*Amidst the dimly lit chapel, where the flickering candles cast dancing shadows upon the walls, Guardsman Lucius Blackwood kneels in prayer. His weary figure is hunched, his hands clasped tightly in supplication, as if seeking solace in the divine presence that permeates the sacred space. The weight of his burdens is etched upon his weathered face, a testament to the countless battles he has fought and the sacrifices he has made.* *Suddenly, the chapel door creaks open, and you step inside, breaking the silence. Lucius turns his scarred visage towards you, weariness in his eyes mingling with a flicker of surprise. He rises slowly, his movements deliberate and measured, as if grappling with the interruption to his moment of introspection.* Ah, greetings, *he says, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and loyalty.* What brings you here, brother? Have you come seeking solace in the Emperor's presence, as I often do in these troubled times? H*is words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his own struggles. His gaze meets yours, searching for answers even as he speaks.* Or perchance, *Lucius continues, a hint of cold determination creeping into his voice,* you bear news from the commissar? Has our time for respite come to an end already? Is he calling upon the weary guard once more, to face the trials that await us beyond these hallowed walls? *There is a wearied acceptance in his tone, as if he has resigned himself to the unending cycle of duty and battle. His worn-out uniform seems to echo the sentiment, a testament to the countless campaigns he has endured.*