out the rosette on your chest. No matter how immaculate your uniform is, he always finds something to fix.

“He found himself busy ten minutes after we arrived.” You confirm and Xavier chuckles, a pleasant sound of his deep, relaxed laughter filling your chest with warmth. You don’t know what you would do without him.

“As expected. But this is exactly why I am sure that he won’t need your presence later today. Although I am not sure why he suddenly decided to look for you now. We shall see.” It looks like Calcazar is about to remove his touch from you and you can’t let that happen.

“Xavier…” you swiftly draw his attention and he pauses, then smiles softly.

“I nearly forgot. Your reward for bearing the lesson so well, is that right?”

You nod at his words, your smile as he sees it looks almost shy. He never gets tired of seeing you so utterly entranced by him even all these decades later. With affection he uses both hands to brush your white hair behind your ears, then they ghost over the sides of your face as if he doesn’t dare to touch you for a moment longer. Instead he leans in and when you upturn your face for Xavier even more, he kisses you. It’s not supposed to go further than this, an almost chaste expression of devotion to each other, but you can’t hold back, you haven’t seen him in so long, longer even, one warp jump lasted three years while it was only a month in realspace. So you step more into the kiss, not touching him, not letting your uniform get crumpled even the tiniest bit, but you need this kiss like you need air. And Xavier responds.

His own urge to have you against him grows, but he keeps his hands away, yet his lips tell a different story. Inquisitor quickly deepens the kiss when you step closer indicating your need, and for a sweet moment he forgets everything except you. His tongue finds yours without any resistance and you moan softly, wanting to pull him closer or step into his embrace, but you do none of this, with your feet planted to the floor and your arms stiff by your sides.

Later… Later it will be different.

At last Calcazar snaps out of his own desire driven by his need for you, and he pulls back, straightening his back. He pauses as if considering between simply ordering you to put his gauntlet on or something else and finally he decides to give you another gesture of affection as he lifts his flesh hand and touches your lips with his fingertips.

“Be patient, Volenta. Don’t forget yourself.”

You nod at that with a smile and Xavier can see a small blush on your cheeks. You are so easy with him, so eager and so needy. For a moment Lord Inquisitor doesn’t want to leave this barren room even if Silas is waiting. Still, duty prevails, and with a sigh Calcazar moves away from you, gesturing to his gauntlet.

While you’re putting it on, he watches your face and he would never admit it, but Xavier’s heart aches as he looks at you.

“I missed you.” You suddenly say, catching him off guard to the point his hazel eye widens, betraying his surprise but then he smiles.

“Of course you did.”

“So confident.” You tease him with a smile of your own and he chuckles, then moves his hand when you manage to click the gauntlet into place.

“I’m His word and will, my dear Volenta, I have to be confident. If I falter, who will be fit enough to replace me? Maybe you, but not so soon.” He speaks as you move from him and begin putting your own accessories back.

The mask hides your hair and your face once again, the hood ensures that your identity is well and fully hidden. You pull your gloves on and when you’re about to turn, you feel Xavier’s hand on the side of your waist. You rise your eyes to the man you practically worship and he sighs, his gaze sweeping over the mask.

“One day you won’t need to wear this anymore. I promise you that.”

“I believe you.” You respond with a smile he cannot see, but can hear in your voice and he nods.

“Let’s go.”

It doesn’t take long for you two depart from the room and you watch the code Calcazar used get visually scrambled in the panel screen. If he wanted to enter it right now, he would not be able to.

The walk back is silent, just your footsteps and his in the empty alleyways. You know that you two will have enough time to talk in privacy and without the risk of being overheard tonight, there’s no need to risk some stray noble eavesdropping to things they should not be privy to.

Soon the music is heard again, then the voices, then the laughter and chatter of all kinds. A servant notices you two approaching the main area and quickly rushes to offer drinks, you and Xavier take one each.

“There.” He suddenly nods into the direction of Silas, who seems to be chatting up the governor, but the moment you move into his direction, Xavier’s power backpack with its massive Ordos sign on top of it, draws your mentor’s attention and he smiles.

“Xavier Calcazar, as I live and breathe. Didn’t think you will make it.” Silas departs from the governor’s group and approaches, lifting his glass in cheers.

“I had a moment to spare before returning to the Koronus Expanse, Silas.” He pauses, then suddenly adds, surprising you. “And I couldn’t let a chance to see Volenta before I go slip away.”

Silas laughs, Xavier smiles and lifts his own glass in cheers, then takes a sip. You want to drink too, feeling your mouth parched from the pain and the tension you’re feeling right now, but you would rather avoid messing with your mask when there are so many laypeople around, so you just stand there and observe the two men who defined your entire life up until this very moment and will continue to do so in the foreseeable future.

“Let’s walk.” Inquisitor Lord Ravonir says to Calcazar and then gets an agreement in a form of a nod. You are forgotten as they begin walking away.

You trail after them, listening to the conversation which is about everything and nothing really in particular, just two old colleagues catching up. But you feel the ache in your back and another, much stronger ache in your chest. If only Xavier didn’t give you to Ordo Hereticus to better cultivate your skills, you wouldn’t need to agonize over spending so much time away from him. Yet, you understand his decision. You always obeyed his orders and you always will.

You just wish it hurt less to be away from him. You wish he soothed your aches quicker, in only ways he knows how, only ways only he is allowed to soothe you.

Later.

Neither of you will need to pretend later today. You almost start counting seconds already.

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